Tag: Catholic

Holy Love Shrine, Ohio

My Personal Favorite statue at the Holy Love Ministries site ...The Arbor Statue

Truly Miraculous – I’m A Witness

I want to share with you my personal experiences at the Holy Love Ministries Shrine in North Ridgeville, Ohio. I’ve encountered so much supernatural phenomenon, that I need to write them chronologically. I first heard of the shrine in November of 2005. At the time my mom had a church group meet at the house every Thursday. After a meeting, and all 25 people had left, I noticed a booklet. It had a picture of the Sorrowful Mother statue on the cover. It was for the Holy Love Shrine in North Ridgeville. As I read over this very complex, in-depth booklet, filled with messages to the visionary from Mother Mary, I knew I should visit. Once I read about Mary’s promises to all visitors and the blessings bestowed upon them, I knew I must go. Mother let all ‘pilgrims’ know what they may or may not experience at the holy site. One may be healed, see statues come alive, witness miracles in the sky, photos taken may reveal the unseen. I was excited to go and made arrangements with my sister to head up there (about an hour away) right before Thanksgiving.

November 2005 – First Pilgrimage

The shrine has many stations along a huge rosary-shape path, and Mother Mary has asked each pilgrim to stop at each station, usually denoted by a statue. Mary asks that one read or pray at such station to obtain graces given. Because you are to be prayerful, my sister and I distanced each other, to remain private in our prayer. I had the booklet/guidebook, and I could not find the third statue. I looked, so did my sister, until I realized how far – literally off the beaten path it was. To complicate matters, the gray/white November sky blended with the white of the statue – which rests ATOP of the wood arbor some 60 feet or more off of the path. (See the blog photo at the top of the article) It also is extremely close to the visionary’s’ home. We arrived there and prayed and continued on. It started to gently snow as we progressed along the large acres’ wide rosary shaped trail. As we forged our way back toward the visitors’ center (at this time the current visitors center, chapel, and other structures were not in existence. The center was the red pole building near the entrance- a great distance away), I was trying to get my bearings as to how far we were from my Jeep. Because of the weather, as far as I could tell, my sister and I were the only visitors outside on the property. She trailed me by some 25 feet. I could see far in the distance, at least 200 feet away, the arbor statue of Mary. It was easy to spot, for her vibrant blue robe high atop the wood structure, stood out against the bleak white/gray of the snowy sky. I kept walking back towards the parking lot, as we would pass by the statue on our return. For a split second I thought “Wasn’t that white?” but dismissed it, as I was trying to pray, and put my head down as I walked. But then – it happened. As soon as we came close to the proximity of the arbor – without leaving the path to head directly to the statue, I looked up at the statue. The statue was such a vibrant blue that it was almost a smudge of color. I thought “Wait a minute! It was white!” No sooner the thought when I felt a huge tug yanked from my left pelvis area. I let out a “Oww!” And at that instance I knew I was sick, but I’m not anymore. I was a little frightened, but kept my pace, I looked back and my sister was walking with her head down. I looked at the statue still radiant blue. As you may assume, the statue holds a special place for me. At each visit I give a sincere thank you and have taken up photographing the arbor statue out of gratitude. For who knows what Mother removed from my body. I assumed a cancerous growth. Either way I was healed.

This picture was taken on a visit with an acquaintance. I had taken a few with my phone, for me and we continued on the path. Later that evening, I remembered to look at the photos, and there in a series, was this great circular ray around mother! Of course, I couldn’t wait to share with my family and the acquaintance who attended with me.

This picture taken on a summer visit during Covid. A storm was brewing. The clouds parted, but I did not see the “Host” in the series of photos I had taken, until I looked several days later. In the series of shots, the “Host” enters from the right until it comes into her center. Mary describes seeing the certain “Host” colors in your pictures to denote meanings. This is a photo of a photo, but the true color is purple. Purple means ‘passion.’ I was there after hearing of bad news.

