Dryness

Be patient.

There is something incredibly annoying about that statement. Whether you are an incredibly patient person or not, there is a certain level of frustration with those two words. They do not tell you what is going to happen. They do not reassure you that you are in the right position. They do not change anything.

For a pathologically impatient person such as myself, there is nothing worse than being told that I just have to be patient.

Especially when I think I have some control in the matter.

My building has been without hot water for several days. At first I thought it was part of the “routine maintenace” we were told about, but when no one contacted us and our cold water was working fine, I decided it was time to call in the issue.

I spent five hours of my evening, waiting for people to call me back, calling when they didn’t have an answer, waiting for higher-ups to respond to the emails of the people on the dispatch. Despite my general unrest, I continued trying. After all, there were families in the complex, and I did not know if their buildings were without water too.

Finally, after five hours of going outside of my comfort zone, this is the response I received:

“You are just going to have to suck it up until Monday.”

Despite my best efforts, nothing had changed. If anything, I made matters worse for myself. I thought that I could make things better. I thought that perhaps if I put forth a little bit of extra effort that maybe, just maybe, we could get a plumber out here to explain what was going on instead of waiting for several middle-men to understand the situation.

Nothing changed.

And there was nothing I could do about it.

You would think, Dear Reader, that with my experience in science that I would be used to this feeling by now. Science is slow, and most of my experiments take months to perfect and optimize for publication. I have had multiple hypotheses proven wrong by my experiments, and I have had to change my course of direction in order to follow the science.

But that’s the thing.

I could adapt. I could change. Despite any setback, there is always something a scientist can do. We can always try a new experiment, a new antibody, a new method, a new hypothesis. However, life is not exactly like science. Life throws you a curve ball, and you cannot change the situation you are in.

Like a scientist, we all adapt to our lives. Unlike a scientist, we do not always have something to do.

Sometimes, most times, we just have to be patient.

I think the hardest place to be patient is in prayer.

Much like my long phone call on Saturday, we spend extended periods of time calling out, not sure where our prayers will land. We call, and God answers, but He rarely tells us everything. If anything, He sits in silence as we ramble on and on about whatever it is we want to know. Whether it is time-sensitive or not, God remains silent on the other end. He answered the phone of our heart, but He does not explain the situation.

It’s not because He cannot tell us. It’s not because He doesn’t want to tell us. It’s because we cannot understand the whole situation.

God’s plan is so much more complex than water lines in an apartment complex. His plan is vast, spanning millenia, and it all comes to our salvation. Like a water line that needs repair in order to give us the warm water we need, our lives need repair in order to give us the eternal rest we need.

Sometimes we need to suck it up and wait.

It took all of my mental energy to go through the seemingly endless line of phone calls on Saturday night. Because I was unwilling to accept that there was nothing for me to do, I ended up wasting an evening and exhausting my brain past the point of reason. My poor mother had to deal with my angry attempted rant after I hung up with the head of maintenance.

I felt defeated. However, my mother would not allow me to wallow in my frustration and overstimulated brain.

“You have to adapt,” she said, “This is life.”

I’m a scientist. We adapt. We change our work to fit the results. Even though I didn’t have hot water, I still needed to take a shower. I went white water rafting earlier that day. My body felt cold and disgusting from spending an entire afternoon and evening in damp clothing. My eyes burned from allergens in my lab and in the air. I had to take a shower.

Encouraged by mother’s exceptional patience with my atypical exhaustion, I chose to accept my situation. I climbed up the stairs, stripped off my river-water infused leggings, and took one of the coldest showers of my life.

And you know what?

My hair looked awesome at Mass the next morning.

I’ve hinted at it a little bit, Dear Readers, but I am in a similar situation in my prayer life. The Lord gave me a great series of consolations last year, and through those consolations, I felt a sense of purpose and belonging. For the first time in a long time, I was using my Spiritual Gifts in the way Our Lord intended.

My prayer life was filled with insights and consolations.

But then, one by one, those consolations started to fade away. Given to others or hidden from sight completely, I found myself only hearing the smallest of whispers from my Jesus. My time in prayer started to feel more and more like my phone calls on Saturday night: filled with misinterpretation and confusion.

Things I thought God told me turned out to be completely made up in my own mind.

