Joseph’s Joy

Joseph’s Joy: The Family Man is finally available! The novel follows its predecessor, Miriam’s Joy! by asking what would happen if Saint Joseph visited a modern town to help a few local men understand the importance they play in their families’ lives. This is my sixth Christian love story but moves beyond romance to family love and relationship.

These two books could be a nice Advent read, especially if you’d like a closer understanding of Mary and Joseph as living people you can relate to!

So far, I’m getting some very nice comments from readers!

• Just finished Joseph and loved it.  So heartwarming and your characters are, as always, people i want to meet.  Hated getting to the end.
• You are such a gifted writer and spiritual inspiration. I feel blessed that I picked up your books…
• …find your style of writing to ring so true.
• I just finished Joseph’s Joy.  I couldn’t put it down, so read it in a few hours.  It was great!  I had tears in my eyes frequently and just plain loved it.
• Thank you so much for a great and enjoyable read.  It was perfect for me at this time.

The Gift of Holy Saturday

Have you ever asked yourself what Holy Saturday is all about? We know the gift of Good Friday – that Jesus suffered and died for us so that we can experience forgiveness now and joy with Him in Heaven. And we understand the gift of Easter – that Jesus rose from the dead, and in so doing, conquered death’s hold over us so that we might rise again, too.

So, what is the gift of Holy Saturday?

Imagine what the disciples must have felt like on Saturday. Surely on Friday they were numb and couldn’t believe what had happened. But Saturday came and they had to admit Jesus had died. All their hopes for a better life must have died with Him. Jesus—who was so charismatic, so good, so filled with potential, who was going to lead them into a new kingdom—had agonized and then breathed His last on the cross.

Think of the women who followed Him and hadn’t been able to embalm His body on Friday. Now on Saturday they were not allowed to do so because of the Sabbath. So, they were left with no way to show Him their devotion, no opportunity to pay tribute to His body. No work to distract themselves from their loss.

I’ve been there, haven’t you? When all your hopes have been destroyed and you realize your dreams will not be realized. Perhaps when someone you love has died? It takes time to process your loss. Your mind doesn’t want to accept the pain and pushes it away in denial. We want to blame someone, and often God takes the brunt of our anger. We are where Lazarus’ sister was when she said, “Lord, if you had been here our brother wouldn’t have died!” We are where Jesus was when He said, “Father, why have You abandoned me?”

Yet, at some point in your Holy Saturday experience, you realize a phase of your life is over, and you must bear the loss and go on.

I think the gift of Holy Saturday is that even when we are at our lowest, and everything seems hopeless, and even when we can’t feel God is near, He is. When we are in that dark pit, alone and desolate and frightened, He is there. When we are “going through Hell,” we can know the Son of God has been there, too. There is no depth we can sink to, where He hasn’t been.

Jesus taught us how to make it through the Holy Saturday loss when, though He felt abandoned, He said, “Father, into your hands I commend my Spirit.” He showed us God still exists, even when we can’t feel Him, and we can trust and place ourselves in His hands.

Yes, He could have risen on Saturday morning. Yes, He could give us everything we want right when we want it. But then we wouldn’t be given the gift of being able to say, “God, I can’t feel You here. I can’t understand what has happened. I’d give anything to change it, and I don’t know why You allowed it. Still, I believe in You. I know, even though it doesn’t seem like it right now, You love me. And I know you are all powerful. So even if I can’t have what I want, I trust You that you know what I need, and You want to shower me with goodness.”

It takes time to get to the point of being able to say this and mean it, all while enduring intense pain. But that’s the gift of Saturday, Time. And because we now know that Jesus did rise and our God isn’t dead, the gift of Saturday is Hope. Because of that Saturday and what happened next, we now can trust that a Sunday will come and with it, the resurrection of all that is good.

Now as Lent draws to an end and we prepare to celebrate Easter, this celebration of new life, let’s resolve to choose life.

Choose gratitude, rather than complaints.

Choose simplicity over materialism and complexity.

Choose relaxation and renewal over busyness.

Choose trust, rather than insecurity.

Choose service, rather than meaningless pursuits.

Choose life!

Choose love!

May all your Saturdays of Despair be followed by Sundays of Life! And may your choices lead you to Joy!

Necessary Losses

In her book, Necessary Losses, Judith Viorst discusses the “loves, illusions, dependencies, and impossible expectations that all of us have to give up in order to grow.” Our life, our growth could be seen as a progression of letting go.

She writes:

In the course of our life we leave and are left and let go of much that we love. Losing is the price we pay for living. It is also the source of much of our growth and gain. Making our way from birth to death, we also have to make our way through the pain of giving up and giving up and giving up some portion of what we cherish.

We have to deal with our necessary losses.

