Lessons in Forgiveness and Healing

The next afternoon Marianne showed up at my door. She hugged me and handed me another book by Francis Mac Nutt, The Prayer That Heals – Prayer in the Family. It was about the concept of “soaking prayer” – meaning that oftentimes we have to hunker down and intercede for an extended period. The grace of healing was not a cheap commodity that just happened, but rather, it was about relationship with the Lord and with others. Forgiveness was a HUGE element of healing, and the main theme of all I read. God is Love and unforgiveness was a refusal to extend love. I was learning more every day about how Jesus healed, who he healed and all kinds of related topics, like the power of the sacraments with regard to healing. After everyone went to bed I’d curl up with a cup of tea and a book on healing. I had to pump myself up with faith, hope and love in order to carry on with any joy or peace at all. Daily life was a struggle. I read for hours nightly until fatigue took over. During the day I played tapes on healing and praise music and other aspects of the Faith that Marianne, my Aunt Kay, my Uncle George (a deacon) and others gave me. It was as if I was entering an entirely new and different world. A world where it was normal and natural to talk to God and to expect responses of all sorts back in return. God was intimately involved and interested in the details of our lives.

So it wasn’t all rules and restrictions. A giant “Gotcha” kind of thing. He was not only alive and here. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’d heard that. I prayed. I believed in God. But I guess I never NEEDED Him with such desperation, such desire and such urgency. Apparently, our Lord wanted to communicate and interact with each and every one of us. He had my full attention because He had given me a child who was very broken and I couldn’t believe a loving Father would want that. I mean, seriously?! If Catie’s earthly, biological father had either caused her injuries or neglected to provide the best available medical care necessary, he’d be in jail. Yet people repeatedly told me “It’s God’s will. You have to accept your cross.” First of all, why would God either cause or want a baby to suffer violent seizures and have limbs that wouldn’t work, to give ME a cross? Stupid. Cruel. I wanted to jump in wholeheartedly and see who He was and what He wanted. I concluded if He was a Father, whose name was Love, who gave us both His Son and His Holy Spirit, he was not wanting us to sit around thinking he ignored, even enjoyed seeing sick babies and broken-hearted mothers and fathers, if it made them better people. That cruelty, impotency, or indifference were what he had to offer his children. So why were there so many hurting people? Good people.
A funny thing was happening to me. Ever since I’d been prayed over by Bruce and Patti, Father McCoy and now Marianne, Grace and Father Donnelly, my faith had ignited. Scripture had become so alive it seemed to jump off the page and speak to my heart as never before. I couldn’t stop talking about God and all I was learning about him. I was probably sounding like a nut trying to cope with a difficult situation. (My brother Chris said “What’s with Patty? She sounds like she’s high.”) Be that as it may, I was never more rational and committed to finding Truth. I had no desire to fool myself. I just wanted to get to know this Lord I had heard about, read about, and even somewhat engaged with. I wanted to see his POWER. Right here. Right now.
With all this reading about unforgiveness, I was racking my brain trying to think who I needed to forgive. With hindsight I was quite out-of-touch with the countless little resentments and grudges I had tucked away deep within my heart for over thirty-one years. All I could come up with was an old neighbor and friend who had begun to pull away from me years ago. I’ll call her Ally. Her behavior changed drastically and within a very short time of that she moved away. I’d heard she remarried. She now had a new name and I didn’t know where she lived. I so wanted to tell her I was sorry for being angry at her, but had no idea how to find her. Well . . . apparently God knew the sincerity of my heart because a few days later I got a random call from Ally. She said “Pat, for some reason you’ve been on my mind for days. I decided to call you to explain why I withdrew from our relationship and moved away without a goodbye.” She then told me that “Robert” (her husband) had left her and their children to enter into a homosexual relationship. She was obviously shocked and distraught and could not yet speak about it. I learned a HUGE lesson that day. God doesn’t care much for lip service and pretense, but when you are sincere and you NEED him because there’s no way you can do something. . .. He will come through for you.

My Uncle George, an ordained deacon, baptized Caitlyn.  The ceremony was lovely and so personal.  I remember standing there , holding my daughter, and being overwhelmed with fear about her future.  At the same time, I was hoping that this sacrament would strengthen and heal her.  Catie looked adorable and was so animated and happy, as were the boys.  I remember Paul asking me “Why is George wearing a dress and reading out of that big, giant book?” The entire family came and we celebrated back at the house all afternoon.  I can see the fear in my eyes in this picture below with Mark’s sister, Carol and my sister, Terry (holding Caitlyn).

After setting things right with Ally I would realize that I was holding more animosity toward Dr. C. than I fully understood. One day, feeling overwhelmed with four little ones under six, countless fears over Catie, a gazillion appointments, little sleep, and the onset of seizures, (Infantile Spasms which usually indicated a poor prognosis), I had a nuclear meltdown. Mark and I were upstairs in our bedroom and I began sobbing and railing about all of it. Suddenly I got up and went for the phone yelling out “I’m going to call that man and tell him “Every time you look at your granddaughter Caitlin, you think about what you did to MY CAITLYN!”. Mark lunged towards me with horror in his eyes. “Irish?! What are you doing?” I slammed the phone down and threw myself on the bed sobbing with a ferocity that scared even me. I truly never would have done that, but I had to say something so strong and powerful to release what I’d been denying and holding in for months.