Jesus said, “ask for whatever you want, and you will receive it.” However, with each desperate plea, I felt myself receiving less and less. It wasn't that God wasn't giving me anything; I just wasn't paying attention.

Many of us experience a period of dryness. I have watched some of my most spiritual friends slip in to sorrow as they desperately try to hear from God like they used to as children and young adults. I have held their hands and sent songs or scripture to them in a feeble attempt to give them a sense of comfort.

Never before have I felt so confused and angry and tired. I finally understood how my friends felt.

I drained myself trying to understand God’s plan.

What do we do when we are in such a state? What do we do when God’s silence is so loud on our hearts that we do not know what to do?

Exactly what I did after I ended my night with maintenance.

Call Mom.

The Blessed Mother is our greatest consolation. Just as our mothers on Earth know what we are going to do before we even do it, Mary knows and understands what her Son is going to do in our lives. She knows our hurt because she has felt it too. She knows our frustration because she has endured it as well. She spent thirty years waiting for the Messiah to begin His ministry. She spent thirty years watching the King of the Universe grow up in poverty.

Following the Resurrection, Mary lived out her life just waiting to embrace her Son again.

She gets it.

I’m still in the desert, but I’m not walking alone anymore. I’m not thirsty anymore.

Because Mary’s will is completely united to Our Lord’s, she will not tell us anything that God won’t. She cannot end the dryness. She cannot end the suffering. However, she can help us gain insight in to what is happening in the current moment. She gives meaning to our little sacrifices, our impatience, our hunger.

Just as my mother on Earth taught me how to adapt to the cold water, the Blessed Mother taught me how to adapt to the suffering.

Mary teaches us to see the immense blessings our lives in the midst of chaos, loss, and confusion. She teaches us how to imitate her grateful heart by, if I may paraphrase, keeping all these things, reflecting on them in our hearts. She shows us that there is always something to be thankful for, something to praise God for, something to love.

Mary reminded me of my family every day, of my science, of my community in Galvin, of my Faith, of all the great things God has given to me, time and time again.

I do not know what God has in store for me, but I know that He loves me. Despite the silence and confusion, I know that my Savior lives on in my heart. Despite the hunger, I know that my Jesus remains in the Blessed Sacrament. Despite the tears, I know that my tears will turn to dancing.

And so I live on in love.

And so I feast on in love.

And so I dance on in love.

God’s plan is so much bigger and so much better than we can ever dream of. All we can do is “be still and know that I am God.” And when the silence seems too much to bear, turn to Our Lady, Our Mother of Sorrows. She will remind you that every Cross leads to the Resurrection. She will teach you how to smile, how to laugh, how to dance, how to live in the face of any persecution, trial, or confusion.

Thank you my Dear Readers for continuing to support this blog. Along with my family and my mentorship opportunities, this blog is what remains of the spiritual consolations I received last year. It is an honor to share Christ’s love with each and every one of you.

May He be forever praised.

Amen.

The Unexpected

Expect nothing but for God to love you.

I’ve written that phrase many times over the past several months on this blog, and I have yet to address what that really means. Yes, I have written about many instances where God loved me when I stopped trying to control my life, but those were just the tip of the iceberg. They were the best stories, not the only stories.

The truth is, we’re not very good at letting God love us in unexpected ways.

When we let go, we are forced to accept the unknown. Many of us say that we do not like the unknown, and numerous professionals developed techniques to deal with the unknown. We plan things, and we leave space as best we can.

As scientists, we make null and alternative hypotheses. We plan our experiments based on all of the results we can expect. We become comfortable with the possibility of everything going completely wrong and everything going completely right.

And yet…

The results we get are often completely unexpected, unexplained by any of our rationalized prepared results, and unpublishable in its current form.

There is nothing more unsettling than the unexpected.

This is true for scientists and non-scientists alike. We don’t have tools to prepare for the unexpected, and we often have to change our lives to fit the unexpected. And unlike results which refute our original hypothesis, there is not an easy way to proceed from the unexpected. We have to stop, reevaluate our situation, and change direction.

When we let go of our lives and let God take control, we can prepare for Him to tell us not to do something with our lives, not to heal someone we love, not to help us find our career, not to speak to us…

But we can’t prepare for Him to do something completely unexpected.

And because God loves the unexpected, we can only expect the unexpected.

