Bullfrogs Moaning

The bullfrogs moan a lullaby. It is the hour of the Divine Mercy (the one in the middle of the night), and the friend who suffers so from mental issues has recently been e-mailing quotes from St. Faustina's diary. This friend is alone now, for three days, spouse gone to a nephew's confirmation.

The rosary is here in bed, and thoughts turn to praying the Chaplet of Divine Mercy for a young woman, college student perhaps, who was in the Communion line and happened to approach where I stood, blessed to be holding the Cup of Christ's Blood. She received, and my heart prayed for her treatments, for she obviously has cancer struggles. Later, this was confirmed through additional observation--being in the place God had me at the right time to learn this. I would like to anonymously give her a saint book. Perhaps St. Faustina's diary? The Lord lets us know all that we need to know, even what books, what prayers, when.

The pain moans like the bullfrogs. It is keeping the body and mind awake. Perhaps an ice pack would help, or praying the Chaplet or praying the rosary. It has been difficult to pray in these modes for some time. The mind seems to more pray in the present moment, with some kind of thoughts, I guess, or something hard to describe. The mind goes where the soul takes it. Does that make sense?

Perhaps the body is hungry for some food? Pain does ask for food. And then I recall what the priest shared the other night after Mass: pain is actually and only "sensations." This is so. I do not mind the pain, but I have to corral the thoughts like the bullfrog moaning in the cattails, on Lake Immaculata's edge. The thoughts that could lead to be overwhelmed with what manual labor ought to be done, and with the desire to have this place in better loving order, and also the errands that loom and projects which ought to be completed--these thoughts must be subdued. For the "sensations" in the body are moaning that it has been out into the world a bit much, or perhaps talking too much, expending energy.

The body has been several days driving to the hospital, walking on tile floors, standing, sitting, and talking with the elderly couple, driving the woman to her town for some needed items, and talking with nurses, and then with family members at a distance. It is not much. An able body could do these little activities and many more. But a body desired by God to suffer "sensations" cannot jump outside its little pond, not even its corner edge of pond, without increasing the "sensations."

But even being awake in the middle of the night, moaning sensations, the praying becomes the moaning like the bullfrog's lullaby. It is a lullaby prayer, mostly for the college girl with cancer, thanking the Lord for her struggle to live, asking Him to give her strength and courage to endure, hoping she can have a full life and health, to turn all the more to Him. Then there are bullfrog prayers for people who read blogs, in general and specific, and for the elderly couple, the woman of which confides she listens to some all-night radio program that has her captivated. It is not a good program, and her adult children have concerns. It is one of those addictive type programs that feed on people's fears, and the host convinces them he has the answers. A talk show that preys upon people's minds.

So I pray for all the people who are lulled into that kind of program, or watch or read similar types of soul-infiltrating propaganda on the internet. Even the news stations that repeat over and over the latest crisis, and the more lurid the better to go into detail--these draw eyes and ears and mind and soul to the flashing images and words scrolled across the screens in hospitals, homes, nursing faciltities, restaurants, bars, airports--all over our world yet not where the bullfrog moans its lullaby.

Now a train slowly passes, across from Lake Immaculata, and there is an engineer on that train. The noise obliterates the bullfrog's moaning lullaby, and perhaps the bullfrog stops moaning, inhibited by the rumbling train. The human ear does not know, for it cannot hear the bullfrog through the train, even if the moans coincide.

This is how one can manage pain--or rather, sensations. They may be superseded by other sensations, such as thoughts, prayers, moaning lullaby prayers. Love of others which sings the lullaby in frog moans or train rumblings. There is room for both and all types of sensations, and prayers can be considered sensations, can they not?

Now, just as one train passes, another slowly churns by, a different rumble tone, more rattling. It is unusual for two trains to pass in the night, so close in sequence. Is that not like the bullfrog's on-going moaning lullaby? Is that not how prayer can moan sweetly, one thought following another, or passing each other on their way from mind to soul to God?

A victim soul constantly seeks prayer, for the "sensations" of suffering seek to moan the lullaby like the bullfrog sings. There was silence as the train moans distanced from the ear; the bullfrog was still. So that is answered. And now it takes up the silent space and fills it with first soft moans and now load lullaby moans. Not as predominant as before the trains, but yet filling in the silent night with its throaty vibrations. One can see with inner sight, the bullfrogs pale throat vibrating like a loose drum skin.

One can see with inner sight the vibrations of people's needs, their hopes, their sorrows, and the world's drawing souls in wrong directions.

The body will need its rest, and so perhaps the effort should be made to rise and walk to the refrigerator for an ice pack. Aren't we so fortunate to have so many luxuries and comforts as to be provided with means to distract one sensation, or perhaps create new sensations, overlapping one with the other, at least for a time.

And mercy! Amazing that now is a third train, this one approaching with announcement down the line at a cross road a mile previous, blaring a horn warning. It moves slowly, though past the woods, past Lake Immaculata, past the bullfrog now silent (or so it is assumed from the last train that revealed following, a stilled throat), past the victim soul of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, silently praying while bodily sensations vibrate, the prayers hoping to join moaning lullabys with the will of God.

Now for the ice pack, and why not hold the rosary under the pillow, and at least begin the more formalized prayer of Divine Mercy?