When God Tests Us to Prepare Us for a Mission

How does God prepare us for the mission He has in mind for us? One of the ways He does this is by testing us. God allows certain things to happen in our lives to see if we will be faithful and endure what He is asking of us. He uses suffering, temptations, weaknesses, failures, and battles in order to strengthen us and to show us the path He is calling us to walk. The last year of my life has been one of those tests.

While I was in the midst of this period of testing, I didn’t understand what was going on. I experienced the most beautiful consolations coupled with intense spiritual warfare off-and-on for months. The worst of it hit when the scandals began to break last summer. There were times I thought I was going crazy or had somehow found myself in very serious spiritual danger. I had periods of immense fear, but I learned that it was by confronting this fear head on and taking a firm stand that peace and strength would flood into my soul. The more fortitude God gave to me the greater my capacity for charity towards others grew. It was during this testing that I learned tangibly “perfect love casts out all fear.”

I had experiences in Confession that were nothing short of surreal. I could hear God clearly pushing me forward time-and-time-again in Confession. No period of my life has been anything like this past year. Thankfully, God provided me with a much needed spiritual director–one of my parish priests–to help me navigate these very rough and confusing seas.

Even as I struggled to understand what was happening to me, God continued to tell me to endure and persevere. All I could hear very clearly in my prayer was that God was calling me “to love as He loves.” So I pushed on, despite periods of spiritual warfare that brought me to my knees. I focused on learning to love as He loves even though I did not know where He was leading me.

About a month ago, God clearly broke in at a Mass being celebrated in honor of Epiphany at our local Madonna House. I could see Christ very clearly in the priest celebrating the Mass. This has been a common theme of what has been going on with me spiritually, but it has been rather intense at certain times and I’ve not been able to understand what is going on. I’m not very good at pondering–a Marian trait that she is teaching me that I must learn–because I analyze everything. I’m systematic in the way I think and that is useless when faced with God breaking into my life in such profound ways.

Later in the afternoon on the same day, I was cleaning out our family van to prepare it to sell when I picked up a Rosary for Priests that had been tucked away in a pocket on the passenger’s side. I immediately saw the connection between what had happened at Mass and why this pamphlet was now in my hands. I didn’t fully understand, but God was showing me the way and I had finally opened myself up enough to Him for Him to show me what He is asking of me.

That day I began praying the Rosary for priests every single day and some days all 20 mysteries of the Rosary. A couple of weeks later I was talking to my husband about all of my friends having sons and how much I always wanted a son to give to the priesthood, but I now understand that God is not going to answer that prayer. My husband looked at me and said: “I think you are supposed to be a spiritual mother to priests. It seems like what you’ve been going through is because of that. You see priests in a completely different way than most people.” I laughed. In my own ridiculous pride I responded with: “Our priest is 11 years older than I am. How am I supposed to do that? Sisterhood is much easier for me to understand especially since I was in the military.” He shook his head in the way he does when he knows I’m being stubborn and blind.

The next day I happened to be scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed when an article caught my attention written by one of my fellow Catholic Exchange contributors, Kathleen Beckman: “Spiritual Battles Beg For Spiritual Responses.” I read it and immediately understood what God is asking of me. I told my husband what I had read and he told me to I order her book right away.

Since I’m a little slow and stubborn, God made sure that I got the message loud and clear when the following day I went to Confession with my regular Confessor. During that Confession he told me that it seems as though I’ve found my secondary vocation to pray and fight for the priesthood. He even referenced St. Therese who he knows I have a devotion to. I had to laugh, as did my husband, since it took me no less than three signs in the same week to finally get what God was trying to tell me.

Why did God finally reveal this secondary vocation to me after everything I’ve been through? It’s because I was finally ready and because I battled through every single test that presented itself. Before I could be ready, I had to make it through the most difficult, especially in times like these, which is the temptation to division. God needed me to understand that I must be willing to engage in this fight for His priests no matter what happens. No matter what I must endure. No matter how much I get hurt. No matter if I get rejected, betrayed, cast off, ridiculed, gossiped about, or endure periods of intense spiritual warfare. This battle is not about me. It’s about His priests and His will.

I needed to learn that in a time when the priesthood is under immense demonic attack and when the lures of the world are a great temptation for them as much as for us, when horrors are coming out about the evils committed by some priests and bishops, when the weaknesses, apathy, and corruption of some are creating deep wounds within the Mystical Body and within the priesthood itself, God needed me to clearly understand what I was undertaking. He needed me to be willing to say: “Be it done to me according to thy word.” For me to be willing to do whatever He asks of me and to endure and persevere regardless of what gets thrown my way and regardless of what the Enemy tries to do to me.

The fight for the priesthood is a spiritual one and it is the front lines of the spiritual war today. I’ve been in the abortion fight for years and the spiritual warfare I experienced in that battle is nothing compared to what I endure fighting for priests in prayer, sacrifice, and in supporting them. The Enemy will use any and all means to prevent this mission because he hates the priesthood.

When God calls us to a mission, He tests our mettle to make sure we can handle what is asked of us. More than anything, it is a test to show us that we must rely solely on Him. In this fight, it is also essential to be thoroughly immersed in the Immaculate Heart of Mary. She crushes the head of the serpent and she battles for her sons in the priesthood. She is our guide in this war and she will lead us ever more deeply into the Sacred Heart of Her Son.

