A Sign Of God's Love
Stories
Vision Stories
True Accounts Of Visions, Angels, And Healing Miracles
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer; by night, but find no rest. (vv. 1-2)
I am a member of the School Sisters of Notre Dame. On July 11, 1958, my mother passed away after a year's bout with cancer. Two weeks after her death, I was transferred from Chicago, and a large convent of 33 sisters whom I knew and loved, to a group of four in Morton, Illinois, near Peoria. I didn't know the other three sisters very well. We were starting a new school in a new parish. That was exciting in itself, but I felt holes in the middle of myself. I was 28 years old and this was my first experience of deep, personal grief. I had no idea of what was happening to me, and neither did the other sisters in my community. They were all young, too.
My love for life and fun seemed to be gone. I did my ministry of teaching as best I could, but it didn't energize me in the old way. I mourned my mother every day and missed my family and friends. I wondered what was wrong with me and if I was going a bit crazy. I didn't feel inclined to talk much to the other sisters about it, for fear they would confirm my psychic illness. Oh, if I had only known then what I would learn later: that allowing myself to be vulnerable in sharing and crying, in receiving love and compassion from others, is healing.
Nearly a year went by, and I went off on my annual six-day retreat. I was thoroughly miserable as I looked back over a year that I thought was a total waste. The joy of my religious life and ministry was gone, and I wondered if I would be able to go on.
On about the fourth day of my retreat, I was walking outside in a big field of grass. I was crying and looking down when I saw a tiny flower, no bigger than a quarter of an inch in diameter. Its deep down center was red and the outer edge pink. I can see it as clearly today as then.
My attention was completely absorbed by the flower, and I breathed, "Oh, God, in this vast field, I'm the only one who will ever see this!" Quickly, the answer came back, "Yes, and it's yours, made just for you as a sign of my love." The impact of that moment brings a lump to my throat and tears to my eyes every time I share the story.
That moment did something to my insides. My spirit was touched and I began to feel like my old self, only much richer and wiser with the assurance of God's love.
I am a member of the School Sisters of Notre Dame. On July 11, 1958, my mother passed away after a year's bout with cancer. Two weeks after her death, I was transferred from Chicago, and a large convent of 33 sisters whom I knew and loved, to a group of four in Morton, Illinois, near Peoria. I didn't know the other three sisters very well. We were starting a new school in a new parish. That was exciting in itself, but I felt holes in the middle of myself. I was 28 years old and this was my first experience of deep, personal grief. I had no idea of what was happening to me, and neither did the other sisters in my community. They were all young, too.
My love for life and fun seemed to be gone. I did my ministry of teaching as best I could, but it didn't energize me in the old way. I mourned my mother every day and missed my family and friends. I wondered what was wrong with me and if I was going a bit crazy. I didn't feel inclined to talk much to the other sisters about it, for fear they would confirm my psychic illness. Oh, if I had only known then what I would learn later: that allowing myself to be vulnerable in sharing and crying, in receiving love and compassion from others, is healing.
Nearly a year went by, and I went off on my annual six-day retreat. I was thoroughly miserable as I looked back over a year that I thought was a total waste. The joy of my religious life and ministry was gone, and I wondered if I would be able to go on.
On about the fourth day of my retreat, I was walking outside in a big field of grass. I was crying and looking down when I saw a tiny flower, no bigger than a quarter of an inch in diameter. Its deep down center was red and the outer edge pink. I can see it as clearly today as then.
My attention was completely absorbed by the flower, and I breathed, "Oh, God, in this vast field, I'm the only one who will ever see this!" Quickly, the answer came back, "Yes, and it's yours, made just for you as a sign of my love." The impact of that moment brings a lump to my throat and tears to my eyes every time I share the story.
That moment did something to my insides. My spirit was touched and I began to feel like my old self, only much richer and wiser with the assurance of God's love.
