Category: Faith

Advent, Catholicism, Christmas, Faith, Holiness, Jesus, Love, Prayer, Scripture

Our God is Like No Other – Advent Reflection, December 3rd

Carrie Sue Barnes

Week One, Sunday – December 3rd

From of old no one has heard or perceived by the ear, no eye has seen a God besides thee, who works for those who wait for him.

Isaiah 64:4, RSV

There are occasional moments when I am overcome by the love of God. I meet the eyes of the stranger taking my meal order or passing me in the store aisle, and hear the Lord say, “I died for this one.” I listen to my children’s laughter and I am filled with awareness that God loves me infinitely more than the humungous love I have for them.

It’s happening right now. I’m writing this at a high-top table in my favorite local cafe, with tears running down my cheeks and a full smile on my face. I’m pretty sure the manager is questioning if he should check on my mental stability.

All good here, sir! I just needed this vanilla chai more than I realized.

This God we love and worship conducts Himself in a wholly unique way. He is a God who serves. He pours Himself out for the ones He loves. He loves! That alone sets Him apart from any other god with whom we could align ourselves.

He loves His lowly creatures; these beings whose existence depends entirely on his divine choice. Our God does not regard us with self-gratifying pride because any good in us is a credit to Him (which is true enough). No, He loves. He crafts us in His own incredible image — in endlessly creative ways — and calls out to our hearts from the moment we are created until we see Him face to face.

He gives Himself to me. He reveals to me my value. He places Himself in unworthy human hands, first by the Incarnation of Jesus Christ, true God and true man, and forever after in every Eucharist I receive.

This Advent, as I prepare to celebrate His marvelous work of the humble birth of Jesus, my prayer is for my heart to fall deeper in love with this God “who works for those who wait for him.” I pray that I will give myself permission to get emotional over his love, and be touched by it in the spaces of my heart that need Him most. I pray that however His love affects me, I’ll have the courage not to thwart it.

Faith, Personal Reflection, Prayer, Scripture

The Two Faces of Still

Carrie Sue Barnes

I have spent what feels like plenty of time growing my knowledge of the effects of trauma, the stages of healing from it, and the gentle patience required to do so. No matter the amount of understanding though, there are days when it all seems to be taking too long. How can these things of the past still weigh so heavily? How do they still influence my emotions as often as they do? Why am I still discovering what sets off my trauma responses?

Still, still, still.

“It’s taking too long, Lord!” I have cried out on more than one occasion.

In those instances, He patiently reminds me that the time spent healing is still small; still disproportionate to the years spent on the receiving end of the relevant experiences. My therapist’s words repeat in my mind, “It’s still early.”

Still, still, still.

How tremendously often that word arises. It happened again last night. I was caught up in the undesirable realities that linger. I am still not writing with any ease. I am still fearful of connection and relationship. I still can’t fall asleep many nights. I still succumb to overwhelm in the face of trauma-triggering circumstances.

“It’s still taking too long, Lord!”

This morning, God invited me to push back and flip that word around. He nudged me to claim it for better things.

“The Lord will fight for you; and you have only to be still” (Exodus 14:14, RSV).

“Be still, and know that I am God; I am exalted among the nations, I am exalted in the earth!” (Psalm 46:10, RSV).

“He awoke and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, ‘Peace! Be still!’ And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm” (Mark 4:39, RSV).

“Now therefore, stand still and see this great thing which the Lord will do before your eyes” (1 Samuel 12:16, RSV).

How different “still” can be from one meaning to the next. I wrestle with all that I strive to release and from which I long to be free. God instructs and invites me, even commands me, to be still.

Me. The storms. The discontent, the fighting, and the fear. Be still.

One detail I note from those verses and others is the stillness occurs in the presence of the Lord as well as right in the circumstances requiring His grace. Amongst the waves and in the thick of the waiting, when what lies ahead remains unknown, and in the face of the fight at hand, I can come before Him and be still.

Be still. God is present.

Be still. God fights.

Be still. God calms.

Be still. God restores.

Be still. God reigns.

Photo by Carrie Sue Barnes
Dignity, Faith, Gratitude, Hope, Personal Reflection

After a Year

Carrie Sue Barnes

It’s been more than a year now since I set change in motion. After the divorce became official a few weeks ago, my thoughts began often reviewing the past year. Then last night, looking for a specific photo, I paused on the first picture in this video. Day one… papers signed… gladness lighting me up.

How far I’ve come, free of doubt and full of effort. More than a year of rediscovery of my real self. The me that was silenced and gaslit (by me) for over a decade, for a relationship that did likewise. I’ve spent this year relearning how to listen to myself and my Lord.

It’s been a year of rescue, and it turns out rescue can be enormously painful. I am rebuilding trust. I work daily at rejecting fear and choosing forgiveness. Placing the years of abuse, manipulation, and resulting bitterness into God’s hands (repeatedly), I receive peace, relief, and joy in return.

He does indeed restore my soul and I will praise Him.

Faith, Friendship, Hope, Personal Reflection, Prayer

On the Way Home

Carrie Sue Barnes

God and I had a hard talk today. Driving home on Highway 43, I railed and prayed and wept for my dear friends and their newly arisen hardships. What a cross is cancer.

I alternated between asking for mercy and a miracle, and voicing demands to know why and how.

