“I hate it,” he said dismissively. “You look nothing that.”
 
Ever the sensitive one, I cringed at my husband’s assessment of my headshot. The one I’d been using on my website and social media accounts for months. Was the selfie really that bad, or did I simply look old? I was afraid to ask.
 
According to my driver’s license and my brand-new Medicare card, I am old. Officially. I may not feel old, or even think of myself as old, but the government insists otherwise. 
 
Yes, my previously blond hair is now a shimmery silver-gray, but I’ve embraced the look. It’s easier to maintain, healthier, and considerably less expensive than dying it every six weeks. Besides, I receive compliments all the time from women wanting—but afraid—to do the same thing.
 
Yes, my face is lined with wrinkles, and I am startled whenever I see myself reflected in the mirror, no matter my expression. The furrows around my mouth deepen when I frown, while the crinkles framing my eyes intensify when I smile. While I confess to trying Botox and other anti-aging treatments, the cost of defying gravity is astronomical.
 
Yes, I carry too much weight around my midsection and the skin on my upper arms sags, but I have been lifting heavy and doing resistance training at the local gym for nearly two years. The progress is just painstakingly slow. Muscle, it seems, takes far longer to build than fat.
 
So, with my husband’s critical assessment ringing in my ears, I booked a session with a professional photographer, hoping the result would be at least one photo he’d find appealing. 
 
In the days leading up to the appointment, I scoured Pinterest and social media to see what other women wear in their profile photos. Recognizing that patterned tops are out, and neutrals are in, I pulled together three black-on-black outfits. On the morning of the shoot, I spent extra time styling my hair and applying my makeup, hoping my efforts would project a younger, carefree, and somehow more polished version of myself.
 
From the moment I arrived at 27 Creative Studio in Berlin, Maryland, owner and photographer Katie Horseman was delightful. Sensing my discomfort, she immediately put me at ease, and before I knew what was happening, her camera was snapping away. I became immersed in the fun and spontaneity of the session, forgetting all about my pesky crow’s feet as I posed and smiled at her direction.
 
By the time I left the studio, I was aglow with self-confidence. And when Katie shared a short reel and a sampling of photos on Instagram a few days later, the positive response was overwhelming. Thank you to all my family and followers for your kind words and heart emojis!
 
Like most women of a certain age, becoming older and losing physical beauty is a challenging and humbling season. A season with no known end date, but one I must endure for the remainder of my earthly existence. One moment I am preoccupied with my appearance to the point of vanity, while the next I struggle to find a single feature I like about myself.

A confessor once told me that this vacillating mindset is the very essence of Aristotle’s theory on the golden mean, where virtue lies halfway between two excessive vices, i.e., vanity and self-hatred. Virtue is mine if only I can locate and settle on that precarious midway point.
 
Why do we struggle to acknowledge and embrace the beauty inherent within us? Why do we not find comfort in the truth that, as John and Stasi Eldredge write in their book Captivating, Unveiling The Mystery of A Woman's Soul, “true beauty comes from a depth of soul that can only be attained through living many years well”? In other words, why do we doubt that we have always been beautiful, and that we shall only become more beautiful with the passage of time?
 
I’ll say it again: I am a work in progress. In addition to becoming more beautiful, I pray that, with each passing day, year, and decade, I become more of the woman the Father created me to be. For it is only through His love, the mercy of Jesus Christ, and the guidance of the Holy Spirit, that I shall truly become her. God's beloved daughter. Gray hairs, fine lines, crepey skin, and all. 
 
Katie Horseman Instagram: @27.Creative.Studio

For most of my adult life, I sought joy in the pleasures of the flesh. Earthly delights that were short-lived and, more often than not, left me wanting more. More of the same, or something else entirely, but something–anything–that would satisfy the desperate longing in my body, mind, heart, and soul. 
 
