Originally posted on September 17, 2010

The other day I posted this entry which is actually a repost from a three-part series I wrote back in the Fall of 2010. I’m continuing here with Part Two.

Originally posted on September 15, 2010

For those of you who haven’t yet read 109th Street, this is Part Two:

I wondered how my hot shot project manager boyfriend from the hot shot construction company could even allow us to live under conditions such as these.  But I said nothing.  I just took a lot of mental notes, not the least of which was the fact that Frankie’s boss, Vito, had, out of the goodness of his heart, allowed Frankie to move in to this rat hole, charging him half of the rent that he claimed he could’ve gotten from anyone else.  I supposed that Frankie had wanted me to believe this was some kind of generous gesture on Vito’s part.  Though he never said words to that effect, I felt that my hunch on this one was right on the mark.

Any other weathered city girl would’ve been reading Frankie the riot act by now.  But not I.  For starters, I wasn’t even originally from New York City; I came from a small community four hours upstate with larger and cleaner living situations, cheaper rent and functioning toilets.  I guess I was sort of caught between the I’m so happy to be out of cow country that I’ll put up with anything mode and my tendency to not be able to express my opinion and speak my mind.

Suddenly, there was a loud blast of music coming from outside the bedroom window which faced 109th Street.  I groaned, realizing that it was an eardrum piercing combination of Salsa, Rap & Hip Hop.

“Marg,” Frankie said, “it really ain’t so bad here!  This is a nice apartment.  Do you realize that we are living in the middle of Manhattan?”

Ya, it’s Manhattan alright.  More like the armpit of it. I rolled my eyes behind his back and headed out of the bedroom toward what appeared to be a kitchen.

Meanwhile, Frankie proceeded to check out his new pad, oohing and ahhing here and there when he discovered some ratty old pipe or wood beam that could conceivably serve as his new handyman special project for rainy Saturday afternoons when he was off work from his construction site.  I shook my head, wondering how I could have been stupid enough to ever have agreed to move into a place, sight unseen.

“Marg, you didn’t say nothin’ about the floor tiles in the living room!”

“Oh,” I feigned an air of enthusiasm, “ya, those are really nice.”  And then, knowing that I would be expected to inquire as to where they came from, how they got there, etc., I continued, “So you put them in yourself?”  I rolled my eyes at the lunacy of the situation as I turned to inspect a dead roach on the edge of the kitchen sink.

“I got these tiles from the job, Marg.  Vito said I could take them and fix up this apartment with them.  Aren’t they beautiful?  They’re almost like a pearly white combined with a subtle beige.  I don’t think you realize this is very expensive tile here.  Hehe – I got it dirt cheap, free, actually.  Hehe.  See – I always find a way, Marg, I always find a way to make things happen!”

If Frankie had been the least bit sarcastic just then – if he had shown the slightest sign of humor and given the faintest hint that perhaps he was looking for me to howl with laughter at the absurdity of what he had just said – I would have been throwing my head back, barely able to contain myself.  I would’ve struggled to catch my breath between laughter gasps.  But such was not the case – he, in fact, was AGAIN, dead serious.  He really believed that this pearly white meets subtle beige floor tile was something special.

Just then, I recalled an old story from my childhood by Hans Christian Andersen called The Emperor’s New Clothes.  It’s a story in which an emperor hires tailors from around the world to sew him a set of amazing new clothes.  Only, these so-called tailors turn out to be con artists and they convinced the emperor that his stunning new clothes would not be invisible to any man who was incompetent or unpardonably stupid.  The emperor sees nothing at all, but because he was afraid of being judged incompetent or stupid and not being willing to face reality, he pretends to be thrilled with the new clothes and parades himself around the town “wearing” them.  All the townsfolk also pretended to see his new clothes, until a child yells out from the crowd, “He hasn’t got any clothes on!”  I felt like that child just then, as I stood there watching Frankie make a complete fool of himself, trying desperately to convince me that we’d hit the renter’s lottery.

Compassion or Disgust?

Frankie sensed this tension that had been gradually filling the room and he walked over to me, grasping for the right words.