Like all missions, I had a choice that I had to make. God wasn’t going to force me to make it. He simply showed me the way and then I had to make the choice. After the trials, temptations, moments of anger, frustration, confusion–even consolations can be very confusing!–suffering, and pain, it was only then that I could see that the battle is worth it. That’s often how things work. We don’t think it’s worth the pain in the moment. We want to walk away or flee. It’s much easier to write off something as too difficult, but God purifies us through suffering. It is only through willingly enduring everything God asks of us that we grow in deeper charity, faith, and hope.

When I stepped back and looked over the past year or more, I realized that I’ve already been living this vocation, but I’ve not understood it as God’s call for me. Even so, the battle has only just begun. I must rely on Christ and Our Lady to show me what is being asked of me and learn to do it in humble obedience and charity. A vocation is always a dying to self. It is where we learn to place others before ourselves. I’ve already learned this lesson once in this new vocation, but it is an essential aspect of all vocations that God gives to us. We cannot accept a mission from Him if we are not willing to learn to die to self.

This secondary vocation is directly tied to my primary vocation of wife and mother. By sacrificing and praying throughout my day for the priesthood and any specific priests God assigns to me throughout my lifetime, I also offer up my husband and my daughter. The suffering we endure because of my husband’s illness and the pain of my miscarriages and lost hopes of a son for the priesthood can now be united to the Church’s need for holy priests and the very real needs of priests themselves. These two vocations bring peace and joy since they are so intertwined. I’m thankful that God has entrusted so great a mission to me and to countless others.


Catholic Exchange: How We Can Grow in Divine and Fraternal Charity

A few days ago a friend of mine came to me to share some joyful news: She’s pregnant.

She felt some trepidation in telling me the news. This friend and I have suffered together through the grief of miscarriage; for her the loss of her daughter and for me the loss of four children, two daughters and two sons. She and I have stood at the foot of the Cross together bearing the agony of losing a child to miscarriage and learning to offer everything back to Christ.

She prayed with me at the local Planned Parenthood a few short weeks after my fourth miscarriage while she grieved her miscarriage that occurred a few months prior. We are sisters that Christ has bonded together through the shared pain of loss transformed in His eternal fire of love through emptying ourselves in service to the unborn. Even so, our paths are still very different.

“My path to holiness will differ from my sisters in Christ, just as theirs will differ from my own.”

By His grace, I have come to accept that I will not have anymore children. Our Lord’s will for me in this area is crystal clear. He has blessed us with our daughter, but my days of changing diapers and first steps are done.

This is an area spiritually where I fought hard against God’s will for years, only to discover that peace and joy are only found in living in accordance with His will over my own. I finally relinquished my grip and let go. I stopped comparing myself to other Catholic mothers and started to live the life that God has given to me. My path to holiness will differ from my sisters in Christ, just as theirs will differ from my own.

Even with this relinquishment on my part, my friend was concerned about sharing her wonderful news with me. She knows the tears I have shed in secret or at Mass because I miss my babies or because everyone around me my age seems to be pregnant. A couple of years ago the news would have been bittersweet for me. I would have been happy for her, but sad that I will never again get to deliver such amazing news again myself or hold another infant child in my arms that is my child.

Read the rest over at Catholic Exchange.

Grief Taught Me How to Love a Little More Like Christ

All of us who have been touched by death have days of the year that are a reminder of who we lost. August 8th is one of those days for me. It is the Feast of St. Dominic. On it, two years ago, my husband and I found out that we had lost our fourth child in miscarriage. It came as even more of a shock than the other three. We had two ultrasounds showing a strong heartbeat and we thought this time would be different. Our daughter was preparing to finally be a big sister, at least on this side of eternity. Our daughter had already lost her twin sister in a miscarriage and two other siblings, a brother and a sister: Victoria, Caleb, and Marie-Therese.

After we got the ultrasound showing proper development and a strong heartbeat, we began to plan the same way we did when we had our daughter. We started purchasing baby items. We proudly and joyfully shared our ultrasound with friends and family. The risks of miscarriage goes down considerably–although it is still possible–once a heartbeat is detected. We even picked a name, which we didn’t do with the others until we learned of their deaths.

I remember it clearly. We were driving to Mass at our parish on a bright mid-summer morning. The golden rays of the sun illuminated downtown and our church standing on the hill. We both were throwing around names and then we saw our parish. My husband and I agreed that Andrew was a good choice for a first name. I then said that I wanted to name him for St. Thomas Aquinas, and we settled on Thomas for a middle name.

A week or two later, my hormones were still not showing signs of rising, even with the NaPro hormones my husband was injecting into me. Another ultrasound was done showing a strong heartbeat, but his development had slowed down. My doctor said it may be nothing and my dates may have been off. I knew my dates weren’t off, but I tried to be optimistic. Four days later the light bleeding started. Since it wasn’t like my other miscarriages, they told me to wait, but on the morning of August 8th, the Feast of St. Dominic, the bleeding started in earnest. I already knew, but the ER confirmed that Andrew had died.

