okie-booklady

SILENCE ... and THE WORD

2012-01-26T09:17:00.000-08:00

During this year's message for World Communication's Day*, Pope Benedict spoke of the need for a balance between silence and word: "When word and silence become mutually exclusive, communication breaks down, either because it gives rise to confusion or because, on the contrary, it creates an atmosphere of coldness; when they complement one another, however, communication acquires value and meaning."

Recently, a friend was describing her children's frustrations with the way their own peers conduct themselves on facebook, the popular social medium of the day. Gossiping around the well or over the backyard fence has now been taken to a global and instantaneous level. Where are the checks and balances allowing for caution, calm, discretion, and self-control for these young people? When do they experience true silence? Will they ever find peace if they don’t learn to take time out from the world to go IN looking for God?

It is especially fitting the Holy Father's message for World Communications Day is delivered on the feast of St. Francis de Sales, patron saint of writers and journalists. St. Francis lived during the years just following the Reformation. Besides being a Bishop and Doctor of the Church, he is known for two important books, An Introduction to the Devout Life, a work intended to lead "Philothea", the soul living in the world, into the paths of devotion, that is to say, of true and solid piety. Everyone should strive to become pious, and "it is an error--even a heresy--to hold that holiness is incompatible with any state of life". The second work, Treatise on the Love of God, an authoritative piece, reflects perfectly the mind and heart of Francis de Sales as a great genius and saint and leads the reader in twelve progressive chapters through the history, theory, practice, and eventual conformity to the Will of God.

I can just imagine St. Francis deploring much of the noise which passes for communication in the modern world. Let us join him and the Holy Father in silent prayer today that our society may learn true communication through a balance between silence and word.

Perhaps this Lent may we consider a fast from unnecessary sound and excessive entertainment... Less word allowing for more WORD.

*World Communications Day, the only worldwide celebration called for by the Second Vatican Council (Inter mirifica, 1963), is celebrated in most countries, on the recommendation of the bishops of the world, on the Sunday before Pentecost. The announcement of the theme is made on September 29, the Feast of the Archangels Michael, Raphael and Gabriel, who has been designated as the patron of those who work in radio. The Holy Father's message for World Communications Day is traditionally published in conjunction with the Memorial of St. Francis de Sales, patron of writers (January 24), to allow bishops' conferences and diocesan offices sufficient time to prepare audiovisual and other materials for national and local celebrations.

Catholics Come Home

2011-11-16T07:51:00.000-08:00

Blessings on the Feast of Saints Simon & Jude

2011-10-28T12:41:00.000-07:00

Today is the Feast Day of Saints Simon and Jude.

This is the second time I’ve done the novena to St. Jude. I save St. Jude for really difficult and/or perplexing problems. But whenever I do the novena to him, I make sure and pile on every other little problem or trouble facing me and everyone I know.

I figure so long as I’m praying to the Saint of ‘Desperate Situations and Hopeless Cases’, why not? St. Jude is generous. Can one have ‘greediness’ for spiritual graces and favors for loved ones?

At Mass today the Gospel was the calling of the Twelve Apostles,

“Jesus went up to the mountain to pray, and he spent the night in prayer to God.

When day came, he called his disciples to himself, and from them he chose Twelve, whom he also named Apostles: Simon, whom he named Peter, and his brother Andrew, James, John, Philip, Bartholomew, Matthew, Thomas, James the son of Alphaeus, Simon who was called a Zealot, and Judas the son of James, and Judas Iscariot, who became a traitor.” (Luke 6:12-16)

Then Father told us an interesting story about the building of the great Cathedral at Chartres.

A man went to visit the site while they were still in the midst of building the cathedral and he began to ask the people he saw there what they were doing to contribute to the effort of constructing the great edifice of Chartres. He asked the first person he encountered what he was doing and that man said he was the stonemason and it was his job to craft the rough rock into smooth pieces of stone. Then the man asked the next person what he was doing and he said he was a glassmaker and he prepared the stained glass for the beautiful windows. The next man he came to said that he did the carving of the gargoyles and another said his job was to do the woodwork for the stairs leading up to the tower.

Each person had their part and each part was essential to the completion of the cathedral. Finally he came to an old woman who was pushing a broom sweeping up the debris that everyone else had left lying around. The man finished his questioning by asking her, “And what do you do here ma’am?” She looked at him and said, “I’m building a great cathedral,” and she went back to pushing her broom.