“Marg, I know I’m not perfect.  And I’m sorry you aren’t more excited about everything here.  But I promise in three months we’ll be somewhere else.  I told you to come to New York and I want to make good on my promise to make things right.  I happen to love this place and I just don’t get why you are so unhappy with it.  But I’m tryin’.  I really am tryin’.  If in three months come March I don’t come through for you then I understand if you gotta go back upstate.  But New York is where the opportunities are, not up there.  And if you can just hang on, I promise you that it’ll get better.”

I was quiet; just listening and watching his solemn expression that told me he was being totally forthright in his words and intention.  I couldn’t get why he couldn’t see what I saw, but then I realized that maybe he could, and that because this was all he could offer for now, he’d rather make it out to be something it wasn’t, than to throw up his hands and give in to the miserable fact that he failed me.

“Ok,” I quietly said.  “Let’s see what happens.”  And just as he was about to say something, a huge thud sounded from out in the hallway and we heard two voices arguing and cursing at each other.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Beats me.  Let me go take a look,” he replied.

He went to the door and opened it, to find two people standing in the hallway with what appeared to be their lives’ belongings in a shopping cart and laundry sack, just standing there staring at him.

“Hey,” Frankie nodded toward them, “how ya doin’?”

The younger person, a tall, thin Hispanic man muttered something and nodded back at Frankie.  The older person, a stout, white woman in her 50’s said, “Hi, I’m Carol and this is Siete.”

I listened from behind the door as Frankie chatted up small talk with our new neighbors and then excused himself, shutting the door behind him.

“Who was that?” I asked.

“Marg,” he whispered, “I think those two people lived here before we moved in.  Vito must’ve been letting them sleep here cause they ain’t goin’ nowhere.  They’re out there setting up camp in the hallway.”

“Well why does that mean that they lived in this apartment?”

“Because they said they live here and they sure don’t live in any of the upstairs apartments.  I’m tellin’ ya, they lived in here.”

“Oh,” I looked down at the floor, feeling a combination of compassion and disgust.  Compassion because my neighbors lost their home and now were sleeping out in the hallway.  Disgust because I realized that Frankie and I were now joining the ranks of the hallway homeless.  After all, if it didn’t work out for us in this rat trap of a dump, who’s to say we wouldn’t face the same fate as Carol and Siete?

to be continued..

Photo by: MR. 119th. STREET

Lately I’ve been attempting to create a resume that best reflects my skills and talents, highlighting the most important aspects of my employment history dating back to the early 1990s. I thought the task would be a breeze, but I’ve been finding out otherwise. I seem to be caught between the job titles of Public Relations, Sales, and Writer and can’t quite figure out how to present myself in a way that will enable me to be marketable in a variety of fields.

I’ve been thinking back on the last two decades of my life, realizing that the stuff that has made up my life – and in the most veritable sense, I might add – isn’t exactly *resume material*, and certainly does not in any way represent the professional profile of a desirable job candidate in today’s world. In fact, as the memories pop to life from some dark, abandoned corner of my mind, I find myself all too immersed in a sort of solitary pity party, realizing that as time was flying by, I was too caught up in the most unimportant events of the moment to even stop and consider the path I was on. In other words, I couldn’t seem to get a clear sense of where I wanted my life to go, continually drifting in and out of a kind of restless abandonment, tricking myself into believing that the future would work itself out, and that somehow things would just fall into place in their own time. Well, I suppose they have.

Back to my resume. . . . So, it occurs to me that there are certain pockets of time in our history that, no matter how significant the events that filled them may have been, do not in any way provide even one single iota of credence to the here and now. It’s as if the importance of moments past somehow looses its purpose as time goes by, leaving us feeling hollow, irrelevant, maybe even a bit yesterday’s news. What is a resume, anyway? A piece of paper where you cherry-pick the way you want your life to be perceived by someone else? Or a true representation of you?

I think God is continually teaching us the valuable lessons of life, sometimes in the most unsuspecting of ways. These lessons may not exactly be resume-worthy, but they sure do remind us of where we’ve been. And sometimes, it’s where we’ve been that reminds us of where we ought to be going.