We should understand how these losses are linked to our gains.

For in leaving the blurred-boundary bliss of mother-child oneness, we become a conscious, unique and separate self, exchanging the illusion of absolute shelter and absolute safety for the triumphant anxieties of standing alone.

And in bowing to the forbidden and the impossible, we become a moral, responsible, adult self, discovering—within the limitations imposed by necessity—our freedoms and choices.

And in giving up our impossible expectations, we become a lovingly connected self, renouncing ideal visions of perfect friendship, marriage, children, family life for the sweet imperfections of all-too-human relationships.

And in confronting the many losses that are brought by time and death, we become a mourning and adapting self, finding at every stage—until we draw our final breath—opportunities for creative transformations.

There is plenty we must give up in order to grow. For we cannot deeply love anything without becoming vulnerable to loss. And we cannot become separate people, responsible people, connected people, reflective people without some losing and leaving and letting go.

Viorst lists times in our lives when we must let go, followed by what we will gain by doing so:

Childhood’s End – We give up a belief that we can be kept safe and receive instead the freedom and responsibility to make our own choices. We accept reality, and with it accept that we don’t get special treatment, absolute control, compensation for past loss, or perfect companions. We don’t blame our current lives on our childhood.

The Married State – We learn that no person can meet all our expectations all of the time, nor can some expectations ever be met. Our spouse can’t make us be happy, heal all our hurts from the past, or fill all our needs. Those unfulfilled expectations are necessary losses in order to truly love our less-than-perfect spouses.

Letting Children Go – In parenting we fear our imperfect love will harm our children, or we will fail to keep them safe. Facing our fallibility as parents is another of our necessary losses. We must let our children become steadily more independent and let go of them and our dreams for them. It is also through parenting that we accept that some things we wanted from our own parents we will never receive. We learn to give thanks for imperfect connections.

The Loss of Youth – Time will repeatedly force us to relinquish our self image and move on. We travel stages of our adulthood and must move out of times of stability into times of transition. We leave youth and health behind. We lose abilities and strengths. We let go of dreams as we realize we’ll never accomplish them all. Yet we gain experience, inner depth, acceptance of others, patience, and self-control. We move from body preoccupation to body transcendence. We move from identifying ourselves by what we do or who we parent to who we are. We can become an integrated whole, accepting our weaknesses along with our strengths.

The Loss of our Loved Ones – Mourning is the process of adapting to the losses in our lives. We travel through and revisit stages of numbness, denial, intense emotional pain, bargaining, anger, guilt, and idealizing whom or what we lost. But as we find our way through the mourning and learn to let go of our pain, we can come to acceptance.

Accepting our Mortality – By letting go of our pretense that we will live forever, we acknowledge the importance of the present. We live enriched lives, knowing that each day is vital. We make the most of the present to find a way to leave a legacy to the world for the future.

When we are children, we tend to strive to achieve the next level of growth. My granddaughter has just begun to walk and now her day is spent standing up and down, climbing up and down, daring herself to toddle farther, always strengthening newly controlled muscles and determined to achieve even more.

For some reason, as adults, we hold tighter to what we have achieved and need longer periods of stability before and if we progress again. Sometimes we would refuse to progress if the option were given to us. We know God wants us to become the best we can, which means continually growing, improving, and fighting our weaknesses. Yet, we fear the unknown, grow comfortable with the present, and hold tightly to what we treasure. (Wouldn’t it be better if, instead of collecting treasures, we shared ourselves?)

If we are blessed with a long life, we will face many necessary losses. We lose the constant companionship of our children as they grow up and move away. Even grandchildren will eventually be too old to nestle into grandma’s lap. Many of us will lose our spouses, as well as dear friends. We will adjust over and over to new health issues, grieving the loss of pain-free joints and sharp vision or hearing or thinking, while possibly relying on a cane or walker or wheelchair. We may downsize our house, letting go of sentimental attachment to things.

I watched my mother, who worked until she was 86, need to let go of so much in the course of a couple of years. She had to stop driving and soon after that, she moved from her own little house to our guest bedroom and gave up what treasures wouldn’t fit in our van. She left behind a lifetime of Montana friends and familiar places. When later she moved by train from my house to my brother’s home in California, she brought two large suitcases and left the rest behind. And yet, she did all this with grace. She doesn’t even complain now when Covid keeps her homebound, and she can no longer go to church in person.

Life will hurt us, but because of our wounds, we will stretch and grow and be more than we were. Perhaps this process of letting go, if done well, makes room for God.

Being alive means we will suffer loss. But the loss will open us to new possibilities. Jesus lost his life, but by doing so, regained for us the Kingdom of God. He rose to new life so that we will, too. In that life, there will be no loss.

Blessings on you and on your week!

Betty Arrigotti.