Sts. Simon and Jude are the least known of the twelve apostles. They probably ‘pushed the broom’ so to speak, but they built God’s Kingdom even so.

Thank you St. Jude for your many prayers to Jesus on my behalf. I know it was your intercession that made the difference.

P.S. Do you think it's a coincident that my dearly beloved father-in-law's name is Jude? Happy Feast Day Dad! ☺

180

2011-10-10T20:35:00.000-07:00

Watch a video which might just change your thinking ... 180 degrees.

Lassie Come Home

2011-09-01T18:26:00.000-07:00

I have always wanted to read this book; I've seen the movie many times. Now I finally read it as an adult. However, I didn't read it just as ‘story’, but from the perspective of the “Great Journey Home” which we are all on. My read was a quest for universal themes, and one in particular. This quote had me in tears when I first encountered it and saw it as pertaining to my own journey back to Jesus:

‘...there was no hesitation. She was going home. Her senses were now aware of a great satisfaction, for there was peace inside her being. She was going home. She was happy. There was no one to tell her, and no way for her to learn that what she was attempting was almost in the realm of the impossible—that there were hundreds of miles to go over wild land—a journey that would baffle most men going afoot.’

This is a classic story because we are all called by something deep inside we don't understand which compels us to journey Home. Sometimes we're aware of it; most times not. I also don't have any problem seeing myself as ‘Lassie’, perhaps because I'm a woman and it is a common Scottish term for females.

A beautiful, sweet story of family, love-of-animals, loyalty, the importance of kindness, persistence and a sure cure for whatever ails you.

‘For I know well the plans I have in mind for you—plans for your welfare and not for woe, so as to give you a future of hope. When you call me, and come and pray to me, I will listen to you. When you look for me, you will find me. Yes, when you seek me with all your heart, I will let you find me.’ ~Jeremiah 29:11-14

Thanks Mom for getting this for me! Love you!

THE SWEETEST WORDS

2011-08-17T11:23:00.000-07:00

What are the ‘Sweetest Words’? How about, “As for you, your sins are forgiven.” ~Luke 5:20.

Or maybe you prefer, “Neither do I condemn you. Go, [and] from now on do not sin anymore.” ~John 8:11.

When we go to Confession, we have the opportunity to actually hear that our sins are forgiven. We hear the words of absolution said aloud. Whether we are aware of it or not, it is good for us as human beings to admit our sinfulness, to put it into words and then to be told we have been forgiven.

While Catholics are only required to go to sacramental Confession when they are aware of having committed a mortal sin, the Church urges the faithful to take advantage of the sacrament often. Once per month is a good suggestion. In preparation for fulfilling our Easter Duty to receive Holy Communion, we should first go to Confession even if we are aware only of venial sin.

The value of a Confession to our relationship with God is based on the recognition we are all sinners. That isn’t a popular statement to make today—if in fact it ever was. People want to be told they have done good, not bad. We are certainly called to lives of holiness. So . . . what is sin?

Sin is before all else an offense against God, a rupture of communion with Him. At the same time it damages communion with the Church. For this reason conversion entails both God's forgiveness and reconciliation with the Church, which are expressed and accomplished liturgically by the sacrament of Penance and Reconciliation. (Catechism of the Catholic Church 1440)

Jesus didn’t come into the world as Our Messiah, live, preach, suffer, die, rise from the dead and ascend back into Heaven with the promise to return again because we are a race of holy angels. He did all that because we are sinners and in need of Him. We know this whenever we ponder the mystery of a crucifix, the Real Presence or the Most Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.

What are you waiting for? Want some “sweet talk”? I know just the place to go for it. And this is what you will hear:

“God the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

BEAUTIFUL!

As we worship, so we believe and so we live

2011-07-30T09:34:00.000-07:00

As I am trying to help my parish prepare for the upcoming change to the Roman Missal I ran across this time-tested phrase, “Lex Orandi, Lex Credendi”, which is Latin for ‘the law of prayer’ or ‘the way we worship’ is the ‘law of belief’ ‘what we believe’. It is sometimes expanded to as, “lex orandi, lex credendi, lex vivendi”, further deepening the implications of this truth - how we worship reflects what we believe and determines how we will live. I have seen this so much in my own life. When I trust in Him, I am able to give love to others. When I give way to my fears and doubts—thinking God can’t do what He promises—then I’m no good to Him or anyone else in my life.