For a month or so, I’d been attending a bible study. The elderly, sweet woman who led it was a proponent of praying Scripture. She had taught us that a powerful way to forgive was to say out loud the words Jesus spoke from the cross (Thelma would also say to personalize the passage with a name or the gender of who you were praying for). The morning and afternoon after my emotional outburst, I went about cooking, cleaning, dealing with kids, etc., but in between, very softly, I prayed that verse hundreds of times. I began with teeth clenched and emphasis on certain words. “Forgive Him Father, HE DIDN’T KNOW WHAT HE WAS DOING!!!!” By late afternoon my voice and heart were soft. “Forgive him Father, he didn’t know what he was doing.” I was at peace.

The day of the bus trip to Father DiOrio’s healing service in Worcester, Ma. Finally arrived. Mark and I got up at about five in the morning. We had to drop off each boy with a different friend for the day. The bus ride was full of middle-aged charismatics and what seemed like “holy-rollers” to us. Praise songs went on for hours. Mark and I were a little uncomfortable but we felt the Holy Spirit, were treated with overflowing kindness, generosity, and love and we wanted to see it through. To explore this movement within the Church if it could help Cate and us. And it already had brought us great comfort. The trip was about two and a half hours or so, and upon arriving, we all flooded into the huge auditorium. Father preached, called out healings, and prayed over people for something like five or six hours! I’d been in and out of the dingy ladies’ room nursing Catie, changing her diapers and giving her medicine, all day.  I was beginning to unravel somewhat as Father was finishing up the service with a promise to anoint everyone who wanted prayer. The three of us were about ten rows back from where he was praying and I dreaded waiting that much longer. I was tearing up at the thought of another hour or so standing there, holding my baby, even though Cate was doing well. An usher saw my expression and teary eyes and said “Don’t worry dear. He’ll bless your baby.”
I answered “I know. I’m just so tired.”
With that, the lines parted like the Red Sea and Father made eye contact with me (Although he also looked to be both here, and simultaneously, also in heaven.) as he began to walk my way.
He came to Catie and closed his eyes as he laid hands on her. When he opened his eyes, he said “Something is happening with this baby. I think she’s healed.” Catie’s thumb dropped out of her mouth and she went “out in the Spirit”. He then blessed me and I began to go down. I went halfway! I was leaning backward almost parallel with the floor, holding Cate, when the words he said alarmed me. “THINK??!!” A lady came and took Catie out of my arms and I was led a few feet away to lie across several empty chairs. It was as if I was enveloped in a thick cloud of peace. I trusted Cate was OK and relaxed in the Spirit.
On the bus ride home, most people were celebrating that Catie was “healed”. I was not convinced. Think? He thinks? I wrote to him and got a response from his office saying that “Father says what the Spirit reveals to him.” They added to continue praying for our girl, for Scripture says “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9)
Catie’s CAT scan following birth had been grossly abnormal. However, that can sometimes happen with infants deprived of oxygen for minutes (even quite a few), and they still have normal outcomes. We were scheduled to have a second scan at six months of age that would determine whether or not the damage was permanent. The day had arrived. I was dreading it because I KNEW Cate’s was still going to be bad. She had had a deteriorated umbilical cord and placenta, so I knew that meant she was compromised for an extended time period. And then with the emerging left hemiparesis and now Infantile Spasms, there was seemingly no doubt that she lost brain volume. (That said, I was still praying and hoping for the best outcome for Catie.)

I dressed Cate in her finest as I did for every appointment. She had on a pink, dotted Swiss dress, with a frilly, ruffled diaper cover, lacey socks, patent leather shoes and that adorable little face and body of hers. We pulled into the parking lot of St. Peter’s and I got out of the car, and paused for a moment before I turned to close my door. I prayed “St. Therese please be with me. I need you.” I lifted Catie out of her car seat, and turned to close the door, holding her.
About fifty feet away, I saw a nun waving wildly at me, as if to get my attention.
“You have a beautiful baby!” She yelled loudly.
Feeling a little stunned I responded, “Thank you!”
“Is she sick?”
“Yes. She’s having a CAT scan.”
“Well I’ll pray for her dear.” She turned forward and her other hand was holding a bouquet of pink roses.
Peace washed over me like a waterfall. “Mark! Did you see?!”
“My God, yes.”

I went into that CAT scan testing area floating on air. I was joking with the staff and laughing at everything. Catie wouldn’t go to sleep with the first dose of sedation. They had to give her a double dose. The scan was only minutes but Mark was anxious to get back to work. He’d been taking time off to go to every major appointment.
“Irish, hurry. Let’s go.”
“I have to find a ladies room first.” I headed toward the rest room, hugging the wall, holding Cate. She was as limp as a ragdoll from all the medicine. As I rounded the corner, I bumped right into Dr. C. I mean we were nose to nose. He looked at Catie and all the color drained from his face. His devastation was readily apparent.
I reached out, touched his hand, and said “It’s not as bad as it looks. She just had a CAT scan and needed a double dose of medication. She’s doing pretty well and Father Di Orio thinks she is receiving healing.”
“Oh good. We’ll hold onto that.”
I was comforting him. I had totally forgiven him. I never went back to blaming him. We were both free.