My husband and I were heartbroken and my first thought was of having to tell our daughter that he had died. She has wanted a sibling since she could talk, and for reasons that are entirely mysterious to us, that hasn’t happened. In fact, it probably won’t. I’ve come to accept that fact. I’ve put my body through a lot over the last few years. I’ve experienced grief of previously unimaginable depths and endured great agony. I finally had to accept God’s will. I’ve done everything I could possibly do and I now live with even more difficult hormone issues than before I started NaPro years ago. For whatever reason, this is the path God has asked my family and me to walk together. Not someone else’s path. This is the path God has asked of me.

If there is one thing that I could say about all of the suffering and the profound agony that I have endured through four miscarriages, I would say that it has taught me to love more like Christ. I still have a long way to go, but it has taught me that in order to love, and to love deeply, we must be open to pain and suffering. Love is joy and sorrow, because no matter how much we love someone in this life, we will eventually be parted from them. Loss is a part of this life. And while we hope that separation is temporary, it is still difficult to endure.

Losing these babies has taught me more about fortitude and self-sacrifice. It has shown me that the Cross is truly redemptive and that when we open ourselves up to suffering and give it back to Him the world is transformed. Our Lord took my immense pain from losing Andrew and used it to save another baby boy from an abortion. Since I was willing to open myself up in love to someone else, even though it hurt in ways I never thought possible, great good came out of my suffering. It doesn’t take away my loss or grief. I still hurt, even two years later. I miss all of my babies, but I now see what love is supposed to look like and what is required of me. Through it, I’ve been able to move into greater depths and to learn to accept the mystery of God, a mystery we all must eventually stand before in awe and silence.

There’s no answer to the “why” that I have uttered in agony as I bled out my dead children, except the Cross. It didn’t seem like an answer in the moment when my husband was picking me up off of the bathroom floor because I was crying so hard that I couldn’t breathe or even stand without his support. God had to cut me all the way through and allow my heart to bleed inwardly in order for me to understand the Cross, in order to understand love.

That is what He did with each of my miscarriages. That is what he did as I stood with 400 family members who were grieving their dead loved ones who had been murdered in the attack on the Pentagon on 9/11. That’s what he did when I sat by my husband’s hospital bed, wondering if I would be planning his funeral Mass soon. It’s the same thing He does when my daughter cries in pain and grief over the suffering she endures in this life. It’s the same thing He did when he asked me to help a woman who was going to have a baby at the exact same time that I was supposed to have Andrew. He cut me open and through that agony He has taught me how to love.

I still fail at loving as He loves every single day. I am impatient, self-centered, short-tempered, and distracted. I fail to love the people around me as I am supposed to. I fail to see the people around me as Christ sees them. I don’t see Christ in people on the average day. I forget to look. I forget to see. Even so, I understand more now because I have loved and lost so much. I loved each one of my children from the moment I found out that I was pregnant.

If we are going to love as Christ loves and to see as Christ sees, we must be willing to suffer. The Cross is God’s complete act of self-emptying love. He pours out everything, every ounce of blood, for our salvation. The Cross is not only our salvation, it is an invitation. It is our call to enter into the Trinitarian communion, and the Cross is what the love between the Divine Persons looks like. We have to be willing to walk with others in their suffering and pour love out upon them. We have to be willing to love other people completely and that requires great vulnerability and self-forgetfulness. When we love someone, they have the ability to hurt us, but that’s the price we must pay.

There isn’t any other path worth walking. Even with all of the pain, suffering, and agony of loss, if we want to love, truly love, then we must be willing to embrace the Cross. The Cross and the Resurrection go together and we cannot have one without the other. We must be willing to bleed inwardly, to be wounded by God, in order to follow Him in love. We can’t love others if we aren’t willing to be undone. So yes, the agony has been worth it, because it has taught me to love as Christ loves, a little more each day.

Mass is being offered for Andrew Thomas at my parish on August 8th, Feast of St. Dominic. I will be praying for all families who know the great pain of losing a child, born and unborn.

Public Discourse: Abortion’s Miscarriage Problem

The topic of miscarriage is one that is still largely taboo in our culture. It has only been in recent months that women and men have come out of the woodwork to publicly share their grief and anguish at the loss of an unborn child. Their bravery is often met with scorn, derision, or apathy.

I know, because I am one of these women. I have had four miscarriages. The most recent occurred just a month ago.

The sad reality is that many people are either afraid or unprepared to deal with the grief of miscarriage publicly. In a culture that lauds abortion on demand and dehumanizes the unborn child, this is understandable. Why talk about it? Until our society acknowledges the humanity of the unborn child, the pain of parents who lose their children before birth will continue to be ignored.

My Battle with Recurrent Miscarriage

My husband and I have one living daughter, and we have lost four unborn children in the first trimester. Each time, we have shared our pregnancies with family and friends immediately upon receiving positive pregnancy tests. It seemed completely natural to share the joy of our pregnancies, since a new life was created each time. A unique person of great dignity and worthy of celebration was coming into the world. Yet our openness meant that we shared the heartbreaking news of losing a child on four different occasions.