Two days ago, on Thursday the 28th of July I made my annual pilgrimage to Okarche Oklahoma, an hour drive from my home across the white hot mostly flat plains, to pay respect to the final burial place of Father Stanley Rother who may well become our state's first Catholic martyr and saint. Thirty years ago he was shot down by unknown men who broke into his rectory in Guatemala. Fr. Rother’s ‘cause’ for canonization was submitted to Rome last year. I attended the Mass. It was the first time I had ever witnessed such an event and it moved me greatly. I’ve met his younger brother on several occasions and I met his sister then. They are a lovely family. But I digress.

When I drove to Holy Trinity Church this past week, I thought I was going for several hours of quiet reflection and prayer—as had been the case in the past. However the new parish priest had instituted more active “Holy Hours” with vocal rosaries, Benediction, praying of the prayer for Father Rother and music. Different groups had volunteered to lead each prayer hour.

I won’t say I wasn’t disappointed in one sense. I was desperately longing for the quiet. In my job, I deal with people all day every day. Then I come home to my family, who I love very much and need to talk to also. So there is more talk, and radios, television going and then my daughter’s friends come over. Often there are friends from church to visit in the hospital, funerals, required social functions, out-of-town family visiting, etc. Quiet is sometimes hard to come by. I treasure it. And yet, to be able to pray with these other people was also an opportunity.

As I entered into the prayer and calmed myself, I realized it wasn’t about how much quiet time I got that afternoon, but that I was there praying, accepting things as they were. So often I know I’m ruining whatever occasion because I’m trying to “fix it”. I have spent entire events thinking, “If only they had done this or that, then it would have been perfect!” Or other times I’ll spoil things by chastising myself for my own mistakes. I would call them opportunities lost, were they not lessons learned.

Thursday, I let the prayer sweep over me and into me. I was grateful for our Catholic “Law of Prayer” which has order and form. I felt the strength coming from the discipline of repetition. Just like with exercising one’s body, you have to exercise your spirit, except we ‘exercise’ the spirit with regular prayer. It isn’t God who needs our prayers; it is us poor sinners who need to pray. As I said my fourth rosary for the day, I knew that God hadn’t given me what I wanted, but what I needed—as usual.

Thanks be to Him!

For a much better explanation on this subject, read, Is Ritual Prayer “Vain Repetition”.

Corpus Christi

2011-06-25T17:09:00.000-07:00

Check out my books on Goodreads!

The Glory of God's Mystery

2011-06-18T12:14:00.000-07:00

“You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body.” ~C. S. Lewis

The mystery of God’s Glory is the mystery of existence itself. After seven weeks of praying the Glorious Mysteries, I’m no closer to ‘solving’ the mystery than I was when I started—nor did I expect to be. “Si comprehendis, non est Deus”—”if you understand him, he is not God.” As Pope Benedict XVI quotes St. Augustine in the Encyclical Deus caritas est.

So as far as understanding goes, well, I ... went back to my original post. What did I ask? “How do we as poor weak humans share in His Glory?”

I also wrote that, “I want to believe in the Glory and the Power.”

However, that is not to say I haven't learned anything from my prayer. This is what each mystery in the Glorious Mysteries taught me:

The Resurrection: ‘Then the angel said to the women in reply, “Do not be afraid! I know that you are seeking Jesus the crucified.”’ ~Matthew 28:5 Yes! I am seeking Him. That was the whole point of the post. That was why I wrote it, why I want to understand in the first place. And that is a good thing. But truly, isn’t that really Our Lord seeking me out? Don’t all our good urges and actions really originate from the Source of All Good? Those words are for me, for you, for all of us. The angel is telling us not to be afraid; we are looking for Him, who is looking for us. All is well.

The Ascension: ‘Two men dressed in white garments stood beside them. They said, “Men of Galilee, why are you standing there looking at the sky? This Jesus who has been taken up from you into heaven will return in the same way as you have seen him going into heaven.”’ ~Acts 1:10-11 This time it’s two angels—even though they are called ‘men in white garments, we know they are angels—and they are speaking to the Apostles. But again we are reassured through a message delivered almost two thousand years ago. He will return. He IS coming back. For all believing and practicing Christians this is very Good News. I can be very, very happy. Everything He said is true. I must not despair. It is up to me to keep believing, praying and following the messages He gave. Nothing I do for Him is in vain. Although I may not understand why the long delay, I can trust Him to return.