Originally posted on September 14, 2010

There was a stint of time during my New York City years (Fall/Winter 1999-2000) when I had the misfortune of living on 109th Street.  Even though I’m now hearing that it’s supposedly a desirable street because Barack Obama once lived there, I found my particular pad to be anything but desirable.  In fact, I lived in the basement and truly believed that I’d hit rock bottom.  My boyfriend at the time (whom I will call Frankie) did not share my perspective.  In fact, he was convinced that he’d struck gold.

I shrieked as a rat scurried across my path and ran for cover in a nearby alley.  I was following behind Frankie as we climbed ten cement steps and entered a large, white painted brick building that was soon to be called home.

Frankie, in his Brooklynese dialect made a proud gesture and a grand sweep of his right hand as he pronounced, “Welcome home, Marg!”  He proceeded to lead me down a smelly old hallway that led to a smelly old staircase and into the dungeon of what would soon become my most horrid nightmare.  “Welcome home to 109th Street!” he said again, as he turned a key into a lock of an underground door that would soon be known as The Basement Apartment.

Nightmare on 109th Street

Frankie pushed the door open and led me inside, telling me to be careful not to trip over a large wooden beam and a broken sink pipe that lay next to each other in the middle of the floor.  No sooner had he issued the hazardous warning than he tripped over a small, irregular shaped piece of wood with a couple of nails sticking out, sharp and pointed upward, a fair warning of an impending tenancy.  I had not yet fully comprehended what I was encountering, aside from a mouse that nervously ran for cover under the shredded rust colored couch that the former tenants had left behind.  I let out a sharp and sudden yelp, but Frankie didn’t appear to be the least bit concerned.  He was opening a musty, stained curtain to let in whatever light would be welcome in a place that clearly hadn’t seen the light of day in what had to be the good part of a century.

Dark, dirty and musty.  Those were the three words that first came to my mind as I, still in somewhat of a stupor of disbelief, followed Frankie into the room that he nervously explained was to be our future bedroom.

“Of course,” he quickly added, “we need to make some improvements, Marg.  I mean, I’ll put a bed together tonight and I’ll get the other things ready by this weekend, for sure.”

I raised my eyebrow and cocked my head to one side, “What do you mean put a bed together?”

“Well, as you can see, the bed is, uh, not really complete yet.  I still gotta do some hammering and adjusting.  I gotta repair the box underneath cause right now all’s we got is a mattress and the bottom is shot.  But I got that wood from the job site.  Marg, I told ya I can make magic outta nothin’, hehe, just wait & you’ll see. Hehe.  They don’t call me Frankie the project manager for nothin’!”

Frankie had the tendency to chuckle between his sentences whenever he was nervous and not sure of what sort of reaction he would receive.  He actually believed (or desperately wanted me to believe) that his experience as a construction worker turned construction project manager had some relevant connection to this absurd undertaking of building a bed.  By his low chuckle and that way his eyes did that thing they did when someone dared to dispute his claims of expertise – I realized that I was supposed to smile, nod, accept and be quiet.  Besides, Frankie had a temper such as the likes I’d never seen before.  I dared not cross the path of this temper, even with the slightest question of concern.  I needed to try to get past this insanity and just sort of pretend that I was cool with it; especially at this particular time when we were clearly at a turning point of our new future together – West 109^th Street in the sprawling metropolis of New York City, in the coveted jewel of Manhattan – up and coming Harlem.

The place stunk of a combination of mildewed cloth and dusty, moldy wood.  And the bathroom – well, the bathroom was a work of art in and of itself.  It boasted of cheap white floor tiles, grimy from years of wear and crusty in the corners with thick layers of accumulated soot and dirt.  The sink was a poor excuse of a stub of porcelain, it’s tarnished silver faucet and spout jutting out like sore distractions in an already distracting environment.  The shower’s only redeeming feature was the water pressure.  It produced a hard, forceful current of water which was a consoling discovery, given the circumstances that we would soon be living under.  But the toilet – ah, the toilet – how can words even begin to describe the convoluted insanity that flushing would involve?  Basically, it didn’t really flush.  A bucket of water had to help it along and that would mean each and every time there was to be a flush, accompanied with massive plunging strokes that the black plunger sitting in the corner would accomplish.  These are the moments of gratitude – when the new tenant discovers a treasure that the old tenant left behind – in this case, a functional toilet plunger.