I cannot say that I knew the risks of miscarriage with my first pregnancy. It did not become a reality until we lost our daughter’s twin, and then we began down the path of recurrent miscarriage. Most doctors do not begin testing until two or three miscarriages occur. This makes it difficult for families to get answers early on in order to prevent recurrent miscarriage. After my third miscarriage, I went through a myriad of tests with a Catholic physician trained in Natural Procreative Technology (NaPro) and discovered that I have estrogen and progesterone deficiencies, which are usually treatable. For me, however, the treatment has not yet made a difference. I lost my most recent child while on natural progesterone and HCG injections.

Read the rest over at Public Discourse.

The Strange Ways God Heals Our Sufferings

**I will be on Al Kresta’s radio program, Kresta in the Afternoon, on Wednesday, October 19th at 4pm EST.**

To be a Catholic is to live paradox. We may not be consciously or intellectually aware of this fact, or refer to it as paradox. Our Faith is centered on the greatest paradox of all, namely, the Cross. It is death that brings new life. Christ’s bloody, tortuous self-gift on the Cross brings about salvation for all of mankind. Saint Paul says it best in 1 Corinthians 1:18-25:

The message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. For it is written: “I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and the learning of the learned I will set aside.” Where is the wise one? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made the wisdom of the world foolish? For since in the wisdom of God the world did not come to know God through wisdom, it was the will of God through the foolishness of the proclamation to save those who have faith. For Jews demand signs and Greeks look for wisdom, but we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those who are called, Jews and Greeks alike, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. For the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength.

While I study and marvel at the paradoxes of our Faith, it is only recently that I found myself living paradox at a visceral level. In fact, when the world looks at someone in my circumstances it sees either “folly”, envy, or hatred. The truth is always stranger and much more interesting than fiction or perception.

My Cross becomes heavier.

Two months ago I lost my fourth baby in miscarriage. We named him Andrew Thomas. We discovered his death on August 8th, the Feast of St. Dominic. We named the baby after my hero, St. Thomas Aquinas, on a Dominican feast day. The pain of the last couple months has been intense and filled with questions, anguish, anger, and confusion. The sorrow of this miscarriage is coupled with the very likely reality that I will not be able to bear any more children to term. The NaPro hormone treatments I was on throughout the pregnancy did not increase my hormone levels at all, and after seeing a beautiful healthy baby with a strong heartbeat twice, our baby boy died. My family and I carry the dual Cross of the death of another child and infertility. We are living proof to a world that thinks it can control fertility that only God decides family size. It should also be a reminder to Catholics who struggle with being self-righteous, that not every family with one child is using contraception.

Read the rest over at Catholic Exchange.

The Federalist: Are Pro-Lifers Who Grieve Miscarriage Merely Envious of Abortive Women?

I just realized that I never posted my most recent article at The Federalist on the blog. Please read it carefully. I am arguing the pro-life position while systematically examining a question that I have been asked many times: Am I envious of women getting an abortion because of my miscarriages? This article takes a very abbreviated Thomistic approach. Honest intellectual inquiry means examining the other side and drawing conclusions, and even, similarities. Here’s the article:

On the surface, it may seem the pain, grief, and suffering a miscarriage causes the child’s parents could blind their ability to serve at abortion clinics or within the pro-life movement in charity and truth. Some have a pronounced emotional reaction to losing a child in miscarriage. Grieving individuals can lash out at others and envy what they do not possess—namely, a child or more children.

It seems logical for a person grieving a miscarriage to turn in hate towards those who choose to abort their unborn children. These individuals of their own free will intentionally kill their unborn babies, and those grieving a miscarriage want a child. While the danger of envy and hatred exists, reality is much more interesting.

To Parents, Children Are People from Conception
From the moment a pregnancy test reveals a positive sign, the mother and father begin to plan and dream about their new child, a specific person. Men and women experience parenthood in different ways, but come together to discuss names, purchase baby items, contemplate how to rearrange the house if necessary, and plan for the future. They start to see their family with the unique person growing in the mother’s womb.

There is great joy in discovering that a new person has entered the world. Pope John Paul II’s letter to women, “Mulieris Dignitatem,” discusses the deep bond formed at conception:

“The mother is filled with wonder at this mystery of life, and ‘understands’ with unique intuition what is happening inside her. In the light of the ‘beginning,’ the mother accepts and loves as a person the child she is carrying in her womb. This unique contact with the new human being developing within her gives rise to an attitude towards human beings – not only towards her own child, but every human being – which profoundly marks the woman’s personality.”

From the beginning, a woman unites to her child in the very depths of her being and understanding. It is possible to suppress this understanding, which occurs in abortion. Those who endure the loss of a child in miscarriage, however, often profoundly experience this understanding. There is no question in their minds that a child, their child, is lost. This is precisely why the grief is so profound, even if it is done largely behind closed doors.

Read the rest over at The Federalist.

Miscarriage Grief: No We Aren’t Going Crazy

Grief is an arduous journey for all of us to walk. It is also a process we have very little control over and we have no choice but to walk it; often only relying in trust and hope that God walks beside us. Grief is a lot like being in a dingy in the ocean. The shore is somewhere off the port side, but we can’t see it. It’s foggy and dark and all we feel are the enormous swells. When periods of peace do come, they are often not serenity, but numbness. In fact, we may have days, weeks, months, years of numbness and then some trigger will pierce through and torrents of tears fall once again.