The Descent of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost: ‘Peter stood up with the Eleven, raised his voice, and proclaimed to them, “ . . . God raised this Jesus; of this we are all witnesses. Exalted at the right hand of God, he received the promise of the Holy Spirit from the Father and poured it forth, as you (both) see and hear.”’ Acts 2:14, 33-34 God’s Holy Spirit is alive everywhere in His Creation, especially in those made in His Image and likeness. It is poured into souls washed clean by the waters of Baptism and sealed in the Sacrament of Confirmation. But it is up to me—to us—to bring forth the Spirit.

The Assumption: ‘And Mary kept all these things, reflecting on them in her heart … He went down with them and came to Nazareth, and was obedient to them; and his mother kept all these things in her heart.’ ~Luke 2:19, 51 Luke makes a point to mention not once but twice in his Gospel about Mary keeping, holding and reflecting – in her heart – things which happened with and to the young Jesus. This more than anything else convinces me that he must have talked to Mary herself at some time. It is something a mother would say. It also sounds like an older woman at the end of a long life, who has had many years to meditate and pray on Her Son’s life. Mary, I can learn much from your quiet example. I, too, can study His Life, keeping, holding and reflecting on it in my heart. You lived the poorest, humblest and simplest of lives and left this earth without a trace Mary. No one has ever claimed to have found a single relic belonging to you. But you have left the richest legacy of holy wisdom in your few words in Scripture: “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.” “My Soul doth Magnify the Lord; My Spirit Rejoices in God My Savior!” and “Do Whatever He tells you!” If only I can remember to speak as sweetly! Help me dear Mother!

The Crowning of Mary: ‘A great sign appeared in the sky, a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of twelve stars.’ ~Revelation 12:1

Finally, at the end of my search, I am back at the beginning, to keep on searching after Him, who I love with my whole heart—but don’t begin to understand. So I sing:

“Give thanks to the LORD, invoke his name;
make known among the peoples his deeds!
Sing praise, play music; proclaim all his wondrous deeds!
Glory in his holy name; rejoice, O hearts that seek the LORD!
Rely on the mighty LORD; constantly seek his face.” ~Psalm 105:1-4

Constantly seek His Face!

The Mystery of Glory

2011-04-25T12:33:00.001-07:00

I used to struggle with sorrow. In my youthful naiveté, it seemed the world just should be happy—or joyful. That it wasn’t I knew, but nevertheless I clung to the belief that it should not be as it was, i.e., often a sad place.

But at some point in time—or at some level—I came to embrace the Season of Lent in a way I enter into no other liturgical season of the year. Though it is a time of penance, prayer and fasting—things not usually associated with happiness and joy—I look forward to these weeks every year as the best, so much so that I often experience a letdown at Easter. Instead of rejoicing with the rest of the Church triumphant for six weeks after Lent, I spend six weeks reminiscing over the loss of the closeness I felt to Jesus when I was carrying a cross of sacrifice.

My question now is how do we as poor weak humans share in His Glory? This Easter Season, I am resolved—with the help of the Holy Spirit—to pray the Glorious Mysteries every day and meditate on these mysteries: The Resurrection; The Ascension of Our Lord into Heaven; The Descent of the Holy Spirit; The Assumption of Mary and The Coronation of Mary. If I am graced with understanding on even one of these great mysteries I will count myself blessed indeed, for truly when I contemplate them, they amaze, overwhelm, awe and confound my feeble human capabilities—which is probably as it should be.

Nevertheless, if it be God’s Will, I desire this Easter Season to be as spiritually fruitful as has been the Lent which has just past.

We should be joyful.

There is much sorrow.

I want to believe in the Glory and the Power forever ... so I do. But I know I don’t begin to understand it ... or Him. Glory mystifies me.

Oh Lord I believe. Help my unbelief. ~Mark 9:24

Pange Lingua

2011-04-12T19:48:00.000-07:00

PANGE lingua gloriosi
Corporis mysterium,
Sanguinisque pretiosi,
quem in mundi pretium
fructus ventris generosi
Rex effudit Gentium.

SING, my tongue, the Savior's glory,
of His flesh the mystery sing;
of the Blood, all price exceeding,
shed by our immortal King,
destined, for the world's redemption,
from a noble womb to spring.

Nobis datus, nobis natus
ex inacta Virgine,
et in mundo conversatus,
sparso verbi semine,
sui moras incolatus
miro clausit ordine.

