stigmatized: He is risen!

When I was being trained as a reporter at Stanford, I used to wonder if you had to be a Catholic to be a Vatican correspondent. This Easter, I have been contemplating a post which mentions that women’s voices have always be doubted, beginning with Mary Magdalene’s report of the risen Rabboni Jesus Christ.

She was His first correspondent, yet St. Peter himself did not believe her, not did the others. He rebuked them for their unbelief and hardness of heart.

He often had to correct Peter, all the way to end.

If I become homeless again, would Pope Francis let me stay at the homeless encampment near the Vatican? When I worked successfully as a health reporter, my place was a far worse mess than this place is now. It is not dirty, just things are stacked up without dressers or tables, etc.  I don’t like to have furniture or anything else than I myself cannot move at a moment’s notice if evicted. It’s a habit just like never leaving the house without a coat, even in summer, in case you are ditched somewhere, nor wearing shoes that you could not walk in for a distance, in case you were dropped off in the middle of nowhere. I always like to have a backpack, as well, to be able to walk long distances to shelter.

These are blessed survival lessons from being homeless and they do not leave me–ever. I am very grateful today that this part of me is still alive and well. I went through college without a home, living in halfway houses and group homes and an occasion house-sitting gig. It did not bother me. I did not think about it at all. I did not worry. I just kept going. And I got myself through college through writing–that is how I landed my scholarships and fellowship, as well as loans and grants. My folks paid for my books.

This Easter, I feel that part of my past resurfacing and it is wonderful. I remember I made it before, by God’s grace, and prayed the rosary daily. Now I have a more complete dedication to Our Lady of the Rosary, as my consecration chain bracelet arrived. It signifies a holy slavery to Lord Jesus through the Blessed Mother Mary.

I am a journalist again, albeit a handicapped one. Racehorses are only handicapped if they have an advantage over others, to weigh them down and make it more fair. I am grateful for my cross because it means He loves me enough to test me. I pray that I pass my tests, because the world needs to know that there is recovery from *whatever* through His sacrifice and prayer and fasting.

Thank You for Your triumph this day Rabboni! I bear witness to You and Your resurrection this sunrise as I gave Salutations to the Son’s rise, as I was taught by a nun at Sacred Heart High School in yoga class.

Hallelujah! He is risen!


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