The thing is…the unexpected is how God loves us. Even the seemingly negative moments of our lives are graces. God loves surprises, and He wants to give us lives far greater than we could ever image. Despite the negative or the unexpected moments of our lives, His ultimate goal is for us to be in Heaven where He may love us forever and we may love Him forever.

So if God loves us in the unexpected, then why are we so afraid to accept it?

I think it’s because we believe we don’t deserve these gifts. It’s true; we don’t deserve all the love God gives us. However, that is not how God sees it. God loves us as we are because He made us. Just as a child who worked for weeks on a project loves that project despite their grade in the end, so too does God love us without a care of our opinion, nor the opinions of others.

We do not expect unconditional love anymore. We do not expect miracles anymore.

We expect failure, concrete facts, and selfishness.

Such expectations limit God’s ability to love us. We expect Him to act like a normal human being. Even though Jesus is human, He is also God. As a result, Jesus’ love does not look like our love, nor does it look like the love of anyone we know. It is unconditional, unfailing, unexplainable, and selfless.

I think we live our lives a lot like a recently rescued dog. We were abused by our past selves, by our inner dialogue with the devil, and by the world at large. Then we are taken in by a loving Father, one who sees our cuts and bruises yet loves us all the more. He tends our brokenness and gives us food to eat.

Then, He hands us as a gift: a chew toy.

No one gave us a gift before, so we are confused. We did nothing to deserve the gift. All we did was come home with Him. We have nothing to give in return except for what little affection we have left in our hearts.

We do not want to take the chew toy.

We refuse to take the toy, even though we know that it would make us happy. The Father holds the toy out to us again and again. He squeaks it. He does all He can, and then He walks away to let us figure out the toy for ourselves.

Even if we are slow to accept the gift, the Father never takes it away.

What would have happened if we just accepted the unexpected gifts we convinced ourselves we did not deserve? Would God the Father see our acceptance as selfish or prideful? Would He want us to regret accepting our gifts?

Absolutely not.

No new dog owner is upset when their new dog plays with their new toys. They smile and laugh as they watch their four-legged friend play and bark and hide their toys. They buy their pup new toys to continue playing with. They are so happy to see their dog happy.

God is so happy to see us accept our gifts.

But what about when the dog breaks their new toy as most dogs do?

Is the owner mad?

I think this is why so many of us fear the unexpected. We fear that if we accept this gift that we will fail, that we will fall flat on our face, that we will misinterpret what the gift was supposed to mean. We think that because we were unworthy of the gift before that we will never be worthy of such a gift. We live in fear of failure.

And you know what?

You are going to fail.

Just as nearly every dog destroys their toys, so too will we make mistakes. We will neglect our gifts, hide from our hope, and ignore the unexpected love we are given. We will stop accepting the newness of life we received and attempt to go back to how our lives were before God gave us the incredible gift we never deserved but loved more than we could ever imagine.

But God does not take away our gifts.

I remember when my family owned a black lab named Toby. Toby had a stuffed duck named Mr. Mallard. He loved that duck, but he was too rough to keep Mr. Mallard safe. In anticipation of Mr. Mallard’s demise, we bought more stuffed ducks for Toby to play with. He would tear apart the duck and look up at us sadly. Toby could not fix the duck.

Slowly, we would take the old duck away and replace it with a fixed Mr. Mallard.

Brand new.

God gives us these gifts because He loves us. Even if we make a mistake, He will still give us gifts. All we have to do is look up at our Father who loves us and wait. Sometimes the gift does not look the exact same, but oftentimes it is the exact same gift. God does not take our gifts. He helps us learn to love them as He loves us.

Do not be afraid of the unexpected.

Accept the gifts.

And if you have failed once, do not be afraid to ask God for a second chance. Do not be afraid to ask Him to teach you how to love your gifts. Do not be afraid to ask Him how to live your life to the fullest.

Do not be afraid to be bold with Our Father.

There is nothing we can do that would surprise Him. That’s His job: to surprise us by just how much He loves us.

Consecration Anniversary

My friend Lauren and I had lunch on June 13, 2017. At that picnic table, she asked me if I would like to join her in a Marian Consecration. Preparation started that day, so I had to get moving. I had seen several of my Catholic friends with chain bracelets or Miraculous Medals to commemorate their Consecration to Jesus through Mary, and I had always wanted to participate in a Marian Consecration.