Of a pure and spotless Virgin
born for us on earth below,
He, as Man, with man conversing,
stayed, the seeds of truth to sow;
then He closed in solemn order
wondrously His life of woe.

In suprema nocte coenae
recumbus cum fratribus
observata lege plene
cibis in legalibus,
cibum turbae duodenae
se dat suis manibus.

On the night of that Last Supper,
seated with His chosen band,
He the Pascal victim eating,
first fulfills the Law's command;
then as Food to His Apostles
gives Himself with His own hand.

Verbum caro, panem verum
verbo carnem efficit:
fitque sanguis Christi merum,
et si sensus deficit,
ad firmandum cor sincerum
sola fides sufficit.

Word-made-Flesh, the bread of nature
by His word to Flesh He turns;
wine into His Blood He changes;-
what though sense no change discerns?
Only be the heart in earnest,
faith her lesson quickly learns.

Tantum ergo Sacramentum
veneremur cernui:
et antiquum documentum
novo cedat ritui:
praestet fides supplementum
sensuum defectui.

Down in adoration falling,
Lo! the sacred Host we hail;
Lo! o'er ancient forms departing,
newer rites of grace prevail;
faith for all defects supplying,
where the feeble sense fail.

Genitori, Genitoque
laus et jubilatio,
salus, honor, virtus quoque
sit et benedictio:
procedenti ab utroque
compar sit laudatio.

Amen. Alleluia.

To the everlasting Father,
and the Son who reigns on high,
with the Holy Ghost proceeding
forth from Each eternally,
be salvation, honor, blessing,
might and endless majesty.

Amen. Alleluia.

Visitors to the Vineyard, pt. 3

2011-04-11T13:21:00.000-07:00

LESSON THIRTEENTH: On the Sacraments in General

Q. 574. What is a Sacrament?

A. A Sacrament is an outward sign instituted by Christ to give grace.

What I love about my job as parish Director of Religious Education is also what I hate about it: that I work where I worship. The good side is I can avail myself of the sacraments as often as I need—which is continually; the bad side is I can’t escape work when I worship.

At times when I should be engaged in silent prayer or concentrating on the various parts of the liturgy, I find myself ‘doing my job’ i.e., keeping an eye on children’s behavior or figuring out who I need to speak to after Mass and how I can manage to ‘catch’ as many of them as possible before I myself get ‘caught’. Other times, God takes pity on me and grants me the grace of pure prayer, but then afterwards I worry if I’ve been carefully following the rubrics of the Mass. I can become so absorbed in my conversation with Jesus that I forget where I am or what I’m doing.

Yesterday is a prime example. I’d just left the weekly meeting with all the First Sacraments’ parents after asking them to remind their children to step forward confidently when they come up to receive their First Holy Communion, say their “Amen” loud enough to be heard, and make a big Sign of the Cross versus a small furtive one. I’ve been saying more or less these same things week-after-week-after-week... and wondering if a hint of frustration has slipped into my tone or manner. Please God, I hope not!

Our pastor had given an amazing homily about “And Jesus Wept” which I alluded to in my previous post. As an RCIA Sponsor I needed to attend Mass with my catechumen and I was looking forward to hearing the homily again. On this second time around I was determined to listen to Our Lord’s Voice in the Mass and not let my mind wander. Every single Mass and homily is another ‘Visitor to our Vineyard’—someone come to prune, fertilize and water our vines.

Well, I succeeded in listening and paying attention so well, that Communion and Mass were over before I realized I didn’t have a clue how I’d received Communion physically; but I had this vague sense of not even saying my “Amen” at all much less saying it loud. I’m sure I at least made the Sign of the Cross, but I did it out of habit—a reflex—and I doubt it was the way I had told the children to make it, big and bold. And yet, all that said, it was probably one of the best communions I’ve had with Jesus in a very long time. My heart was completely at one with His. I was focused on Him, (not myself) His message and His sorrows as described in John Chapter 11.

Our Lord gave me two great gifts on Sunday. The first was obviously the beautiful experience of Communion with Him, but I think the second gift was more important. It was the reminder that there are two dimensions to sacramental communion: the physical outward signs and the invisible inward action of Grace.

What I’m trying to say is, we can get all the actions right and the heart may be elsewhere. But if the heart is prepared and loving when the child, or even adult, goes up to receive The Body and Blood of Jesus, then mistakes in form aren't going to matter. And we poor humans cannot see into each other's hearts.

