After all these years, the time has come for my story. Not my life story, just a slice. One of the slices that matters. Argue if you must that they all matter but I hardly think time spent playing computer games counts for much in the grand scheme of things.

This slice took place back in 1982 when I was 24 years old. Something happened to me that February which happens to hundreds of thousands of people a day: I was told by my physician that I needed surgery. He referred me to a neurologist in the Houston medical center because though he had diagnosed a pituitary tumor using a CT scan, I clearly needed more testing and a specialist.

After the original diagnosis proffered by my gynecologist I felt a swift shot of pure adrenalized panic. I remember his eyes, usually cold and distant, were filled with something like pity or concern. He was possibly afraid that I would fall apart… but of course I left his office and drove straight over to my friend Shirley’s house to freak out. She calmed me down and fielded calls from mom, who was convinced of my imminent death… and didn’t let go of that assumption until after I’d come out of surgery. I’ve come to understand it, but at the time it annoyed me no end. Sorry, Mom.

By the time I left Shirley’s I was calm. The subsequent neurologist visit went off as planned; he wanted to bung me straight into the hospital, that’s how quickly everything came together. And that was fine; my thinking was ‘take it out and let me get on with my life!’ Meanwhile my mother grew more hysterical by the day.

The general area:

I was scheduled to check into the hospital on a Sunday afternoon, have a week’s worth of testing, the surgery to remove the tumor, then another week to recoup before being released. That Sunday morning I decided to go to services at the little Baptist church out in the country I’d attended growning up. Though I’d converted to Catholicism in 1973 and had also lately been attending a different Baptist church with my friend I knew the people at Grace and they knew me. It felt like home, and I went to be prayed for because I’ve always believed in the power of prayer.

Personally, I was serene. There’s no other word for it; the calm I experienced came directly from my trust in God. I knew something could go wrong on the table. I knew anything could happen, but I had faith that whatever happened, HE was firmly in control.

The only other time I felt any fear was when Mom and Shirley left me at the hospital that Sunday. I felt very alone until I started to pray. That’s when the rosary comes in handy… You might be too upset to think, but if you start praying the rosary the Holy Mother will soothe you as surely as any mother calms her child.

A week of testing and more specialists followed. Many, many tests. MRIs, blood work, all kinds of things that I don’t remember. Doctors told me I would need endocrinology medications for the rest of my life. Other doctors checked everything from my eyes to my feet. Dyes were injected into my femoral artery so they could get a really good look at the tumor.

On the morning of my operation the waiting room was chock full of people; two Baptist ministers and numerous family and friends kept a vigil while I underwent surgery.

I really don’t know how much time elapsed, but I’m told the crowd fell silent when my surgeon came out to face them. He had no explanation, he said, shaking his head. It was like it was never there. Nothing. Nada. If it had really been there at some point, it sure wasn’t there now. He was perplexed.

The room erupted. There may have been singing, but I know prayers of thanks were flying fast and furious.

They told me what happened when I woke up in recovery and the only thing I wondered was why He waited to heal me. But you know, if it had happened any other way -like while I was having the tests the week before surgery- then they could have said that my gynecologist had made a mistake.

Needless to say, I was fine and didn’t require medications. I was healed. It was a miracle.

Miracles happen every day, everywhere. Sure, there are daily miracles at apparition sites like Lourdes and Medjugorje, but you don’t have to travel thousands of miles to experience one. And they may not occur how or when we want them to, but if we have faith anything is possible.

A mustard seed? Surely we can do better than that.

When I was a little girl I thought every act of nature was performed by magic.

Until 1964 we lived in a valley where the air was almost always warm. Once or twice a year the nearby mountains would call to my parents and off the family would set, Dad driving the ‘53 Chrysler station wagon he’d bought by eating only a hamburger a day.
If it was a day trip, we’d just go up to the San Gabriels to play in the snow, but sometimes the trailer followed us up for an extended stay.

Of course I thought the place enchanted, which is why the snow only fell there on the peaks.

Though I know through textbooks what makes the sun shine and the rain fall, the little girl in me never let go of the magic of it all. Thank God.

Even animal nature can be persuaded to accept things that otherwise would prove antithetic to their normal mode of conditions.

I received these in email and though they’re from 2004, the message is a good one right now. A California tiger gave birth to premature triplets who didn’t survive. Mama Tiger became severely depressed after the death of her babies but since there weren’t any other litters of cubs, orphan piglets were found and served the purpose… when wrapped in tiger skin!

We can all get along, but sometimes it means that we wear different clothes to fit in.

When the ‘cubs’ get a little bigger they’re going to have to put them on a weight loss program or Mom’s going to get wise…

Did you ever feel like the stars had aligned to a single purpose one day but that you willingly cast your lot with the mean spirited? How do we know when a true opportunity has been placed in our path… or are there opportunities every day that we don’t see?

Yesterday I took a $5 coupon to Publix. The cashier forgot to subtract it from the total bill, so she simply gave it to me in cash. That in itself felt odd, since I don’t carry cash. I figure if I get into a spot that my bank card and American Express can’t get me out of… well, then I’m probably done for, anyway.

So I stuffed the $5 bill into my pocket and left.

In order to leave Publix’s lot, I pulled up into the line of cars at the traffic light… and saw a man with a small sign. He looked horrible and was wearing obviously cast off clothing. Sporting longish, dirty, graying hair and beard, his sign said something about being a homeless Vietnam vet.

Thing is, I never carry money, but I had FIVE dollars. Thing is, there’s never been a homeless person asking for money in that spot in my six year history here. Thing is, I strongly felt that I should give him the money. It hit me like a lead weight to the solar plexus.

But I didn’t. Too many years of caring for the homeless close to home. Too many scams, too many secrets revealed.

So why am I obsessing about it now? Because I still think I should have given him the money. If I go back, he won’t be there. My opportunity is gone. It doesn’t matter whether or not he was ‘for real’. All that matters is the fact that I ignored my instincts in favor of a more sensible, realistic approach.

Maybe that was the point. The post encounter angst? I’m rationalizing again, aren’t I? Damn.

For me there has always been a parallel between pulling weeds and spirituality. I don’t know if it’s the simplicity of the act itself or because I relax so thoroughly during the exercise.

I pulled scads of weeds yesterday afternoon and it was like breathing: Good in, bad out. Good in, bad out. Not trying to pull the majority, I focused on certain areas and made them free of weeds. I tolerate weeds well in some areas, such as the lawn. Then there are the places where no weed should be, like the cultivated rock gardens.

There are some places in our heart where bad should never be found… and once there should be excised immediately. That kind of weeding is best done humbly, in prayer.

Pray for us, O Holy Mother of God.
That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.