I didn’t feel that I had the right to tell Frankie that I thought the apartment was a dump.  For some reason I just accepted everything on his terms, even though internally I was screaming UGLY!  GROSS!  WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?  THIS PLACE IS THE PITS!  I wish I’d had the wherewithal to speak my mind and just (nicely) let Frankie know that it wasn’t going to work out.  It still bothers me that I never felt like I had a voice of my own and that for some reason I had to allow other people to take the control as I faded into the background with no right to an opinion.  In fact, I talk briefly about that former tendency of mine in one of my recent posts.

I will continue with my story of 109th Street in my next post…

Photo by: MR. 119th. STREET

The other day I received an email from a woman asking for guidance with regard to her sister and an adverse situation she’s been dealing with. I have posted her prayer request in the form of our email conversation below. Please keep this person in your prayers. Also, please visit the category on the sidebar titled Prayer Requests if you’d like to read the previous posts on this topic. And be sure to let me know if I accidentally neglected to include your request and I will certainly include it in next week’s post. Thank you for your prayers and for sharing your time.

Prayer Request

Hi, I came across your site today, and was hoping you might be able to help me. I am the third in a family of 5 girls and my sister (#4) has been suffering from sexual trauma, diagnosed bi-polar (but presents as borderline) an addict and I think she may be suffering from demonic oppression, based on recent events she has shared and i witnessed last night before my mother and I had her admitted (no other choice but the place she has been in numerous times and has failed to help her) Please, any guidance would be appreciated.

Hello,

Thank you for visiting my blog and for taking the time to write.

The only thing I can suggest is to have your sister visit a priest, preferably a Catholic one, and see if he can possibly provide some sort of direction and counsel for her. I hesitate to offer any sort of “professional” advice because I don’t know you or your sister and would not want to misguide you. Also, I’m not equipped to advise on such matters and wouldn’t feel right about giving my opinion either way.

I’m not sure if you are Catholic or not, but I am, and my situation was turned over to the Catholic priests in my diocese and beyond. They are best equipped to deal with this sort of thing and if they feel that the problem is non-spiritual in nature, they will be able to advise as to where your sister might seek emotional/mental counsel from a professional therapist who is trained in these matters (someone other than the person/people who are currently treating her.) In other words, if the place where she’s currently seeking help isn’t helping her, I’d go elsewhere. I’m sure the priests would be more than happy to assist you in at least figuring out a new direction.

If you would like me to put your email in the form of a prayer request on this blog (leaving out your personal information) I’d be happy to do so as early as tomorrow. Then you will have numerous people praying for you and your sister from all over the world.

Please feel free to write back. I can’t always answer my emails right away, but I do my best to answer them as soon as I can.

Best,

Margo

Hi Margo, thanks for responding. We are Catholic and I have a friend who has reached out to a catholic psychologist as well. My sister was released from the hospital yesterday and is staying with my husband and I until she is able to attend an all women residential program. I would be so grateful if you could put in a prayer request. She and I both shared night terrors last night at one point when I woke up I went to check on her and shared that in my night terror she had our Mother’s rosary and she said she had been thinking about it since it is blessed. It is hard to determine if some of this is medication/mental health related or if it is something more. I appreciate the advice and please if you wouldn’t mind putting in a prayer request that would be great. Thanks so much.

Warmest Regards,

The Magnificat – also known as the Song of Mary or the Canticle of Mary – is one of the eight most ancient Christian hymns and possibly the earliest Marian hymn. The canticle’s text is taken directly from the Gospel of Luke (Luke 1:46-55) where the Virgin Mary goes to visit her cousin Elizabeth who is pregnant with the future John the Baptist. After Mary greets Elizabeth, the child moves within Elizabeth’s womb. Elizabeth praises Mary for her faith, and Mary in turn responds with what is now known as the Magnificat. (This scenario is also known as the Visitation, one of the five Joyful Mysteries of the Rosary.)