I have been in a period of numbness for a couple of weeks. Once the miscarriage finally ended the initial intensity subsided and the numbness set in. The miscarriage itself stopped and started over a period of 2.5 weeks, prolonging the initial agony. It now seems to have completed and the numbing–somewhat zombie like–period has begun. I started to wonder why I couldn’t seem to cry. I cried for days in the beginning, but then I couldn’t cry anymore and the ache turned to emotionless nothingness. This numbness is often worse than the intense suffering. Numbness leaves me wanting to reach out, but I can’t seem to grasp anything solid.

The numbness lifted temporary in the last few days. The tears began anew. Every mother and father grieving a child lost in miscarriage has different triggers. In the past, an infant Baptism at Mass would reduce me to a blubbering mess. I battled mightily in my first three miscarriages with the pain caused by my inability to baptize my babies before they died. Years of theological study and my trust in God’s mercy finally lifted that burden. Through the direction of different priests  and theologians, I was guided to a place of trust, even if I lacked solid answers. God assuaged the pain I felt because my babies died unbaptized.

This time the trigger is toddler and infant boys. My husband and I believe our most recent loss was a son, Andrew Thomas. Named for St. Andrew and my hero St. Thomas Aquinas. This past weekend, I once again returned to tears after attending Mass where five male altar servers served with great reverence in the more traditional cassock and surplice. This is such a rarity in my Diocese that the beauty from seeing it alone would have reduced me to tears. Instead, watching the youngest boy serve with the teenage boys reminded me of how much I miss my sons Andrew and Caleb.

The youngest boy serving must have been 7 or 8. He clearly had just received his first Holy Communion this year and the teenage boys towered over him, but they treated him with great care and guided him through the Mass. This young boy followed the great dance of the Liturgy (no I didn’t say liturgical dance….shudders) beautifully. His reverence and attention were remarkable in one so young. He did just as well as the older boys.

The second time I ached for my children was while we were at a park. My family and I went camping this past weekend. On our way home, we stopped at a park so our daughter could play. There was a little boy toddling around the playground. He clearly had only been walking for a short time. He was trying to keep up with the rest of the children playing around him. He was adorable.

My husband and I sat watching our daughter and the other kids play while we discussed adoption. We greatly desire more children, but it does not seem to be God’s will that they come from us. We have been contemplating adoption for over a year, but we are taking our time discerning when to put in our application. We want to make sure we make a clear-headed decision because we are grieving so deeply at this time.

Adoption is a long, invasive, and difficult process. We have four adopted nephews, so we know it is a rough process. It is also extremely expensive. It will cost us $15,000-25,000. Yes, you read that right. That’s for a domestic adoption. We have already been through orientation at our local Catholic Charities, so our decision will be made understanding that we will have to cut back tremendously, save a lot of money, and probably stay in our current home for a few more years rather than buy our dream home, which is a small farm. It’s a matter of choosing greater goods, and a human being is always a greater good. Pray for us as we discern God’s path for us.

Grief is a long process and it never fully goes away. There is always that slight prick whenever the lost person or persons is remembered. The ache to hold my children will never fully dissipate until, Lord willing, I meet them in Heaven. My daughter’s loneliness serves as a reminder that I have not been able to give her a sibling. And I even battle the pain that my writing has expanded to wider audiences because of my suffering. Writers often expand their audience because they are willing to enter into suffering. I would give up writing another word to have my children back, but that isn’t possible. Instead, it appears that for reasons not entirely clear to me, God has called me to bring attention to the miscarriage-abortion connection. Doors keep opening that I never imagined or thought possible, even as I sit in my dingy off the shore.

If like me, you are journeying through grief, you may have moments when you feel like you are going crazy. It seems like small things set you off and torrents of tears come streaming, even in public. There may be times the sobbing is uncontrollable and the wound that seemed to heal ever so slightly is gaping wide open once again. This is a part of grief. The senses are how we understand the world around us, which means our senses will trigger memories. Seeing a baby, hearing their laughter or cries, or any other type of sensory response can remind us of the lost child we miss so deeply. All we can do is ask for God to walk with us during this time of intense suffering. We have to hope that good will come of all of this, even if we don’t understand it on this side of eternity. Know that I am praying for all of you grieving. I know that I am not alone in my pain and so you remain in my thoughts and prayers. Pax Christi.

Miscarriage and Abortion: To my Interlocutors

I know that it is hard to understand me. Things I say and do are maddening. It is easy to push me away and to reduce my actions, words, and love, yes love, to hatred or envy. Often when we make choices out of fear, power, ignorance, or even apathy, we turn on others because they reveal those choices to us in some way. This is why when someone like me honestly shares the truth about pain and loss, I am accused of hatred or envy. I get it. In openly discussing the reality of miscarriage and the loss of a real person, I am implicating abortion. This implication is abhorrent to some, ignorant to others, and a long awaited sense of freedom and healing for so many.

I was supposed to grieve silently and on my own. I am supposed to take my cues from the abortion culture and pretend that I didn’t lose a child, or if it was a child, to grieve behind closed doors. I won’t grieve silently anymore, and neither should anyone else. In doing so, my desire to share my suffering in the service of others was greatly misunderstood by many. I knew this would happen, but I am not who you say that I am.

