In July 2024, Lauren Moore found herself on a figurative mountaintop, leading 55,000 Catholics in praise and worship as a cantor at the National Eucharistic Congress (NEC) in Indianapolis — an experience the Dallas-based 35-year-old wife and mother called “life-changing.” 

But it wasn’t the moments in front of the throngs that held her heart as much as those she spent backstage in Eucharistic adoration.  

“I remember sitting in the chapel in the area where the staff would pray together, having my alone time with Jesus, and I really felt the Lord calling me to trust him,” she told the Register. 

That trust would be needed just six months later when, following a bout with the flu in January, Lauren lost feeling in her body and had to be rushed to the hospital. “I completely crashed, losing sense in my hands and my feet and my ability to move.” 

The diagnosis? Guillain-Barré syndrome, a rare condition in which the body’s immune system mistakenly attacks the peripheral nerves, leading to excruciating nerve pain, sometimes paralysis and, occasionally, death. 

While the illness can attack different areas, Lauren’s back became the focal point and felt “as if it were on fire,” she said, making finding a comfortable position impossible, ultimately prompting her to beg St. Joan of Arc for intercession, and “praising beyond the flames.” 

Not only did she feel divine calm through this desperate request, but by the relics of St. Joan and a few other saints near her bed. “Theresa Moore [mother-in-law] and a few of our friends who are priests brought the relics to the hospital.”   

The relics drew the curiosity of hospital staff, Lauren shared, with nurses asking, “‘Oh, what’s this?’” — with the relics becoming a point of evangelization. While faithful friends would help fill in the gaps, Lauren joined in when she could, even forgoing the most powerful pain relief to be coherent enough to converse with medical personnel about faith.  

In times of intense pain, Lauren even found singing to help her physically. “With Guillain-Barré, the sheath around your nerves gets depleted,” she explained, “so all of your nerves are very exposed, and they’re going haywire trying to figure out what to do.” 

When she began receiving daily plasmapheresis infusions from a Baptist nurse, who learned of her music ministry, Lauren shared phone videos from the NEC. “He was blown away!” she said. “The staff was even playing [the videos] in the hallways and kept talking about the girl with Guillain-Barré who’s a singer.” 

That the paralysis didn’t settle in her throat or neck, she said, was surely the providence of God. 

 

A Husband’s Perspective 

Dave and Lauren met in high school. Dave was a singer-songwriter who studied recording technology and production in college. He traveled as a touring artist and for a few years worked with popular Catholic musician Matt Maher, while Lauren pursued an opera career in Bavaria. They always came back together to play music for Mass. 

“We came from two sides of the playground of music that usually wouldn’t play well together,” Dave said, “but we came together in the Mass; and, over the course of time, we realized we were in love and that God was calling us to the vocation of marriage.” 

Together, they started the Catholic Music Initiative apostolate, writing and recording a new Mass setting in five different styles and languages to encourage reverence in sacred music. “We wanted to create something that honored the tradition of the Church,” Dave said, “but also open the windows to let the fresh air in, like Pope John XXIII.” 

In January 2023, Dave received a phone call from Tim Glemkowski CEO of the NEC, and Bishop Andrew Cozzens, chairman of the board of the NEC, asking him to lead the music for the NEC. After encouragement and blessing from Bishop Edward Burns in the Dallas Diocese, their home diocese, Dave accepted, becoming the director of music for the massive event, with Lauren joining in the effort.  

“We still look back at it, and we’re just in awe that it even happened,” Dave said. “God really moved, and to get to even play a small role, to even witness it, was life-changing.” 

The experience helped remind them, he said, that “it’s all about Jesus. So even if we know that, and believe it, to live our lives fully immersed in the fact — that it’s through him, with him, and in him, and that all things happen for the good with God — is a gift.” 

The graces procured in Indiana, he said, strengthened their faith for their current suffering.  

That’s included pulling back from active ministry together, and with those they love, for now. “But we feel like, through the Spirit, we’re joined, and we’re offering up what we’re going through for others,” Dave said, adding, “When you’re serving the Church and it’s the air that you breathe, sometimes you need a ‘Franciscan vacation,’ and this has been ours!” 

 

Sustained by Prayer 

Lauren’s time in the hospital was filled with prayerful visitors, including priest friends, like Father Arthur Unachukwu, vicar general of the Diocese of Dallas, and Father Kevin Kolker, currently chaplain of the Catholic ministry at Southern Methodist University. While she was in the ICU and unable to speak, Dave said, Father Kolker reminded him, “To know the crucified love, you have to experience the nails and the thorns that pierced him through” (Blessed Columba Marmion). 

