Hope WAS our Strategy!

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit” ~ Romans 15:13

My parents found Holy Family — or maybe I should say, Holy Family found them — during a really difficult time about 15 years ago.

I was seven years old at the time, but even then, I could sense that this was a special place.

I remember joining my mom and dad for Mass at the end of various retreat weekends and falling in love with the beautiful music. I remember laughing with Fr. Gregory over brunch.

And most of all, I remember seeing the peace and joy that washed over my parents when they were there.

As time went on, my family got more involved: My dad became a promoter for our parish. My mom became a certified Spiritual Director through the Spiritual Life Center. My brothers and I came for Confirmation Retreats. Lifelong friendships were formed.

Again and again, Holy Family was a reminder of God’s love for us.

And yet, for many years, I resisted the idea of going on retreat. I mean, I loved my Confirmation Retreat, but whenever my parents suggested the Teen Weekend, I made excuses: I was too busy, I wouldn’t know anyone, etc.

My oldest brother, Jack — two years younger than me — joined my dad for a Men’s Weekend while he was in high school and gave rave reviews. And still, I was hesitant. I loved God, and I believed my family, but my heart was closed off.

But in the summer of 2019, something changed.

I was home after my sophomore year of college and, on a whim, accompanied my mom to a meeting at Holy Family with some of her fellow Spiritual Directors. As I waited for her in the chapel, I spent some time in prayer and something inside me... opened. I felt such a strong pull on my heart. I wanted to go on retreat. My mom and I checked out the retreat offerings and saw that there was a Women’s Retreat that very next weekend. We registered!

That weekend, on retreat, I experienced God’s love so profoundly. It was life changing. I returned home refreshed, secure in my identity as God’s beloved, bursting with a renewed passion for life.

I had no idea how that weekend had prepared me for what was to come.

The very next morning, we received a call from my dad. He was driving himself to the ER.

My dad was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, stage IV.

The weeks that followed were the worst of my life. Watching the strongest man I knew suffer — it was torture. I felt completely helpless.

Now, looking back, I see the grace that we were given.

As completely and utterly awful as it was, I cannot imagine how much harder it would have been had I not just been on retreat.

Because of that weekend, we weren’t without hope. Literally.

While on retreat, each of us received a small stone with a word to encourage us, an intention to carry with us. My mom and I both received the word “hope.” It feels silly to say now, but at the time, we were almost disappointed. Why not joy? Faith? Hope felt weak. Like an anemic optimism, a flickering light in the face of overwhelming darkness. We didn’t want hope. When my dad first got sick, “hope” quickly became a buzzword, and we railed against it. We had no use for empty promises. But it was there, in our hopelessness, that we learned what hope really means. We learned that God’s promises are not empty. Regardless of our circumstances — and even the outcome — He would not abandon us. Those stones helped lay the foundation of our life.

The blessings continued.

One day, we received a knock on the hospital room door and in walked Fr. Terry! We had no idea how he knew about our situation or where to find us, but we were so happy he did. I wept as I watched him administer, with so much care, the Anointing of the Sick to my dad.

I will forever hold that day close to my heart.

Neither will I forget the day that, from his hospital bed, my dad told us he was ready to go on retreat. (If that doesn’t tell you how much he loves this place...!) He and my brother had been registered for weeks. But hooked up on IVs and severely immunocompromised, it just wasn’t a possibility for him.

I called Jack and asked him if he still wanted to go or if he would wait for the next time dad could go with him. I was in awe. Jack, at 17 years old, knew that Holy Family was a place where he felt safe. He went, and that weekend, he was surrounded by men who loved and prayed for him, my dad, and my family. They reminded him he wasn’t alone.

A few months later, my dad — between chemo treatments, mind you! — made his way to retreat. He was so excited. And he was beyond touched when he received what he now calls a “luxury suite,” complete with air conditioning and an accessible bathroom.

Between the thoughtful accommodations, loving fellowship, intimate encounters with the presence of God, delicious food, and beautiful music, he was ministered to in such a major way.

I don’t even have words to describe how much that meant.

As much as I’ve shared, there are still many more layers. And many more moments of love and hope.

God held us so tightly during that time.

The Holy Family community was a part of that. Thank you. Thank you for giving us hope. Thank you for reminding us we weren’t alone. Thank you for showing us the love of God.

Oh, and the best part of the story? My dad has been in remission now for two and a half years. He and Jack look forward to coming on retreat — together — this spring.

~ Caelie Flanagan