God The Father, Jesus And The Saints Visit The Shrine

Jesus often appears on the property and Mary often brings other Saints with her to the shrine. Busloads of people come to witness these events. We were there at a Midnight appearance of Saint Joseph on his feast day. Hundreds of people were there. I noticed throngs of people filming the night sky with their phones. We look up and see only the moon and stars. People are starting to shout, and we can see they are ‘chasing’ something with their screens. I get out my phone and focus on the moon. Though it was fixed in sky with our naked eye, through our cell lens it was zipping all over the night sky! You could not follow it – it was zigzagging all over. My male friend, a non-Catholic, became frightened and will not return.

Cloud Formations

Another wonderous sign known at the site, are the miraculous cloud displays. I made a trip in April of 2020, after learning some disappointing news. Since it was a mid-day weekday, only a handful of visitors were on the property. I needed answers from Christ and guidance. As I made my pilgrimage to the various stations and shrines, still distraught, I found myself in the “Field.” This is the place where many Marian visits take place. On special occasions Jesus will appear. In my grief, I looked up at the sky to appeal to God. In rapid formation, billows of clouds formed a crystal-clear image of the Pieta. There was no mistaken this, not some vague depiction, which could be this, might be that, no this was the Michelangelo that we know and admire. Because of my sorrow, I told Jesus that it wasn’t enough to console me. In response that quickly scrambled and immediately formed the picture-perfect, full-bodied image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. I understood then that Jesus and Mary were trying to comfort me.

So many visitors give their testimonies, leave prints of their wonderous photos, Mary has promised so many graces given by Jesus and God to those who prayerfully visit. I cannot begin to tell you that I was always a believer. But after my miracle, now I know that God is real. That Jesus is real. That the Saints do exist. If you can – go there. Mary has said that Holy Love is our Lourdes Shrine.

The Dead And The “C” Student Catholic

The Dead Appear In Dreams To Communicate The Needs Of Their Souls

Shortly after the burial of my mother, I tried once again to sleep. As in the prior months after her death, I would pray before bed. Just as I prayed for her soul as she was actively dying, I prayed every chance I had throughout the day, too. Only the precise instance she died, a distinct change occurred. A switch was hit. A fervor ceased. A realization that my prayers, my faith, my confidence had no bearing. I had no sway, no pull, no influence on God. I continued to pray regardless, but my conviction, my enthusiasm was no longer present.

Mom Appears

This time as I slept – and like prior dreams of Holy Souls In Purgatory; these happen just before waking- I was in my childhood home. It was as it appeared years ago, before my parents remodeled. Yet I was as I am now. Dad was there frantic, waiting for the ambulance. Mom was in another room, unseen but needed help. I stepped outside the house, for the paramedics had arrived. A team entered, I watched from the grass. I sensed that they couldn’t find her. Dad opened the door and said she’s missing; they can’t locate her. I needed to start looking. I turned to face our large property. As I ran down our small hill past our outbuildings, I seen her. She was standing at the foot of another hill leading up to our bank barn. Suddenly I was in front of her. She appeared as I remembered her in her 40’s. She had on a white short sleeve blouse and dark blue slacks. I was trying to tell her she needed to come back to the house. She needed to go to the hospital, to come inside. She shook her head. It was as though; she was bursting while shaking her hands ‘no.’ She was excited, smiling without parting her lips. I was too busy trying to coax her back, that I didn’t have the presence to ask her if she needed anything from me to help free her soul from purgatory. Then it happened. She took off running at lightning speed. Up the hill and over it. By the time I ran after her, the last glimpse I seen was her already up our neighbors’ massive hill and disappearing in their wood line. I was yelling for her as I came down our barn hill and onto our neighbor’s yard. Their yard too, was decades earlier. I looked to my right, and a woman stood a distance away in what once was a garden. She had a hoe in her hands. I did not recognize her. I asked if she seen my mom. Out of nowhere a huge gray dog was near her. I knew that I was in trouble. I sensed that this gray dog would attack me. As I turned opposite, the dog was in front of me. He leapt at me. I fell onto my back. His huge jaw on top of me coming to clamp down on my face. I instantly woke. I knew it was a visit; I missed my chance to ask her what more she needed to be released from purgatory. I also was aware that I could not pursue her. I think the dog was a hound of heaven and was making it clear that I could not enter nor chase after her.