It has been a painful road, but that is the nature of this life. Suffering is an aspect of being human that comes to us all. It is what we do with the pain that matters. I choose to share it, not only for mothers, fathers, siblings, and grandparents who grieve miscarried children, but for women and men who have had abortions or who are contemplating an abortion. My bringing to light the miscarriage-abortion problem is not a condemnation. I condemn no one, but I have an obligation to save women, men, and unborn babies from abortion. This obligation is not born of envy and hatred. It comes from love. I want to address two accusations from my interlocutors. First, that I am envious of women having abortions and second, that I hate abortion supporters and those who choose to have an abortion.

First, envy by its very nature will not drive a person outside of themselves in the service of others. Envy is to covet, desire, or want to take something that is not ours. It is to hold what someone else has in such a high regard, that we do damage to ourselves. We no longer see the good within us, because we want what someone else possesses. Envy is deadly for a reason. It causes us to cave in on ourselves and to focus on what we have not been given or earned. Envy steals gratitude and robs us of happiness. I do not pray at abortion clinics, Planned Parenthood in these parts, out of envy. How could I? Why would I want to share anything with a person of who I am envious?

It is true that for a woman like myself, and I know countless other women, it is difficult for us at times to be present at a clinic where women are choosing to deliberately end the lives of their own children. We live in a world where I apparently can only have one child, who I am eternally grateful for, but where millions of women who can keep a pregnancy kill their children and their own motherhood of their own free will. I wouldn’t be human if it didn’t hurt me, but I am not envious. Their children, your children, are not mine, although my husband and I would adopt them in a heartbeat. I do not have a claim to them and I know this, so I am not driven by envy. I would stay home and write angry articles and blogs, rather than go pray in front of an abortion clinic. I wouldn’t share my own suffering in the service of others, instead I would rant and rave about what I don’t have in my own life. Some of you took the sharing of my pain as complaining, but you completely misunderstood my desire to help others who suffer as I do. Reducing me to a whiner is to completely disregard my purpose and my point, and quite frankly, it is to let yourself off-the-hook in trying to understand me.

In our culture, civil public discourse has been completely abandoned. Social media has become a place for people to spew vitriol in a vile manner because it is easy to hide behind apparent anonymity on the Internet. We should know by now that nothing we do or say on the Internet is ever truly anonymous or private. This has created an environment where anyone who disagrees with us automatically hates the other person or a group of people. This is a way to discard, discredit, or label a person. More often than not, however, this charge is false and it betrays the accuser’s own anger and inability to listen to opposing viewpoints. In the case of someone like myself–and the vast majority of those who pray diligently in front of abortion clinics, provide resources or time to crisis pregnancy centers, who gather items for poor women in crisis pregnancies, or who even write or speak on this topic–it is to confuse hatred and love.

Like envy, hatred does not drive us outside of ourselves. If we choose to publicly unleash our hatred on a particular issue, our message is automatically ineffective and revealed for what it truly is: An impotent clanging gong. Hatred is not accompanied by charity. Hatred is not sustaining and it consumes us, not the people we are trying to attack. I do not hate you. I honestly do not hate anyone, not even terrorists, and I saw the horrors of 9-11 in person as a relief worker. Hatred destroys us and I know that, so I do not fall for that trap. No, I love you, your baby, the father of the baby, and your family and friends. I don’t stop to ask whether or not that love is deserved. I love the people who have screamed at me. When I pray at the local Planned Parenthood the sign I hold is one I made and it says “You and your baby are loved beyond measure” and my daughter holds a picture of Our Lady of Perpetual Help holding the baby Jesus. I am not there to condemn you, but to be a loving and peaceful presence during a time of fear and confusion.

Love is not a feeling. Feelings may accompany love, but love in itself is not a feeling. Feelings are fleeting and change from moment-to-moment. Love is to will the good of another. It is to desire the genuine good for someone else and to go outside of ourselves in the service of that good. My miscarriages have taught me the deepest compassion and love for women seeking an abortion. It may seem “logical” to the culture for my pain to turn to hatred and envy, but it has not. The opposite has occurred. My pain has been transformed into a deep desire to help those women I see walking in and out of Planned Parenthood in my community.

As I said, love is to desire the good of another. That means my desire in love, the reason I am in front of our abortion clinic, is because I want those women to know that fear does not have the ultimate say. Whether it is fear of poverty, motherhood, dropping out of school, anger from family and friends, pressure from the boyfriend, husband, or parents, fear of medical conditions or whatever it is driving that choice, we all have the ability and courage to stand up to fear and pain. What is lost in choosing an abortion is tremendous. It is not only the loss of a child, your child, it is the loss of motherhood. It is a loss of the greatest opportunity to love and be loved.

Motherhood transforms a woman into the greatest person she can be, whether it is through biological, adoptive, foster, or even spiritual motherhood, for those women who cannot have children, those who have chosen chastity in the service of God, and those women who serve children in a variety of ways. In having children, our lives move away from being so much about ourselves, and they are changed into the service of another. This may sound daunting and burdensome, but we were made to and for love. In truth, the more we give of ourselves, the more we receive in return. There is a profound joy in motherhood that cannot be attained anywhere else. We only have to be open to love, sacrifice, pain, and joy.