Just before his wife’s return home following 10 days in ICU and two months in a hospital facility, Dave experienced those thorns himself, he said, while trying to build a handicap-accessible shower. Stepping on a six-inch nail, he saw that it had driven straight through his foot, landing him in the emergency room. 

“It didn’t seem like I had enough time to prepare for what I needed to do for Lauren, and then to be stuck there,” he said, was difficult. But recalling Father Kolker’s wise words, he committed to the suffering and becoming “wholeheartedly invested in each next present moment,” trusting in the good that would come. 

Lauren also felt the effect of prayers, including in the hospital while experiencing hallucinations, sensing the walls were caving in. While her Aunt Patti prayed the Memorare over her, she said, the “night-terror dream” vanished. “Our Lady was wrapping me and the whole room in her mantle, and I really just felt her motherly love.” 

For comfort, she listened to the Divine Mercy Chaplet daily. “It was sort of like this continual prayer,” Lauren said, connecting her with Jesus’ suffering.  

At times, she felt like Simon of Cyrene, who helped carry Jesus’ cross. “It was the most profound experience of knowing Jesus’ love for me, realizing that sacrifice is love — including for my child, in my marriage, and in all of these small sacrifices,” Lauren said. “True love is that continual saying, ‘Yes’ — the fiat of my life.” 

‘No Easter Without Good Friday’ 

Continuing her recovery from home, Lauren works daily now with therapists to regain her strength. Though the recovery prognosis is uncertain, the family, including their 5-year-old daughter, Abigail, is trying to regain a sense of normalcy.  

“It’s the year of hope; that’s what I’m clinging to,” Lauren said, noting that she has sensed the Lord has more he wants to do through her. “I’ve had to learn that unwavering trust.” 

“You can’t have Easter Sunday without Good Friday,” Dave said, “so I think we really do see this as a time for spiritual growth and development.” As they stand in what he referred to as their “Job Season,” he added that they are united in “offering up every bit of suffering for the greater good and for others.” 

“God has taught me to be confident,” Lauren said, in his love and in what constitutes true hope. “I think a lot of people can confuse it with a wish. ‘I hope I win the game, or that Dave does the yard this week.’ Our friend Father John Kladar [Diocese of Rockford, Illinois] reminded me that real hope is a virtue, a gift from God. He reminded me that the virtue of hope ‘is not about crossing our fingers, but planting our feet on solid ground.’” 

In the hospital, when she couldn’t move her body on her own, she experienced what prayer can do as her friends’ prayers, and the palpable presence of the Holy Spirit, took over. “My arms were lifting up and moving; these things were happening without me really knowing what was going on.” 

Now, Lauren clings to trust and hope, and she is confident that, through God’s grace, she will fully recover. 

“Praise be to Jesus, we’re working on that in therapy, one step at a time,” Lauren said. “I’m up on my walker now. Just two months ago, I couldn’t even see myself being upright.” 

To reach hope, Lauren had to challenge her “ungodly self-reliance,” which left her depleted, and to hear Jesus tell her, “Just rest in my heart, like John,” explaining, “When the disciples were all arguing, John was resting all the while on Jesus’ heart, accepting the peace that God can give.” 

Witnessing “the hands and feet that have loved me through this,” she said, including Dave’s unrelenting support, she senses the “God winks” and hears God assure her, “I’ve got you. Have faith on the journey; don’t predict the outcome. I am always where you are, and where I am is where you want to be.” 

In hindsight, Lauren sees her time in the hospital, receiving the sacraments frequently and resting, like a forced retreat that allowed her “to feel the Lord’s absolute peace” in her heart. She gladly anticipates returning to music ministry with Dave, including singing again for the “last-call Mass” Sunday evening liturgy at their parish, St. Thomas Aquinas in Dallas.  

For now, slowing down and having time for meaningful conversations with her family is enough, Lauren said. “We’re ultimately just surrendering and holding loosely to what we think the plan should be.” 

If she could be so bold, however, Lauren said, “I’m praying for an Easter miracle to actually attend Mass in person and walk without a walker.” An additional miracle would for their daughter to know the love of God and to grow to know his heart through this trial. “That would be my biggest hope.” 

In the end, though, the miracle has already begun, she said: “Through my sickness and suffering, I’ve come to know that there is a Resurrection! We are dust, and bound, but walking with hope toward eternal life, once step at a time.” 

LISTEN