My Sister

She died just two months after Mom. Our Priest had given her the Apostolic Blessing, which I took as a ‘get out of purgatory free card.’ Turns out it wasn’t. I prayed for her several times daily. But I was not focused on her soul’s well-being, because of the pardon. One day, three months after her death, I became somewhat concerned though. I prayed to Mother Mary, my special intercessor and asked if she was indeed, okay – just in case. And several days later a strange dream happened. I was in the basement of my childhood. So, that we are clear, this is a 225-year-old farmhouse. The basement is rocky, gray, crude and no matter how many lights are on, still it casts shadows. I was there, again as I am now. The light bulb was dangling. It was heavily shadowed, mom was there by the light, this time she looked as she had before she died. She stood by an open book resting on a stand, she gestured at the book. I approached the book, put my head down and said, ‘My poor sister!’ I stepped away and lying on the floor were dying, malnourished newborn kittens gasping for air. As I took another step, I seen what I thought was a shaggy matted feral barn cat I have. Although askew, it resembled my cat with the sandy tones, orange and black, it was eating out of a bowl. Then it did something amazing. It stood on its hind legs, but as it did so it grew to my height. It walked on two feet into the shadows. I woke. But I couldn’t make any sense out of this dream.

Does She Need Help

Unsure, I went ahead and had more Masses said for both mom and our sister. But oddly I wasn’t too worried about her. So, about three weeks later, when the nagging reminder of the dream surfaced I prayed to Mother and asked, ‘Does she need help?’ And several nights later just before waking I heard distinctly my voice asking;” Does she need help?” and a loud reply in a woman’s voice said: “She needs help.” Boy did I wake up! I prayed more, gave alms and said a rosary. I procured Masses for her. Then three months later, I had THE dream.

Confinment

I found myself inside a huge, barely lit commercial industrial like building. It stretched multiple stories high which were recessed into the darkness and shadows. On the floor level were tight aisles with rows of small, closed-door closet like spaces. I was in front of one door. It was very dark, but I could make out what was around me. In front of the door, I called out my sister’s name. From inside that closet I hear a soft, ‘Yeah.’ I opened the door, and she literally fell into my arms. I held her as she curled up in my lap. And I awoke, greatly disturbed. I started praying more, but my spark, my certainty had gone. How could I help her?

My Priest

Four months later, uncertain if my efforts had helped her or Mom, I mustered the courage to talk to our Priest. I had been debating asking his advice for months. I was still at a disbelief over the Apostolic Pardon not assuring she had bypassed purgatory. The time came for me to ask; “Is it possible that a C-Student Catholic, possibly a D-Student, could have dreams where the dead appear needing my help?” He responded: “Yes. It’s our faith that we commune with the saints. Be confident that their salvation is assured. Their suffering is a separation from God, but they will be delivered.” I asked about the Apostolic Pardon – is it not the free pass I thought? “No, it is not a get out of purgatory free pass.” I told him that she’s not in a good place. He replied: “God works out of time and space. I may have seen where she WAS, but she is not there now.”

Church “Friends”

Father went onto say that both parishes (our area has combined local churches due to a shortage of Priests) have “Friends.” It wasn’t clear to me what “Friends” were. He said, “I prefer ‘friends’ to ghosts. At both churches I’ve heard voices, noises, actually several of us have. We are aware of them. What we can do is pray for them, offer alms, rosaries, our sufferings and Masses.”

Dry Prayer

Once he said this, I had to confess that all of my confidence in prayer, ended the exact moment mom died. He nodded instantly. He called this “dry prayer.” The only way to overcome it, he said, was to “keep praying.” By continuing on with my prayers, the diffidence feeling will subside. And one month later, it has. After a few more sacrifices, I will pray and ask for an update on my sister’s level of purgatory. I’m sure I’ll receive it. But first I must try harder to help her.

Footnote: After much discernment and yes, prayer, I finally came to the realization that the “animal” was in fact my sister. I recognized the resemblance. Her shaggy mane of blondish hair, the fact that she was a little taller than me, and I knew that the “cat-like animal” was female. Thus, Mom being present, too. During this prayerful period, I was reading about a Catholic mystic. She had seen souls suffering in purgatory who were “animal-like” and then I knew without a doubt, it was my sister.