Here is the Magnificat, in both English and Latin. I have also included the hymn in this post below.

The Magnificat

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for He has looked with favor on His lowly servant.

From this day all generations will call me blessed: the Almighty has done great things for me, and holy is His Name.

He has mercy on those who fear Him in every generation.

He has shown the strength of His arm, He has scattered the proud in their conceit.

He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly.

He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich He has sent away empty.

He has come to the help of His servant Israel, for He has remembered His promise of mercy, the promise He made to our fathers, to Abraham and his children for ever. Amen.

Originally posted on April 16, 2011

I’ve noticed that when I Google the words Catholic Church Scandals 6,600 global monthly searches pop up.  And yet, when I Google the words Protestant Church Scandals only 46 global monthly searches pop up.  Jewish Synagogue Scandals gets 0 (zero) searches, and Muslim Mosque Scandals is also 0 (zero.)  I never really stopped to think (until now) about the fact that the Catholic Church scandals are really the only scandals we hear about in anything religion-based.  I mean, I suppose there must be other scandals involving other religions, but it’s so weird to me that the Catholic Church scandals are the only ones with an astronomical Google search count.

Catholics Are Creating Catholic Church Scandals

Another thing I’ve taken notice of since starting my blog last June is the way in which some Catholics (many of whom are bloggers) with a significant online presence think nothing of bashing other Catholics whenever something negative in the media pertaining to the Catholic Church happens to be the hot topic of conversation.  Rather than rally together to support the Church and promote praying for the person or people who are the focus of such a topic, instead they choose to use the news piece as a way in which to create a comment war between their readers.  I suppose these people don’t stop for a moment and think about the fact that they are quite possibly contributing to an even larger, more dangerous Catholic Church scandal than any of the other Catholic Church scandals combined.  After all, if Catholics are fighting Catholics, what sort of message does that convey to people of other religions?  And what sort of message does it send to the fallen away Catholics who are already overly suspicious and skeptical whenever there is wind of anything adverse either brewing or potentially brewing within the Catholic Church?  And more importantly, what sort of message does this send to Jesus, Who, in factis our Church?

Catholic Church Scandals and Advice from Father Mitch Pacwa

The other night I was watching Threshold of Hope which is hosted by Father Mitch Pacwa.  I actually wasn’t sitting there watching it, but rather had it on in the background while I was doing something else.  I heard Father Pacwa say something to the effect that Catholics need to stop fighting Catholics.  I think the words caught my attention because I’d been putting together some thoughts for this post and there was a sort of synergy between what Father Pacwa was talking about and what I was preparing to write about.  I wish I could remember the rest, but the gist of what he was saying was that Catholics need to band together, especially in times of trial, and support each other through prayer and good works and not just sit back on the couch doing nothing.  And I will add my words to that: not just sit back on the couch basking in the drama of the adversity rather than praying for peace, change and healing.  Rather than creating their own Catholic Church scandals, why don’t these people focus on the ones that are currently in existence and promote an air of peace rather than a breeding ground for anger?

Catholic Church Scandals and Children on a Playground

I have vivid memories of my childhood and many of them involve school.  I can still hear some the arguments between students having to do with everything from whose turn it was to lead the Pledge of Allegiance to who was going to sit next to who on the bus.  Then there was the homely girl whom everyone picked on, saying that she had germs and providing “shots” with their ball point pens to vaccinate the other students against such germs.  There was the competition in picking teams in basketball where some poor loser was inevitably always left sitting alone on the bleachers because he or she didn’t quite make the cut.  There was the snickering behind the teacher’s back, the talking out of turn in class and the playground bullies who always seemed to manage to ruin everyone’s fun.  Oh, by the way, it was Catholic school.  But also, by the way, we were children, and children don’t always use the best judgement.  And when it comes to these Catholic Church scandals, shame on the Catholic adults who ought to know better.