Then came a truth that got me through oh so many dark days in the last few years. It cut across my thoughts in a clear voice.

“The Lord God stands in your future.”

My mind quieted and I repeated that truth to myself.

It is not why and how that can bring peace. It is only the truth that God stands in my future; that He stands in my friends’ futures. The Holy Spirit led my thoughts from there.

God stands in all of it – in every period of our lives. Each stretch of the road is a piece of the journey that can lead to Him. To Heaven and our fullness of life for eternity. Only He sees from beginning to end, and where this present piece fits into the whole.

Because of who He is, we can trust Him with the whole thing. Past, present, future can be entrusted to His hands. He, in turn, entrusts a piece back to us. He holds that piece with us. That piece is now. It is the most present part of the present stage of our lives. It is today.

“I give you today. I ask you to bear it, yes, but it only. I give you the joys and sorrows, the tasks and fruits of today. And just as I have not yet given you the time of tomorrow, I have not given you the work of tomorrow. Those worries, wants, and crosses are still in my hands. I stand in your future, a beacon and a fortress. I hold your future. I hold it lovingly in the palm of my hand. There is a refuge there in my hands, even now.”

The Lord God stands in my future. I declare it. I claim it for them and for myself.

“Thou holdest my lot.” (Psalm 16:5b)

“The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.” (Psalm 18:2)

“In Him my heart trusts.” (Psalm 28:7b)

Please pray for the Tim and Erin Viau family as they undertake this battle with Tim’s glioblastoma.

If you are interested in supporting the Viaus in additional ways, please consider donating toward their needs during this time of treatments and recovery. https://gofund.me/b8a4b42d
Catholicism, Faith, Family, Gratitude, Holiness, Jesus, Lent, Motherhood, Personal Reflection

Every Day All Day

Carrie Sue Barnes

“I want to be with God and receive God and have him in my heart every day all day.”

Annie’s 1st Eucharist is approaching and this was her note written at the end of yesterday’s retreat day for the 2nd graders preparing for the sacrament. Today when we came home from Mass, she and Tim were playing. In the middle of a Lego battle, Tim paused and looked at her.

“I’m so excited for you to receive Communion.”

Oh, the beauty of a child’s faith. That eagerness to encounter Jesus. These two little people have no idea how often they help renew my joy.

Faith, Hope, Personal Reflection, Prayer

Surrender

Carrie Sue Barnes

“Cause you know just what we need before we say a word.”

I drove to Sheboygan today loudly singing songs in between talking to the Holy Spirit. I swear I could feel my sister praying for me from heaven. One of her favorites started playing, “Good, Good Father” by Chris Tomlin, and when these lyrics reached my ears, they looped round my mind a few times while the song continued on unheard. He already knows, I thought. He is in control.

It was a moment of surrender, which isn’t the easiest for any of us, I’d say, especially in the traumatic times.

Whether we believe in God as I do or the universe or nature or any other power above us, we all have a pull inside us to surrender. To give up an impossible attempt at being in control. We chase the relief of letting go. The peace of that surrender calls to us– peace that is oh so hard to make our own.

For a moment there, that peace rushed in and filled cracks and wounds and voids. Filled them whole. And even as that tide of healing slipped back out, it left all those places coated in the sweet holy water of real peace. And there was just a little more strength in me. A little more calm. A little more faith.

I am nearer to who I am trying to be, and even nearer to who I already am underneath the layers of alteration. I am nearer now than yesterday and last week and last month and last decade. That is all I’ll seek each day. That’s some of the daily bread I ask of my Father.



Some days it’s hard to feel any progress. Some days have me skidding downhill. Then some days the light down the path grows clearly brighter and bigger, and I know deep down that I’m moving toward it.

Faith, Family, Motherhood, Personal Reflection

Until Then

Carrie Sue Barnes

A week ago, I snuggled my 5 1/2 year old daughter as she cried through question after question about Heaven and her Auntie Cheryl. When I’d hugged her goodnight several minutes earlier, Annie became teary eyed and said she wished she could see Cheryl. I squeezed her and told her it was okay to be sad and at the same time we could remember the things that made us happy while we were with Cheryl. Her smiles and laughter and hugs. She nodded and kissed me goodnight. Then as I reached her doorway,  Annie blurted, “But Mom, all those hugs and smiles and laughs are done!” and broke down in tears.

So we hugged each other some more and both our tears wet her pillow. Eventually the tears mostly ceased and she began with her questions.

How will we find Cheryl when we get there?

Are you sure she’ll remember us?

What does Heaven look like?

And several more.

I did my best and waited until much later to let my sobs out. I tried to share her sadness while also sharing wisdom. But, oh, how far from wise I always feel now.

The next morning, after she was dressed for school, she came to my desk where I’d started my workday.

“Mommy, when you and Daddy go to Heaven, I’ll want to go too, but I won’t get to yet.”

A few more tears. More hugs. How do I explain? How do I accept it all myself? I don’t know, but for her sake and mine, I’m trying.

The next day, these photos were in my Facebook memories. I marveled at the time that passed. How could that Christmas be nine years ago? How could Cheryl be gone almost 5 months now? As I considered these numbers, I thought next of eternity. Nine years – a blip on the spectrum of time. 5 months – next to nothing. Someday… someday that’s what it will feel like too. Until then, it simply feels like too much.