My story is not unique. In the post-Roe era of women’s liberation and feminism, I reached adulthood believing that I deserved and could achieve everything and anything I set my mind to. No matter what, and especially no matter that I had been raised in a large Catholic family with thirteen years of Catholic schooling under my belt.
 
Physically hungry, I ate to the point of gluttony, but my hunger was never satisfied. I only became overweight. Thirsty, I drank to the point of drunkenness, but my thirst was never quenched. I only became an alcoholic. Desiring money and possessions, I worked to the point of exhaustion, but I could never earn or buy enough. I only became greedy and cut-throat. Desperate for love, I sought comfort in the arms of men, but my heart remained empty and broken. I only humiliated myself and wounded others. 
 
Sadly, it took nearly forty years before I saw through the outrageous lie I’d been fed as a young woman. Providentially, at the age of sixty, I heard God’s voice calling me home to the Catholic Church, and with His grace and the Holy Spirit’s guidance, I mustered up the courage and conviction to return. 
 
You have made us for Yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in You. – St. Augustine

 
Able again to participate in the Mass and to sit in Adoration, I began to experience snippets of the joy I had long sought. Still a recovering hedonist, though, each taste made me impatient for more. Through prayer and study, I came to understand that, as a fruit of the Holy Spirit, true joy isn’t something I have a right to or the ability to conjure up. How then, I asked myself, can I experience more of it? I set about to find out.
 
Merriam-Webster defines joy as  “a feeling of great pleasure or happiness that comes from success, good fortune, or a sense of well-being.” This, of course, is the simplest form of joy, which in reality, is better described as gladness or contentment, not the spiritually fulfilling, authentic joy gifted by the Holy Spirit. 
 
Father Hugh Barbour, O. Praem., in an interview with Catholic Answers Focus during the COVID pandemic, responded to the question of how we find joy in difficult times with, “as we grow in charity, we know that the fruit of joy will be increased in us and that will be a particular power that will show forth in its good time.” [1]
 
I interpret this to mean that, by actively serving others and practicing charity–loving God and loving our neighbor as ourselves–we experience joy. Perhaps not right away, but eventually.
 
C.S. Lewis wrote eloquently in his autobiographical Surprised by Joy, describing joy as “the stab, the pang, the inconsolable longing,”[2] a description that resonates strongly with me. 
 
I, too, experience this longing in the pursuit of God. When I glimpse–even for the briefest of moments–something so beautiful, truthful, and good that it leaves me awestruck, I know that God’s grace is upon me and that He is pointing me to Himself. 
 
God blessed me with this joy twenty-seven years ago when I gazed upon the face of my newborn daughter, and again two years ago at my granddaughter’s birth. Who but God Himself could create such perfection and innocence?
 
It is the joy I sense when I watch a beautiful sunrise over the Atlantic Ocean. Who but God Himself could paint such a masterpiece using the most exquisite of color and light? 
 
It is the joy I feel when my eyes tear up and a lump forms in my throat while listening to classical music. Who but God Himself could arrange such hauntingly sublime compositions?
 
  By far, though, the joy Jesus promises us in the Gospel of St. John is the authentic joy I truly long for. It is the joy found only in a relationship with God. In knowing and accepting His Son, Jesus Christ, as my Lord and Savior. 
 
“I have told you this so that My joy may be in you
and your joy may be complete.”
John 15:11
 
“So you also are now in anguish. But I will see you again, 
and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy away from you.
Until now you have not asked anything in my name; ask and you will receive, 
so that your joy may be complete.”
John 16:22, 24
 
“But now I am coming to You. I speak this in the world so that
they may share my joy completely.”
John 17:13
 
 I experience this joy when, while receiving the Eucharist or sitting in silent Adoration, I am caught off guard by the enormity and awesomeness of the true presence of Jesus Christ. Who but the Lord Himself could grace us with His body, blood, soul, and divinity, as nourishment, as sustenance, as a remembrance of Him, and as a promise to be with us always?
 
This is the authentic joy I seek, for This is God Himself. 