Catholic Church Scandals and Healthy Disagreement

There is a time and place for healthy debating and disagreement between people.  After all, we see it everywhere, all the time, in every facet of our lives.  But when it comes to our faith, our Catholic faith that is supposed to be what we stand for and what we will stand by when adversity strikes, it is flat-out wrong for Catholics to engage in the ego-driven rant sessions that only add fuel to the fire, creating additional Catholic Church scandals that otherwise wouldn’t exist.  I am happy to see that you readers of this blog are kind to one another, and you all seem to share the common thread of poise and respectfulness.  And even when there is disagreement, it is never accompanied with harsh words or angry sentiments; it allows room for thought and reflection and provides a healthy atmosphere of idea and insight sharing.  Thank you for that.

Catholic Church Scandals and Our Lady’s Message of Peace

I think the best test for us in determining how and when to react to any given situation or circumstance is to first ask ourselves how Our Lady would react if she were in our shoes.  For instance, if you take a look at the different Catholic Church scandals that have plagued the Church throughout the years, or even the situations that have the potential to become scandals, depending on how they end up rolling out, do you think for one moment that even in the worst of these situations and circumstances Our Lady would behave in the manner in which some Catholics are behaving toward one another?  I’m sure she would be hurt and offended and deeply saddened by the incidents, but I am also quite certain that her reaction to them would be driven by love, not anger or hatred.  Do you think she reacts positively when she sees Catholics fighting Catholics, bashing each other over conflicting ideas and how things should, could, would or will be done within the Church?  I think not.  I would imagine that sort of behavior would only cause her to feel pain and anguish as she watches her children strike out at one another under the pretense of defending their Catholic faith.

Our Lady’s fifteen promises of the Rosary include many spiritual gifts and graces.  And in my opinion, the fourth promise, which I’ve included in bold font below, is the perfect spiritual remedy for not only all those affected by the Catholic Church scandals of this day and time, but also those who are perpetrating unnecessary adversity from which new scandals inevitably are born.

The Rosary will cause virtue and good works to flourish; it will obtain for souls the abundant mercy of God; it will withdraw the hearts of men from the love of the world and its vanities, and will lift them to the desire for eternal things. Oh, that souls would sanctify themselves by this means.

Yesterday I had to have one of my cats put to sleep. I had found out back in February that she had a mass in her abdomen and that there was the option of spending $7,000 for surgery to have it removed or leaving it alone and administering various herbs and supplements in the hopes of shrinking and/or healing it. I chose the herb and supplement option, but unfortunately, the mass continued to spread. Over the past several days my cat had seemed to be losing energy and appetite, and a couple of days ago I came to the sad conclusion that the only humane thing to do would be to put her out of her misery. I have a final memory of her in the vet’s examination room as the technician held her in her arms so that I could say goodbye while she was still alive vs. having to sit in on the euthanasia procedure.

I was going to post a picture of her but then realized that it would bother me too much because I can’t look at her face right now. It just makes me too sad. Her name was Roxanne. I had adopted her in November of 2007 and was told at that time that she was around 11 or 12 years old. I guess she lived a good long life, and I’m just very grateful for the time I had with her. But now I’m wondering about whether or not our pets go to Heaven. Does anyone know? I actually found myself Googling the topic but found conflicting answers. For every website that claims our pets go to Heaven, there is another one saying they don’t. I’m wondering if anyone knows anything about this. I guess I’m just of the mindset that if we are to be like little children in order to enter the Kingdom of Heaven, wouldn’t it make sense that as “little children” we would expect our pets to join us in Heaven one day? Maybe we aren’t supposed to know until we get there, God willing we do get there. I guess the best I can do at this point is to hope. And sometimes it’s that hope that holds everything else together.

A couple of weeks ago I received an email from someone who has been dealing with some sort of demonic harassment in her home that is targeting the whole family. At her request I promised to block her identity and the identity of the people and places that she referenced in the email. Other than those minor changes, below is the copied and pasted email from this person exactly as she wrote it (including the title.) She was very happy to know that it was to be posted on this blog and has asked for our prayers. 