We Buried Our Sister

Two months After Mom

You really do just go through the motions. I trudged through work and didn’t speak of it. At night I gathered as many photos as possible of her that I had. Prior to her death, I gave my brother-in-law the phone number of mom’s funeral director. This way, we could just do a repeat of her funeral. My sister would have liked that. In fact, just two months prior, she was with Dad and I at the funeral home while we made mom’s arrangements. The funeral director was aware of her condition. I explained to my BIL that this would make things easier. I met my BIL at the funeral home’s main location. The previous director greeted me with raised arms; “What happened?” Mom happened, and my sister rapidly declined. My BIL and I chose exactly the same casket and vault with the opposite complementary prayer card. I gave the director my copy of my sisters’ plot. Mom had the foresight two years ago to have us buy plots at our church cemetery. My BIL was going to have his niece help pick out my sisters’ burial clothes. It was hard for him to get through this, but what could I say? It was done. We just had to honor her. Once again, I had to write her obituary, and I needed to draft her eulogy. He agreed to ask the same women to read in our stead at the Mass funeral. The director excused himself while he called our priest to procure a Mass date and confirm that we could have the showing, Mass and burial and wake all in one day. He came back with two dates, the coming Friday or Saturday. I insisted on the Saturday, the 28TH. It would allow more to show, it was two days after her only son’s birthday, and it happened to be my birthday. It was perfect.

Funeral

Since Mom’s funeral was still fresh, we were accustomed to the procedures. I had made two photo boards (only one for the church parlor, the other for the Knights of Colombus Hall) and placed one in the Church. Then, I looked towards my sister’s casket. She was in her forest green dress with a white sweater. The sweater to hide her bone thin frame. Her jaw was clamped tight, only I knew it was due to her jaw being open. Her makeup was sparse, and had I known, I would have put eyeliner and mascara on her. So, I took lipstick and added color to her gaunt cheeks and color to her pale lips. One day earlier, by coincidence, my BIL’s sister knew the beautician appointed to set my sisters hair. She had attempted to lighten it blonde (because of my sister’s Alzheimer’s dementia she could not tolerate the procedure of lightening her hair) to cover the dark gray it had become. But, because of the cold storage it did not hold. And, as before, I was able to ask for a lock of her hair. I had cut a few strands in the hospital, but since the beautician trimmed her hair, now her son and husband could have some, too. Once again, her bangs were back like she used to wear it.

Visitation

Before the 10:00 A.M. opening, people started arriving. Soon I was called to stand at the head of her casket. I greeted her former classmates, parishioners, neighbors, colleagues, family and friends. Some 150 people were inline outside of the church waiting to give their condolences. I told my sister at every interval that she had done well. For I know that the dead are made to attend their funerals. They stand at the foot of their caskets. They wait for prayers. I prayed the Eternal Rest prayer and St. Gertrudes too. After some time, I looked to see out Priest standing near the foyer. I snuck up to him and asked if it was time for the Mass. At this point many more were still outside. He graciously said that we would wait until everyone was seated. One of her Catholic schoolmates mistook me for my sister, and another commented, that they, too were taken aback. Yet, another said: “She was sweet.” The funeral director assisted by my sister’s family member, a retired funeral director, helped turn her casket away from the crowd. Once turned, the director cranked the casket bottom and lowered my sister. He looked at me said; “Okay?” I nodded and he shut and locked her casket for Mass to begin. My BIL and nephew unfolded the mantle to cover her casket for Mass, and I followed the procession until taking my place in the pew.

Burial And Wake

After the Mass, easily 60 or more processed to the cemetery. Again, the brief ceremony of committing her body was performed at a holding place. For she was buried about 75 feet away right behind mom. Then as before we walked to the nearby hall for the luncheon. Easily 85 people attended as her grandchild ran around the hall playing with the toys I had brought. People mulled over her photo boards and conversed with each other, all talking about the turn out. Some had wandered over to Mom’s grave, too. Afterwards, my BIL called to talk about the amazing large turnout and that it probably helped that it was Saturday. He brought up the fact that it had spread around the church that it was my birthday, he didn’t realize. Yes, it was and it was perfect.