[1] https://www.catholic.com/audio/joy

[2] Surprised By Joy, Copyright 1955 by C. S. Lewis Pte. Ltd.
 

​I became acquainted with Blessed Solanus Casey, whose feast we celebrate on July 30, sixty-three years after his July 1957 death and three years after his Beatification ceremony held in Detroit, Michigan, on November 17, 2017. Fortunately, my previous lack of knowledge about the humble and virtuous Franciscan Capuchin friar did not prevent him from hearing my silent yet desperate pleas, or, like he had done so often when he was alive, responding with compassion and healing.
 
Having recently reconciled with the Catholic Church after forty years of self-imposed exile, I was determined to make amends and to relearn all that I had forgotten. In addition to studying the Bible, I pored over spiritual books that spoke of God’s boundless love and mercy, and, hoping against hope that, as Oscar Wilde suggested, “every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future,” I sought inspiration and consolation in the stories of the saints. 
 
Despite my sincere desires and best intentions, there remained a major obstacle to my total surrender to God and His Bride, the Church. An obstacle that had become an idol to me and was slowly but most certainly killing me. An idol by the name of red wine.
 
As many young people do, I began drinking heavily in college. While my problem manifested itself early on, I never truly wanted to stop. Instead, I wanted  the power to regulate my drinking. To enjoy one or two glasses, then stop for the night. Unfortunately, my addiction rendered me physically and emotionally unable to moderate, and by sixty years old, I existed on a nauseating teeter-totter that had me either drinking to the point of intoxication or swearing off alcohol all together. 
 
Once I returned to the Church, I regularly confessed my bouts of drunkenness in the sacrament of Reconciliation, but my physical health and self-respect continued to suffer. I existed in a near continual state of fear and anxiety. Fear that I would drink too much and forget—or worse yet, regret—something I did, or fear that, by not drinking, I would miss out on the alluring fantasy falsely promised by a bottle 
 
On the evening of my healing, October 22, 2020, which is also notable for being the feast day of Pope St. John Paul II, I opened Patricia Treece’s  book Nothing Short of a Miracle, God’s Healing Power in Modern Saints. Chapters three and four detail the life and healings of Solanus Casey. While reading the account of Luke Leonard, “the alcoholic bum” healed in the 1940s after his encounter with then Fr. Solanus, my heart began beating furiously. As I read how Solanus asked Mr. Leonard, “When did you get over your sickness?”, I was beset with a giddy hopefulness. If Blessed Solanus had healed Luke Leonard, why not me?
 
No sooner had  this thought materialized, I heard a voice ask, “Carolyn, when did you get over your sickness?”
 
I whispered, “Tonight.”
 
​And I did. That very night. Just like that. 
 
It has been nearly four years since my healing, the details of which are memorialized in my frenzied journal entries from the hours and days that followed. Since then, I have experienced no alcohol withdrawal symptoms or cravings. There has been no sense of loss or missing out, and the desire to relax or unwind after a challenging day no longer leads me to the bottom of a wine bottle. I am, thanks to God’s merciful love and Blessed Solanus Casey’s intercession, clean, sober, and at long last, healed. God willing, I will remain alcohol-free until He calls me home.
 
Solanus Casey’s elevation to sainthood now awaits the investigation and verification of one additional miracle attributed to his intercession. According to Father Ed Foley, the Vice Postulator for the Cause of Canonization of Solanus Casey, the favor I received cannot be considered an official miracle “because of the difficulty of creating a direct medical cause and effect between [my] sobriety and Solanus’ intercession. Objectively there are other explanations for [my] ongoing recovery.” I, however, know what took place that night. Blessed Solanus knows. God knows. 
 
Wouldn’t it be remarkable if your own healing becomes the final miracle Solanus Casey or another Blessed needs for sainthood? As I experienced, and as the Catechism of the Catholic Church affirms, saints desire to help us follow them into eternal life with The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. With untold numbers at the ready to offer their intercession and mediation, why would any of us not cry out to them?