Strange and disturbing occurances at home

Greetings, I fell upon your site when I Googled “Miracles of the Rosary” today. I began to read your blog by clicking on the Popular Posts section and I came across your article Demonic Oppression. My family and I (mostly me) have had the worst case of ongoing spiritual warfare in our homes…yes homes, plural MORE than one. The symptoms of this demonic activity lasted years. This year we moved into a home and the activity got so out of control we had a house exorcism and a Catholic exorcism of myself. I never ever thought what happened would have happened to me outside of some insane horror movie script. Either way when people undermine the reality and evil power of the devil they are powerless to defend themselves. So many people are spiritually corrupt and disabled. I was never a evil person, I just liked to indulge in sin. I began to see the realities of my sin and decided to change my life. Then the attacks started. They were gradual at first and I would brush them off as creepy coincidences but as I began to actively pursue a relationship with Christ and separate myself from sin it got much much worse. My daughter has been the target for demonic attacks and so has my husband…to a lesser degree. He is dealing with the realities of his sin now and last week he realized what can happen if you renounce Satan and sin….the Devil steps in to try and deter you. Our case went to the Archbishop of (               ) and there were many clergy involved with our case. In fact when I moved here with my family I met a devout Catholic woman who encouraged me to seek religious help. I am currently converting to Catholicism and active in my faith. My friend became the subject to demonic attacks and so had the priest who had intervened. When I left the church a fire broke out int he kitchen and blew off the door..the only place in the church that had not been blessed. Symptoms of evil spirits operating in our home were, swirling grey/black smoke, rotten smell that moves, voices, whispering, shadows, hissing, demonic faces in pictures (long ugly story) demonic faces appearing on bath towels and so refined and detailed that it was STARTLING! bad dreams, bed shaking at night, knocks at door and from inside wall, footsteps, strange languages being spoken late at night, lights turning on by themselves, phones cut off when I speak to clergy, “ghosts” walking right up to my daughter and then disappearing, electronic devices being interrupted when religious hymns are being played, the Bible was torn, I have been grabbed, bit and there are so so many other stories. I had ADD and was seeing a doctor for it…I went by my own volition to see a emerg psychiatrist twice and they cleared me. I had a scan of my brain to check for seizures, ect…..nothing. I see white glowing eyes regularly, and I have seen red glowing eyes on Christmas Eve. It follows me and I work in health care and I have had clients ask who is knocking at the door…no one. I have had objects fly from tables, gnawing from the wall, fire started in one of my clients stoop and the fire dept had no explination and there was no source or origin of where the fire started exactly. Oh the list goes on and on. My Catholic friend who is deeply religious came to my house and refused to stay…we saw a yellow cloud move across the kitchen and oddly enough she could herself tell me where she felt the evil….just staring and monitoring us (it happens a lot) EXACTLY where I felt it. I have seen a weird black line trace itself across the wall in my bedroom above the jacuzzi and from it came a outline of someone…I dont know who. When my friend was here she felt sick and developed a shooting pain in her head and we prayed. The door..the front door burst open. When the exorcist was here the same thing happened. It was so uncomfortable it was looking for a place to go. Some preacher once said…if the devil isnt bothering you, your doing something wrong. I was on the right path in my life and I believe God uses even the devil to move people closer to him. It worked…we have become born again Christians and actively pursue a more Christlike lifestyle. Last week I was sprinkling some holy water in the house and I heard a growl…it happens a lot. It sounds like there is a rabid dog int he room. There is so much more to it then the summery I have given you. God is just as active in this house as the evil spirits and there have been so so many times I have been a witness to God’s divine intervention. I cannot say what a miracle the Rosary is. I would like to run in the paths of Christian perfection! And I have seen many horror movies in my time but nothing fed me these ideas. I did not know the symptoms of demonic activity and oppression before actually having to experience them….Well sorry for this long winded email. I do not tell anyone these details because just the mention of the devil and exorcism sounds medieval and superstitious. Well I am glad I found your page and I will continue to read your blog. I suppose I am looking for someone who has experienced these things so we can relate stories and somehow I still have a hard time believing them myself, even now. Sorry for the bad spelling and poor punctuation I am on the fly! Be well and God bless

