Tag: Tami Urcia

The mystery of human life is truly amazing. I can’t believe how my kids love to lay on my belly, rub it and give it kisses. They can’t wait for their little sister to come out! Just the other day, my six-year-old said to me, “Mommy, ‘little coconut’ will be out soon, so can we take a picture so I can remember when she was still in your tummy?” So we took turns with all the boys taking pictures of them hugging, kissing or rubbing my (very large) belly.

All during his illness, my son took such comfort in his unborn little sister. Whenever he wasn’t feeling well, he asked me to come over to his bed so he could be near her and give her kisses. He always talks about how she is such a little cutie and tells me 5-20 times a day how he wants her to come out. I keep reminding him that if she comes out too early she will have to stay at the hospital for a long time and he won’t be able to see her anyway, but he continues saying it over and over and over. Now my husband and my other sons are saying it too, but I’m pretty sure, no one wants her out more than mommy!

In the First Reading, the children of Israel were given a whole new life, one free from slavery and oppression, but instead of praising God for His wondrous love, they come to Moses with one grumble after another. Just like my son wants his sister out so bad, they wanted to get out of Egypt something fierce! They prayed and prayed for deliverance, and God heard their prayer.

What confounds me is that even though the Israelites don’t ask nicely, God still listens to them and provides for their needs.

“Here in the desert the whole assembly of the children of Israel grumbled against Moses and Aaron. The children of Israel said to them, ‘Would that we had died at the LORD’s hand in the land of Egypt, as we sat by our fleshpots and ate our fill of bread! But you had to lead us into this desert to make the whole community die of famine!’ [ ] The LORD spoke to Moses and said, ‘I have heard the grumbling of the children of Israel. Tell them: In the evening twilight you shall eat flesh, and in the morning you shall have your fill of bread, so that you may know that I, the LORD, am your God.’”

He doesn’t say to them “You bunch of whiny babies, get a grip! I delivered you so I could watch you starve in agony! Mwaaa haaa haaa!” No. He grants them meat and bread to eat. He wants them to live.

In the same way, He wants us to live. And whether we know how to ask or not, He grants our needs. He gives us Bread from heaven (ref. Psalm Response) to nourish us on our journey. He gives us new life to grant comfort and joy. Let us thank God today for the gift of life. 

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It’s always interesting to hear the reactions when we have a period of cool days during our short Michigan summer. Some are in seventh heaven, pull out their sweat shirts, stoke the bonfire and enjoy the wind blowing through their hair. Others are saddened that their vacations are ruined or it’s too cold to swim and wish for the scorching sun to return. Others just go with the flow, knowing that the heat will be back soon enough.

This could be a great metaphor for our spiritual life as well. When we feel the warmth of summer in our souls, do we act upon it? When the flame of the Holy Spirit burns within us, do we allow our souls to be caught on fire?

When we are saddened because we are in a period of waiting, and that joyful anticipation has seemingly disappeared, do we lament and wish for things to be different? Or do we live in the moment and take more time for prayer?

Or are we just floating along on a lazy river, steering neither left nor right, up nor down, just letting life take us where it may? Is this really living?

It all comes down to gratitude. If you think about it, the measure of our gratefulness is the measure of our joy. If we are thankful for the warmth and thankful for the chill and thankful for everything in between, we will find ourselves content.

And with joy-filled hearts we will be able to proclaim together with the Psalmist: 

“Bless the LORD, O my soul; and all my being, bless his holy name. Bless the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits. He pardons all your iniquities, he heals all your ills. He redeems your life from destruction, he crowns you with kindness and compassion. The LORD secures justice and the rights of all the oppressed. He has made known his ways to Moses, and his deeds to the children of Israel.”

What an amazing cascade of praise! Many of us struggle to eke out a simple “thank you.” Can you imagine your soul being so full that you could not stop expressing your gratitude?!

So let us strive to shift our thoughts to the positive, remembering all of God’s mercies and all of His blessings, and be grateful for what truly matters. It may be warm today and cold tomorrow, but God’s love is with us through it all. Thank you, Lord, for you are truly kind and merciful!