I could have waited until later, but I chose to take the leap then.

Without any real knowledge of what it would mean to give my life to Mary, I embarked on what would become one of the most significant adventures of my spiritual life.

Here are some of the things I came to understand more fully this past year, both intellectually and through beautiful little experiences.

Marian Consecration is not worshiping Mary. It is entrusting our whole lives to her, just as Jesus gave His very life to Mary. Marian Consecration is not just for those called to religious life. It is for every member of the Church, just as Mary is the Mother of all Jesus loves. Marian Consecration is not scary. It is an act of love, just as Jesus loved Mary forever.

By trusting Mary with our lives, we are imitating Christ’s love and respect for His Blessed Mother.

And that is a pretty safe place to be, both physically and spiritually.

It is no secret to my Dear Readers that I have ADHD. Because ADHD looks different in women like myself, there are many other small crosses associated with my mental “superpower.” I am often anxious, so much in fact that I will get extremely nauseous. If I am overstimulated, I start to lose my ability to hold anything together.

However, because I gave my life to Our Lady, I knew that I would be kept safe.

Starting in the middle of my consecration, I would flee to a chapel or Mass or the Grotto any time my mind could not handle the world around me. Much like calling my mother here on Earth, running to the Blessed Mother gave me rest.

Mary taught me how to rest in the midst of chaos, just as she did on the day Jesus carried His Cross.

But Marian Consecration is not just about entrusting our lives to Mary. As I said, Mary is the Mother of all whom Jesus loves. He loves everyone. Therefore, Mary loves every single person on Earth. So when we Consecrate ourselves to Mary, we are also entrusting all those we love in a special way to the woman who loved Jesus best.

By learning to love Mary, we also learn to love others.

Before my Marian Consecration, I loved others, but not nearly as deeply as I started to after the Feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. I would help others, but only as much as I thought I could help. I would pray for others, but only for the specific requests they presented to me. I would participate in devotionals, but only for my desires.

In the middle of my consecration, I started to pray for those I struggled with the most.

And I learned to forgive with my whole heart.

I have always struggled to maintain connections with other people. For the longest time, I believed that I was meant to only be a seed planter, meant to give others a taste of Christ’s love before they even knew His precious name. After my Marian Consecration, I started to create connections with people in a way that I never knew possible.

I could look at the Blessed Sacrament, and I could pray for souls I hardly knew.

The souls I wanted to befriend the most but struggled to understand were suddenly easy to communicate with. Communities I wanted to be a part of but didn’t know how to join were suddenly accessible to me.

Why?

Because I could love them as they are…as Christ loves them.

As I have said before, Christ’s love is not for us. It is for the whole world. Therefore, when we love one person, Christ’s love is made manifest in the world, and it goes out. As my friend Lauren and I continued to grow in love, we watched as our whole community started to change. In a beautiful domino effect, love went from lab to lab, floor to floor, department to department. Souls that had been struggling to understand one another or connect were suddenly participating in activities together, communicating with one another, and some were even able to forgive past transgressions.

Many people have mentioned that there is something special in our cohort, something that folks cannot put a finger to.

Many say that we will do something amazing.

One of the greatest experiences I have had following my consecration is watching the coalescence of everyone’s projects. I had a feeling that there would be a connection between the labs, but I never expected it to come in my short career here at Notre Dame.

Yet with little miracles every day, I watched as my hypothesis unfolded.

As souls grew in love for one another, unlikely collaborations appeared. In a way, the Blessed Mother gave us a physical sign of our spiritual gifts.

But the greatest gift that Marian Consecration gave me was a realization that I was never truly alone.

There was a moment in December when I was extremely lonely. The sky turned gray, and I did not know what to do. Because I had entrusted everything to Mary, I made the Sign of the Cross and made a little prayer. I asked Mary to send someone a dream. Not me because I knew that I would over interpret its meaning.

That night my mother had a dream of Saint Therese of Lisieux. Her picture was labeled so my mom would know who it was.

My mom had no clue I had made that prayer.

I am consecrated through Our Lady of Mount Carmel, the Patroness of the Carmelites. Saint Therese is a Carmelite.