Mom Has Died

Blindsided By Death…

I’m saddened to say that we buried Mom less than a month ago. Even though she had several ailments, we weren’t suspecting a possible stroke. All of us knew it would be an uphill battle, but we had hoped with therapy, she could swallow and hopefully, speak by Thanksgiving. Complication after complication mounted. Her weakened body, struggled to stay alive for us. She tried to breathe without the ventilator for exactly 24 hours.

Hard To Watch…

All of our prayers, joined together with parishioners, neighbors and friends could not bring about a miracle. So, our prayers changed for a miracle of another kind, that she dies soon as to relieve her suffering. Mom had a living will, so no extreme measures were to be taken. Due to the stroke, early on she tried to speak and sometimes you could decipher a word. But, as the days went on, she became weaker. Her not being able to tell each one of us something private, personal, left us without closure. Seeing your mother cry out of frustration and fear, took resolve not to react.

Dying Is Not Peaceful – She Suffered

Mom had shallow, labored breathing exactly two hours after being removed from the ventilator. The moment she started coughing and gasping for air the team had warned us, she would be switching from medical care to comfort care. Once that moment came, I feverishly prayed aloud for her soul. Afterall, what was left? We were losing Mom. They gave her more oxygen, until the pain medicine, which was given every 15 minutes started to relax her. Most of us stayed with her for another 8 hours, not expecting her to survive long, according to the medical team.

Clinging To Life

At 3:00 A.M. I called the hospital. There was still no change in Mom. Of course, it was hard to sleep, but I needed to stay home with Dad. Three hours later, more family was at the hospital, by her side. Still, her rhythmic, gasping breathing happened. Mom eyes closed, mouth open, lie motionless as the medication eased her struggle. When I arrived at 8:30 A.M., to relieve some family and pray more for her soul, I noticed here and there her breathing would take a split second longer.

Hospice Paperwork

Since Mom was in ICU, and not expected to live much longer, the hospital needed to move her to their Hospice wing. Dad signed the paperwork in the ICU waiting room. Later, the Hospice Doctor came by to see Mom and speak a little about what would happen. He examined her hands and feet. Took her pulse. He told me by his guess a few hours. I had heard that the dying waits for their family to leave until they pass. I asked him about this, and he explained that in his experience it’s either that OR they are waiting on a loved one to come. Yes, one wasn’t present, but had spoken on the phone. He paused and said, “Are you religious?” I said we are crazy Catholics and have been praying for her soul. He said; “Great. She should be fine.” I didn’t ask him to elaborate. I needed to start praying at her bedside.

Waxy Color

About this time, alone with Mom I noticed how yellow she was. The term “waxy” I had heard many times describing the dead and dying. But now I understood that to mean like the look of wax beans. The pale yellow, semi-translucent skin. Mom had purple and red small bruise-like spots over her arms and on her fingertips. Her feet were cold and then sometimes hot. Her left arm and leg had swollen, due to the stroke and lack of movement.

Her Death

After praying for her soul, really begging that her suffering be reparation for her purgatory, I spoke to her. I have known for some time that the dying can hear you. So, I had told her anything noteworthy about what was happening to her as well as any family concerns. This time, regardless of any past issues, troubles, I let Mom know something she has probably never heard. It dawned on me that neither her parents (which were never involved with her) nor her sisters or family had ever told her what she needed to hear. So, I told her. I told my mother that she was a success. That she was successful, more so than anyone in her immediate family. I told her that it was okay to go. And to look for the light.

I Took A Break

I let one of my family members know that I was going to step out, but that I should be back in about one hour. I no sooner drove about 2 miles from the hospital when I received the call. Mom stopped breathing; a nurse called for a doctor. When I returned to the hospital, Mom had been pronounced about 10 minutes prior. The nurse and family confirmed that as soon as they had mentioned aloud in front of Mom that I had left, her breathing became few and far between.

We Stayed With Her Body

Dad and I stayed with Mom for 2 and a half hours after her death. Mostly silent. I touched her hands and her face, her feet and her arms. I stroked her hair – all things we were never permitted to do while she lived. When I started to cry, I realized that I cried for myself out of pity and fear. I still repeat that over and over. I had taken a moment to call the funeral home of choice, there with Mom. I didn’t realize that she would go to the hospital morgue. Once received there, later most likely late into the night the funeral workers would transport her to the funeral home. Thus began the process of preparing for the funeral…