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As I was sharing with my sister-in-law all that my son has been through, I told her this felt like the song that never ends. She responded, “more like the nightmare that never ends”. And she was right. It has seemed more like a nightmare, but low and behold, it appears it has come to an end. After two full months including three five-day hospital stays, two surgeries, several procedures, a catheter, blood draws, countless IV’s, a few follow-up appointments, two weeks with an abdominal drain and two weeks on a feeding tube to administer meds, my son is left with a healthy body and 5 or 6 small scars on his belly to show for it. All that remains is to build up his strength and his appetite so he can enjoy the rest of the summer.

In today’s Gospel Jesus proclaims: “…whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever does not take up his cross and follow after me is not worthy of me. Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.”

This hit me right between the eyes. I have been focusing so much on my son that my relationship with my God has gone by the wayside. Do I love my son more than my God? Has this trial been a cross that I am called to take up? Have I been trying to find my “normal” life these past two months only to realize I have lost it? Although I don’t think I could ever be worthy of God, I would hate to become unworthy from my own doing…

Bishop Barron’s reflection today held a great reminder: “‘And I will make you fishers of men.’ This is one of the best lines in Scripture. Notice the first part of the phrase: ‘I will make you.’ God is the one who makes us from nothing. To live in sin is to live outside of the creative power of God, to pretend that we can make ourselves. How wonderful that he tells us that he will make us!”

It is God who allows us to walk into the storm and it is God who leads us out of it. He molds us, shapes us, transforms us and makes us with each and every experience we live.

Our Psalm Response echoes this sentiment: “Our help is in the name of the Lord.”

Sure, I have received help from others, from family and friends who have supported me during this time, from doctors and nurses who have done their best to take care of my son, from perfect strangers who have prayed or sent gift cards for a meal, but it has all been the Lord working through them. My true stronghold, my one and only Sustainer is the Lord. I cannot rely on my own power or feeble strength.

So as this season comes to a close and we turn our focus on welcoming our fifth child soon, I pray that you also be reminded that God is in charge of making you and that your help is in His name alone.

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My kids’ bedtime stories consist of a good mix of library books, super hero conquests, animal adventures, outer space voyages and Bible stories. But about once a month, they pull out their baby albums and love looking at themselves as newborns. It’s hard for them to believe they were so little. 

Sometimes they also ask me to sing to them. One of their favorite songs is about Zaccheus, the tax collector: “Zaccheus was a wee little man, a wee little man was he. He climbed up in a sycamore tree, for the Lord he wanted to see. ‘Zaccheus! Come down! For I’m going to your house today. I’m going to your house today.” 

While three of my sons were born at about 8lbs 9oz and 21 inches long, my second son was born at two pounds and two inches less. He wasn’t a premie, he has just always been smaller. He knows he’s my little one, so one day he said to me, “Mommy, I’m just like Zaccheus, aren’t I? Because I’m small too!” 

I wonder if the apostles who were sent out to evangelize in today’s Gospel also felt small. They were told: “take nothing for the journey but a walking stick—no food, no sack, no money in [your] belts.” Were they scared, wondering if their needs would be met? Did they wonder if they were important enough that people would actually listen to them? 

We don’t have to do great things to make a difference. We just have to do what God asks us to do. I love the example of St. Therese of Lisieux and her little way. She just did small things with great love. 

Perhaps the apostles did feel insignificant or unworthy but in the end they believed in the power of God. They trusted that He would work through them and “so they went off and preached repentance. [They] drove out many demons, and they anointed with oil many who were sick and cured them.”

I remember one particular moment when I was in the hospital with my son that I really thought I couldn’t do it anymore. Instead of asking God to give me the strength to go on, I begged Him, “God BE my strength”. And He did. I was too small to endure on my own, but asking God to take over and become my strength granted me the grace I needed. 

God can do so much with our smallness as long as our willingness is included. May the Lord be your strength today. 