Inspired by this little dream, I listened to Story of a Soul on audiotape as I worked in the lab. The number of times I teared up in joy as I listened to this sweet little soul say the same prayers I said, to hear the words of a Saint describing being distracted by small things, to hear the words of a Saint who felt the crosses of others…it was the greatest gift I could have ever receive.

I had a friend in Heaven, a friend that I could call upon at any time and know would understand my spiritual life.

In addition to Therese, I was introduced in a less miraculous way to Saint Teresa of Avila, another Carmelite. Her book The Interior Castle taught me that I was not a freak for some of the spiritual experiences I received. My dear friend Teresa taught me how to pray.

Together my spiritual sister and mother taught me how to live a life of prayer and love.

And my heaviest cross became light enough for me to smile in the face of it.

I could go on and on about the blessings Our Lady of Mount Carmel has given me, but in the interest of my Dear Readers’ time, I will conclude with my Consecration Prayer.

Dearest Carmel,

I, Felicity Rose Gemma Newton, renew my consecration to you today in thanksgiving for your aid on my journey Home to you. Again I renounce Satan and all of his evil ways. With your help, I will surely be left unscathed in the face of his wrath. With your counsel, I will run faster from him and closer to your sweet Son who loves me more than life.

Sweet Mary, you are both Our Mother and Our Sister. You humble yourself to leave your throne in Heaven to take care of your little ones. Help me to always remember that it is never a loss to love a little one. Help me to love those who feel loveless, those who lost their love, those who wish for nothing but love. Help me to love as you love. Lend me your heart and keep me in your sacred heart.

I gave you my whole life. From my work to my relationships, from my failures to my successes, from my tears to my laughter, you have a hand in it all. Help me to remember that The Resurrection follows The Cross in all things. May I always bring the Good News to those in strife, and may I always be willing to give up my own graces for their sake. 

I trust you, sweet Mother, with all my heart. You know what will keep my heart safe, and you have kept my heart safe all my life. May I love as you love forever.

Amen.

Trust

“And…”

My advisor continued to lounge back as I described the experiment which would be the first to confirm our novel treatment method for cholesterol-related diseases. It doesn’t take very much for me to get excited, so he was not expecting anything ground-breaking.

“Tubules!”

My advisor flew forward and nearly fell out of his chair. Not only was our seemingly impossible hypothesis correct, but this experiment also would contribute to the development of a treatment for a disease that our lab had been working on for over a decade and other labs have been working on for several decades. I fought back my happy tears as I explained just how incredibly perfect the project was coming together.

“Now, I don’t want to impede your creative process, but…” my advisor added gently before he recommended an experiment.

As my advisor, he could have just told me which experiment to do. Even if I fought against doing the experiment, I would eventually have to do it. That’s graduate school; you are at the mercy of your advisor, and your committee, and your funding. If you disagree, then you better have experimental proof, and even then, you might as well confirm your theory by doing what your advisor says.

My advisor trusting my creative process meant far more than trusting my work.

My advisor was entrusting the future of the project to me.

That’s a huge deal.

For my Dear Readers who have been following this story since the beginning of my graduate career, y’all already know that it was not easy for me to get to this point. I struggled to find my footing more times than I would care to admit. I nearly passed out in the lab from overworking. I extended myself too far and failed at everything. I lost focus, and I definitely did not look like I was ever going to amount to anything for a while.

But that’s because I wasn’t trusting the process.

The progression of a young researcher goes as follows:

1. Adapting to your advisor’s methodology

2. Appreciating your foundation

3. Accepting your own unique project

I think adapting to your advisor is probably the hardest part of the process. Regardless of the nature of your advisor, there is always going to be a learning curve. Not only do you need to understand their approach to science, but you also need to understand their approach to mentorship. For some, it is very clear and direct, but for others it is a little more fuzzy. In addition, the relationship between you and your advisor is not going to look exactly like those fostered between the other students in your lab and your advisor.

You feel like you are fumbling through the motions, and all you want to do is be important.

You want to contribute, but you do not know how.

However, as you faithfully put forth the effort required to approach your question, your advisor becomes more and more invested in your work. Not because you were not worthy of their enthusiasm, but because you were not ready to tackle your hypothesis yet.

Once you have a testable hypothesis, you move in to the second stage.