Today there are three prayer requests, the first of which is from Father Brent. Please keep in mind that the Divine Mercy Novena started on Good Friday and ends the day before Divine Mercy Sunday, which this year falls on April 15th. Father Brent asks for prayers, including prayers for financial blessings for his ministry and parish school. We should remember that yesterday’s Divine Mercy intention was for “the souls of priests and religious.”

Happy Easter to all of you and to your families and loved ones. May the peace of Christ and the protection of Mary surround you and keep you safe, healthy and happy. And thank you for your continued interest and interaction on this blog because of your love for Mary and the treasures of the Holy Rosary. Thanks for helping to heal the world one bead at a time.

Prayer Request from Father Brent

Please pray for healing and for health. Also please pray for protection and financial blessings for ministry and parish school.

Prayer Request from Jim

Please St. Francis, I plead with you to intercede on my behalf: for my mother who passed six months ago; for my grandmother on the anniversary of her birth (Friday); for peace within family; for successful and peaceful resolution of all real estate, property, financial matters; for all who are ill-depressed-despairing-fearful. I am feeling so alone and worried and beg our dear Lord to help me through the intercessions of St. Francis and all the saints and angels. Thank you.

Prayer Request from Luke

Lord, please give me a full time permanent job. I have been praying for two years and I am really sad that my prayer is not answered. I know nothing is impossible for you but I feel disappointed. Mother Mary, please pray for me.

Originally posted on April 2, 2011

Saint Raphael belongs to the Choir of the Archangels and is one of three Archangels whose names are revealed in Sacred Scriptures; the other two are Michael and Gabriel.  Raphael’s name means “God heals” and he is the patron saint of happy meetings and travelers, as well as physicians, nurses, the blind and many others which you can read about here.

Ever since my house became a target for some sort of spiritual entity, I’ve developed a renewed interest in the angels and their roles in our lives.  But it occurs to me that I haven’t really written enough about the angels (except for Saint Michael the Archangel), and that this powerful prayer to Saint Raphael should most certainly be posted in this blog.  I like to say the prayer before family gatherings and before meetings with loved ones whom I’ve had tense relations with in the past.  I also like to ask for Raphael’s assistance with other people whom I care about who are either getting together to try to work our their differences or even meeting together to explore a possible romantic connection!  The prayer to Saint Raphael is one that should be prayed constantly, by all of us, for ourselves, our loved ones and really, the whole world.

Prayer to Saint Raphael

Raphael, Angel of Happy Meetings, lead us by the hand toward those we are looking for.  May all our movements and all their movements be guided by your Light and transfigured by your Joy.

Angel Guide of Tobias, lay the request we now address to you at the Feet of Him on Whose unveiled Face you are privileged to gaze.  (Mention your request.)  Lonely and tired, crushed by the separations and sorrows of earth, we feel the need of calling to you and of pleading for the protection of your wings so that we may not be strangers in the Province of Joy, and ignorant of the concerns of our country.

Remember the weak, you who are strong – you whose home lies beyond the region of thunder, in a land that is always peaceful, always serene, and bright with the resplendent glory of God.

Prayer to Saint Raphael and the Unknown

I had actually planned on ending this post with the prayer to Saint Raphael, but then it occurred to me that there is one other area where Raphael’s intercession is invaluable; that is, where the unknown is concerned.  The first two lines of the prayer are: “…lead us by the hand toward those we are looking for.  May all our movements and all their movements be guided by your Light and transfigured by your Joy.”  Considering those words, I believe that we can be assured of Raphael’s assistance, not only in bringing about a happy exchange in meetings that concern people we already know, but also in leading us toward those people whom we’ve yet to meet; people whom we are compatible with and who share the important common bond of believing in the Lord and following in His footsteps.