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I read a really good reflection the other day by Dr. MaryRuth Hackett, who writes for Blessed Is She. It spoke about the suffering of another woman who was questioning why God would allow her to go through what she was going through, and how the response of a friend helped her change her perspective. Her friend reminded her that perhaps her own sufferings were in preparation for something yet to come, or simply to help her be there for others.

Dr. Hackett writes: “It is very difficult to have empathy if we lack experience. Even if we love someone deeply, it is impossible to walk the path of grief for example, if we have never experienced grief. We can sympathize, but we cannot empathize. We can witness and listen, but we lack a level of understanding.”

This was truly helpful to me considering all we continue to go through with my son’s health. It is so easy to question why a small six-year-old boy must endure this. It is so easy to get angry and become anxious.

Yet, what if these trials will later allow me to be there for someone else who is suffering? What if the suffering will make my son stronger or get him thinking about ministering to the sick as a doctor or a priest?

We do not know the big picture. We do not know the reasons. We can only trust, holding on to God for dear life during our wild ride on this planet.

I pray that somehow I may find the strength that the people of Macedonia had in today’s First Reading, who “in a severe test of affliction, the abundance of their joy and their profound poverty overflowed in a wealth of generosity on their part.” In the midst of their suffering, they found a way to be generous to others. I have no doubt they also praised God, just as Job had done during his time of great trial.

So, instead of getting stuck in a rut of anguish, I feel called to view this trial with a wider perspective. Just yesterday as I was talking with my husband he mentioned that my eight-year-old was now playing much more with his younger siblings, whom he didn’t interact with much before. I also thought that since my ill son is very sensitive, this ordeal might grant him more strength of character to endure life’s blows.

The end of the First Reading also grants comfort: “For you know the gracious act of our Lord Jesus Christ, that for your sake he became poor although he was rich, so that by his poverty you might become rich.”

I have yet to comprehend what fruits or “riches” this trial may bring, but in the meantime, may God grant me the grace to exclaim with the Psalmist: “Praise the Lord, my soul!”

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Have you ever heard the song “Blessings” by Laura Story? It beautifully depicts one of the greatest paradoxes of the Christian life. 

“ ’Cause what if your blessings come through raindrops? What if your healing comes through tears? What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know you’re near? And what if trials in this life, are your mercies in disguise?”

As I sit in a hospital room yet again with my son, who is experiencing post-op complications, I listen to this song over and over and let the tears fall. Are they healing tears? I have yet to find out. Have I had a thousand sleepless nights? It’s definitely been more than a few. Do I feel like this trial is God’s mercy? Absolutely not. 

Yet, who am I to predict the end of the story? Maybe I do need a few more nights of agony to realize how near God is to me through it all, how He wants to hold me close and wipe my tears away.

The song goes on to say “The pain reminds this heart that this is not, this is not our home. It’s not our home”! [] “What if my greatest disappointments, or the aching of this life, is a revealing of a greater thirst this world can’t satisfy?” Well, I am aching for sure. There is something basically unfair about watching a child suffer. It is times like these that truly make us long for heaven. 

And how fitting to long for heaven on a day like today, when we begin the month dedicated to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. We will never understand the depths of His love or why it is that the trials of this life are evidence of his mercy. These are just a couple of the mysteries whose answers will be revealed in heaven. 

Today’s Alleluia Antiphon states: “May the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ enlighten the eyes of our hearts, that we may know what is the hope that belongs to his call.”

I pray that He enlighten the eyes of my heart. I need it so bad. I feel like my faith is so practical yet so little heartfelt. I live it day in a day out, but how much do I love within it? I love through actions, fulfillment of duty, yet when I am not able to carry out that duty due to headstrong children, a family member’s angry reaction or continuous illness, where is my love then? Where is my hope?

Friends, our Lord has come to give us this hope and show us His fathomless love. Whether you are going through a storm right now as I am, or your raindrops have ceased for a season, I pray that the Lord show you the depths of His Sacred Heart. May you truly know the hope that belongs to your call to be His disciple and carry His love to others. 

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