It is not as difficult to transition in to this stage, but once you get to the second stage, everything gets a lot more real. Now that you have a hypothesis, the pressure starts piling on. Your advisor brings you to more meetings, talks about more with you, and expects more from you.

Building a foundation for your work can be overwhelming.

But, because you have accepted your advisor’s method, they are there to help you.

In this second stage, you spend a lot more time with your advisor. Even if you are a little more stressed, there is a certain sense of stability with your work. You know that if you hit a pitfall that your advisor will be there to help you figure out a way to improve your methods or change your hypothesis if needed.

There is a certain sense of security in accepting your advisor, and it helps you grow in appreciation for all you have in your lab.

However, there will come a time when your advisor is not there anymore. Out of nowhere, it seems like they just stopped caring about your project. Sometimes they just tell you to try on your own. Sometimes they just invest more and more time in the other students. Sometimes their support just seems to fade away.

But we all get to this stage.

“I do not want to impede your creative process”

The truth is, your advisor taking less time to help you is not a sign that you are unimportant; it means that they trust you. To be trusted in science means far more than being allowed to work more independently; it means that your advisor is entrusting their hypothesis, their source of funding, to you, the little graduate student who knows next to nothing. When your advisor steps back after writing a grant with your data on it, it is arguably the greatest compliment they could give you.

But it certainly does suck.

It’s embarassing to admit how many angry tears I cried thinking that my advisor didn’t care.

I think that the growth of a young scientist is a lot like the growth of a young Christian.

We start out fumbling around, not really knowing what we are doing. Jesus’ name comes up in conversation, and we might know about The Resurrection in an abstract way, but we don’t know how to accept it yet.

However, when we encounter and accept Jesus Christ in to our hearts, everything changes.

When we enter fully in to a relationship with Jesus Christ, the Church feels so much more real. Suddenly, every service, every conversation, every encounter with nature holds more meaning. Each of our actions weigh more heavily on our hearts. Suddenly, not only do we matter, but everything we touch matters.

And it’s overwhelming.

But we know that Our God is with us. With that knowledge, we do not have anything to fear.

Sadly, very few of us live a life of consolation. No matter how sweet, no matter how holy, no matter how devout we may be, we will not be able to sustain the feeling of God’s loving presence right beside us at all times. We can know that He loves us, but it is rare for us to feel just how much He loves us.

This is like when a graduate advisor lets their student work on their own.

It is not that God loves you less.

He trusts you.

Now, it is one thing for a graduate advisor to trust their student with their work. It is another entirely for the God of the Universe to entrust the salvation of souls to broken little souls. Yet in His loving kindness, Our God chose us as His servants. He told us that He wanted us to bring His children Home.

And just as each advisor entrusts a unique project to their student, so too does God entrust a unique task to us.

We are all made to bring God’s love to the world in our own special way.

I have one more point. Even though an advisor grants independence to their students, they also are always there if we need help. It is less obvious than before, but each advisor wants their student to succeed. I oftentimes forget that my advisor cares. However, each time I muster up the courage to walk in to his office after a hard week, I always know that he has an idea to make my project better or a way to handle administrative or social issues in a more creative way.

Just as my advisor trusts me, I can trust him.

Just as God trusts us, we can trust Him.

Even though we are all on a unique journey to Heaven, we are never too far away from God to ask for His help. It often doesn’t look like we expect it to, but God’s love is always present. Just as my advisor is always just an email or an office visit away, so too is our God just a prayer or a chapel visit away.

Our God trusts us.

Do we trust him?

Beyond the Big Picture

“I don’t know if I should be asking you this,” my advisor paused in the middle of his question. The corners of his lips turned up slightly as I slid forward in my chair in the corner of his office. He always knows how to catch my attention, “But I am wondering what your thoughts are.”

“On…?”

“The big picture,” he said, “Beyond the obvious treatments.”

My advisor laughed as I went off on the implications of our signaling mechanism. What with my academic superpower of ADHD, I could probably go on for several hours with all of the unexpected connections I could make with my project and Cell Biology at large. For the sake of this post, however, I shall cut it off just as my advisor did.

“Still too many details. Think bigger.”

Being bogged down in the details is a common problem for scientists. We often hyper focus on our single mechanism, our single protein, our single hypothesis, our one thing for so long that we forget the bigger picture. Now this is not to say that we completely forget the implications of our work. How else would we able to provide a hook at the beginning of our grants in order to be funded?