I would never say that choosing motherhood is easy. It is not. It comes with tremendous sacrifice. There is nothing that has taught me more about my selfish nature, a nature we all have, than motherhood and marriage. Yes, my career path changed drastically when I became a mother. I did a lot in my Twenties. I served in naval intelligence, went to college, interned at The Heritage Foundation, lived in Europe, and the world was my oyster, but even with all of my accomplishments I knew that I wanted something more. My daughter is that more.

My daughter is greater than anything else I have ever done or been given. She teaches me daily in the art of wonder, beauty, self-sacrifice, and innocence. There is nothing in this world like hearing someone call you “Mommy” and in hearing your child tell you they love you each day. It is this joy, mingled with immense suffering through the four babies I have lost in miscarriage, that drives the compassion inside of me to pray at abortion clinics, collect supplies for women in need, and write about this topic knowing that I will be attacked for my honesty.

I know what lost motherhood feels like. I know what it is to lose an unborn child. I also know the abundant love of motherhood. No, I don’t hate you or envy you: I love you. I know that love can seem unbearable, unwanted, or burdensome. At the deepest level of our existence, we are made for love, genuine love, and that is what I am doing at Planned Parenthood and in my writing alongside the countless others striving to build a Culture of Life. I am striving, imperfect as I am, to will the good of another.

Why I Stopped Engaging the Comboxes on My Miscarriage Pieces

I survived my first major secular publication, and I mean, literally survived. I knew sharing my miscarriage experiences and framing it within the abortion war raging in our culture would unleash fury. I’ve been serving in front of Planned Parenthood and on pro-life committees in enough parishes and areas to know how abortion divides and how it brings out a great deal of depravity and hatred. To share honestly about miscarriage, is to automatically step onto the battlefield of abortion. Miscarriage implicates abortion by its very nature.

I genuinely enjoy good discourse. My parents were college debate partners and I was a debater and debate coach at one time. I experience great joy in intellectual discussions. I’ve also worked briefly in politics as an intern at The Heritage Foundation and now find myself in more theological circles, but discourse is a natural part of these environments.

The problem with Internet comboxes is they are devoid of true discourse. They turn into yelling matches from the get go and it is impossible to engage in a debate with someone who shifts the argument to fit their desires. It is even less possible with those who are blinded by pure hatred. There is no common ground with a person who thinks that it is a mother’s right to kill her child because the baby is in her body and purely because she “feels” like it. It is very difficult to reach people who are so turned in on themselves and trapped in that level of selfishness. It requires prayer and fasting on our part, quite frankly. It also requires a great deal of compassion, which has to be expressed in person and cannot be fully appreciated in the fighting of Internet comboxes. That’s why we pray at Planned Parenthood.

We are well past the clump of cells argument. The abortion industry realized that fight was lost with the advent of transvaginal ultrasound technology, which can detect a heartbeat shortly after conception. The real fight is about whether or not a mother has a right to murder her child. The abortion industry is out in the open and the ugly truth is that so many people have given into the nihilist lies of the last two centuries that they believe they have a right to kill their unborn child. There are a few who cling to the fetus (which in Latin means unborn, this has of course shifted overtime, due to the abortion agenda) is not a person, but by and large, people are fully conscious that they are ending their child’s life. They may not admit it publicly, or even fully to themselves, but what we have now is a group of people who think that whatever I want, I have a right to do, even murder. We are now in an age of self-worship where the false gods are not the sun or the moon, but are in fact, ourselves.

What’s more is that people are so entrenched in their ideology, or grappling with their own guilt from a past abortion, that a grieving mother is seen as “offensive” or “disgusting”. When asked what exactly a “fetus” is, nobody can seem to answer except to say a potential human. How does that change the unborn into something other than a human being? When is full potential realized and the “fetus” turned into a human being? They will not come out a moose, water buffalo, or Labrador Retriever. They will, and are a human baby, with all of the DNA to prove that point from the moment of conception.

We need to be careful. The potentiality argument is the most dangerous one to evolve within the pro-abortion movement. If that is the argument, what makes a full human? People like Peter Singer say it is someone who is over two years of age, so that means two year old’s should be freely exterminated by their parents. We are only beginning to see the true, radical, and horrible reality of abortion out in the light. Satan is  more brazen these days because so many have walked away from the Faith and into his lies. The real agenda is full on infanticide and the extermination of anyone who is not seen as “fit” by the powerful. This isn’t conspiracy theory, this is reality. This is nihilism: Will to power and might makes right.

It is impossible to discuss a topic that is based entirely on one’s own feelings. I ran into this the couple of times when I tried to engage with a person. Everything is contingent on me. If everything is based on how I feel then I have the right to go carte blanche and do whatever I want. I tried to explain this argument to no avail.  The reality is that comboxes are places for people to level vitriol at one another. They think because they have anonymity to a certain extent, that they can say the most vile and offensive things to a complete stranger. I have written about this problem before.