Scientists rarely forget the big picture in terms of disease or the field. We forget that life is so much more than the single issues we focus on.

Life is complicated.

And yet with our reductionist approach, which is absolutely necessary in science, we tend to miss the connections that make our work valuable.

Missing the beyond the big picture is not just a problem for researchers. In fact, it is this detail oriented mentality which contributes to our decision to settle for less than what we really want in this life. Again, I will take the perspective of a Catholic.

We of the Faith were raised to see God in the little things. In the “whispering wind” as the Bible says.

It’s true: God is in the silence.

But…God’s bigger than all of the little things. He literally created the universe. So then, why should we be so naive as to say that He’s only present in the small things? Why would we spend so much time searching for Him in the details when we could look up and see Him before us? Why would we spend our time looking at little things?

Because we cannot handle the big things.

We are too hard of heart and too weak to see the Glory of God. Yet in His loving kindness, He gives us a glimpse of Himself in the little things. He puts Himself in the sunrise, in the stars, in the smiles, in the tears, in the dinners, and in the memories we hold most dear to us.

Our God is even in a tiny piece of bread.

But, like the Tardis, that piece of bread is much larger than we could ever understand in this life. However, if we live our heavenly lives as a Sunday to Sunday affair, then we will not see the bigger picture, let alone beyond the bigger picture.

We receive the little blessings, the small moments, the tiny piece of bread so that we can come to understand beyond the bigger picture.

But we need to step back and add up all of these moments with the divine so that we may understand Him more and more each day.

A little over a year ago, The Blessed Mother interceded for the first time in my Notre Dame life. This was the first of many miracles I have witnesses since that day, but until I was forced to think about “beyond the bigger picture,” I had not thought much about how these prayers, offered up daily for the souls of those around me, had turned in to an unexpectedly perfect connection.

Hundreds of unexpected moments. Some of them were joyful. Some of them were painful. All of them brought forth the revelation of God’s Creation.

God takes the unexpected and turns it in to the only logical conclusion.

But that was just the bigger picture.

As I looked back over the past year, I noticed something else at work in all of those moments. I saw souls that were hungry for love and acceptance coming together. I saw souls getting healthier, stronger, and happier than ever before. Even though many of the souls were struggling, there was a sense of an all-abiding joy in the community.

I saw the name of Jesus Christ coming in to conversation. With each miracle, God made His Kingdom come. 

That is what was beyond the bigger picture: Heaven.

“There was a woman afflicted with hemorrhages for twelve years. She had suffered greatly at the hands of many doctors and spent all she had. Yet she was not helped but only grew worse. She had heard about Jesus and came up behind Him in the crowd and touched His cloak…He looked around to see who had done it. The woman, realizing what had happened to her, approached in fear and trembling. She fell down before Jesus and told Him the whole truth.’

‘He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has saved you. Go in peace and be cured of your affliction.” (Mark 5:25-34)

The woman in the Gospel was not only suffering a great physical pain, but she also was ritualistically unclean. Therefore, she could not be with her family and friends. She could not socialize. She could not worship. She was an outcast.

She gave all she had, save for an encounter with God Himself.

What makes this act greater than what meets the eye is the intentionality of the woman. Certainly she believed that Jesus could heal her. However, she did not seek out a great physical act. Instead, the woman believed that even the smallest moment with Jesus could become far greater than the biggest moment of her life.

She did not confine Jesus to the expected.

She did not expect Him to have to touch her. Instead, she saw beyond the bigger picture.

I think we all live a little like this woman. We seek God in the little things, expecting to only see the tiniest of glimpses of Him. We expect God to be smaller, to be hidden, to be silent. However, if we expect nothing from God but for Him to love us, each of these little moments become part of something greater. 

Each moment, good or bad, can be made beautiful through the love of God.

So let us stop seeking only the glimpses of Heaven. Let us stop trying to make ourselves bigger than God’s grace, found in these little moments. Let us stop pretending that we might miss God’s presence if we aren’t looking in to all of the little details every second every day. Let us stop bogging down in the small.

Let us become small and God become great in our hearts.

Then, as we add up all of the small moments we can recognize, our Jesus will show us just how many more we missed. He will raise us up, make us great, and change our lives for the better.