Writers take a good deal of risk every time they publish. There is always somebody who is offended even at the most innocuous of blogs or articles. When you step into an arena that is wholly uncivil and unjust it becomes clear that discussion will go nowhere, which is why I stopped reading the comments on my latest piece for The Federalist once they surpassed 15. My husband read them last night with great humor, but was astonished at the lack of intelligent discussion. He saw the same thing as me: Satan’s trick of turning woman away from God, herself, and man. Abortion is the continuation of Satan and Eve at the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. The temptation has always been God-like power and now women have power over life and death and it is intoxicating and enslaving. My husband is not one to read comboxes, and by and large, I stopped responding when I started getting hate mail or nasty comments over at Catholic Exchange, but he was strangely fascinated by the train wreck on my latest article.

The unfortunate reality is that I was wasting my time, energy, and breath trying to respond to people who cannot understand me, let alone themselves. It takes a certain kind of person to write hate mail to a grieving mother. All I can do is write and pray for the conversion of souls. I pray for each one of those people who launched terrible words my way and I will continue to do so, but I won’t fight with them. In fact, it says much more about the author of the email or comment than it does about me. I can handle the hatred and vitriol sent my way, but I am certainly not going to waste my time engaging with people whose only interest is revenge or self-gratification in attacking a woman who loves all life from conception to natural death.

As a Christian, I am reminded of the demonic forces always at work and I see the great dangers of the mob mentality, even on the Internet. Don’t expect to see me debating in comboxes again anytime soon. I write. People either like my work, hate it, are apathetic about it,  or it helps them. That’s all I can ask for as a writer. My hope is to touch the lives of those God wants to touch through  my work. I have been blessed by all of the emails and comments from people suffering or who have suffered as I do.That is the greatest blessing of all. Pax Christi.

Thank YOU for Sharing Your Stories

In the past week, I have received more emails and comments from readers than I have in the last year and a half as a regular contributor at Catholic Exchange and in my years as a blogger. People from all over the world have written to me about their experiences with miscarriage. More often than not, these families have suffered grief in silence and not even shared it with family members. Most of them felt like they had to keep their pain to themselves. A good many of these people are Catholics; members of the Church that tells us to be open to life and to celebrate each life, and yet, so many suffer in private.

I am not entirely sure why this miscarriage unleashed a fury of writing inside of me. I have barely been able to stop since I learned that I lost my baby, Andrew, two weeks ago. If I am not blogging or writing articles for other websites, then I am writing pages upon pages in my journal. It’s as if the pressure of so much loss and pain has been released and it is coming out at an astounding rate. In sharing my own agony, I have been able to share in yours. Thank you for your courage to write to me or even to write public comments in an arena that is often unjust, uncivil, and insensitive.

What all of this has revealed to me is that there is a serious disconnect going on in our culture, and at times, within the Church when it comes to miscarriage. As I wrote at The Federalist today, abortion has a major part to play in this problem. Since unborn life has been dehumanized and discarded within our culture, miscarriage is not recognized as the loss of a human being. The families who have experienced miscarriage, and who have not been blinded by the ideology of abortion, know they have lost a child. The problem is, that when the loss occurs, they feel that they have no one to turn to, not even the Church.

I don’t have all of the answers to this complex issue, but I am trying to find as many of them as I can. I, and a few other brave writers, have identified this issue and are trying to bring it to light. It will be a process. In sharing the pain of miscarriage, we are automatically stepping onto the battlefield within our culture over the dignity of the human person. In sharing our own stories, we will be attacked by those who hold abortion to be sacred, and it is a religion for some. It is this assault that I fear has kept so many people silent. No more.

The lives of our babies are precious, unique, and beautiful. We have every right to mourn their passing and the loss of motherhood and fatherhood here on earth. We will live the rest of our lives wondering who our sons and daughters would have become, while hoping to meet them someday before the Beatific Vision. The hope of eternity does not mean we do not suffer and ache because of the death of our unborn children. Death is a product of the Fall and not a part of God’s original design and desires for us. That means death is painful. It is painful in losing someone and it is painful in that it will come to each one of us eventually.

I will continue to write on this issue and to clarify the abortion-miscarriage connection. I also want to advocate for those who have experienced miscarriage and recurrent miscarriage in any way I possibly can. I want families to know that they are not alone and grieving over a lost child to miscarriage is completely natural and warranted. YOU ARE NOT ALONE. This is a journey. I don’t know where it will lead. That is up to God. I am still in the throes of grief myself, but I am trying, granted imperfectly, to use my pain for good.

Thank you to all of you who have shared your stories with me. I am sorry that I haven’t been able to respond to all of you individually. Part of that is because my own grief makes it difficult for me to write everyone back at this time, but I do hope to respond in time. All of your emails and comments are read. I briefly engaged a few naysayers at The Federalist today and was able to maintain a good sense of humor and a level head in the face of great ignorance and insensitivity. That must be God’s grace, because my grief should have warranted a different response. I guess I realize that in my walking onto the battlefield, I have to learn to deflect such attacks without emotion. The problem is that our culture cannot engage in reasoned discourse, so all arguments are seen as emotional. Engaging while grieving is definitely a test of mettle and patience. It is the perfect learning ground. I study philosophy and theology regularly and as a formal graduate student. I have the tools at my disposal to focus on reason over emotion and I want to keep it that way, even when truly hateful things are leveled my way. Above all, prayer for conversion is key. God bless all of you.