So this Sunday when I talk to my First Sacraments’ parents, I’m going to use myself as the guinea pig and remind them that only God can see into another person’s heart. We can teach our children and love them and pray for them—and certainly we can never stop doing any of those things—but it is God who does the real Work in each soul, through the power of His transforming Grace.

And as the little daughter of the lady who I am sponsoring this year for Easter prays, “Our Father, Who works hard in Heaven...”

Yes, He does. And on earth...and under the earth and everywhere else too.

Thanks be to God!

Visitors to the Vineyard, pt. 2

2011-04-09T20:50:00.001-07:00

Before I left for Mass tonight I was working on a continuation to the previous post, Visitors to the Vineyard. I was writing about how when I left the church after hearing Jesus’ parable explained anew, I resolved to start PAYING ATTENTION to who crossed my path. That homily got my attention and opened my eyes like they had been washed clean in the waters of the Pool of Siloam. I’d resolved to start looking for and really listening to whom God sent my way...

And I have been doing just that. The trouble is that real listening is harder than you think. It’s very hard. So is processing what you hear and learn. I never thought myself a shabby listener before, but now I was trying to be an even better listener. ‘Visitors’ from God coming to ‘obtain...produce’ from my vineyard might come in the form of people needing help or work I need to do—but not necessarily. Work and help are just the obvious examples of our productiveness. There are also ways—known to God alone—in which we grow inwardly: fighting off secret temptations, surrendering our own wills in humility and obedience, struggling to become small, go last, take less or do without. This ‘reverse productivity’ is harder to appreciate because it’s so invisible. But it doesn’t make it any the less real. In fact, I’m inclined to think it’s the harder of the two—well it is for me anyway.

Before I finished the post I was writing—and this isn’t it—it was time for Mass.

The Gospel this week-end is Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. It’s full of irony and missed messages. Jesus speaks metaphorically about the sleep of death and it goes over the disciples’ heads. He has to explain what He means plainly. Jesus wants to teach about the glory of God and Thomas talks about becoming a martyr. Meaning hangs like a thick fog over the entire story and yet nobody is listening to what Jesus is trying to say.

And in the middle of it all, Jesus weeps.

Tonight at Mass, Father’s homily was based on the premise, ‘And Jesus Wept’—the shortest verse in all of Scripture. But did Jesus weep as it says in the Gospel just because he loved his friend Lazarus?

Or were there other reasons why Jesus might have cried? I immediately thought of a pie chart e-mail a friend sent me recently entitled, ‘Why Women Cry’. Answer: 10% of the time because we're happy; 10% because we're sad; the other 80%, we don't know!

Could Jesus have been frustrated? Scared? Upset? Discouraged? Confused? Disheartened by his friends’ lack of belief? Their failure to understand Him? Did He experience a premonition of impending death? Was He feeling lost and alone in the middle of that crowd—their God who loved them and was about to die for them and they just didn’t get it.

Based on my own experiences this Lent, I’d say Jesus had good reason to cry. Real listening and communicating from the heart are the hardest things a human being ever does. We want so very much to be known and understood. It is probably the greatest and deepest longing of the human heart. And yet those thoughts and feelings which mean the most to us, are often those which frighten us and others.

Do we run the risk of sharing them? Or do we play it safe and remain quiet? Or do we just cry?

People don’t always want to listen or see or understand. In fact, we very often don't want to... I know.

I’m so sorry Jesus for all the times I failed to listen to You ... refused to listen ... that I made You cry.

Forgive me.

Visitors to the Vineyard

2011-04-08T09:45:00.001-07:00

‘Jesus began to speak to the chief priests, the scribes, and the elders in parables. “A man planted a vineyard, put a hedge around it, dug a wine press, and built a tower. Then he leased it to tenant farmers and left on a journey. At the proper time he sent a servant to the tenants to obtain from them some of the produce of the vineyard....’ Mark 12:1-2

On March 7th of this year—two days before Lent started—I had this familiar parable ‘opened up’ for me. Although these are not the words of the sweet little monk who gave the extemporaneous homily on this Gospel, here is my poor rendering of his beautiful revelation:

We usually think of this story of Jesus’ as addressed to the Jewish people of Biblical times. They are the bad tenants who mismanage God’s vineyard, who beat, ‘treat shamefully’ and kill all the prophets sent to them over the centuries, until finally He, the Son is sent. Jesus is foretelling His own brutal death at the hands of those among the people who were jealous and afraid of Him. And certainly St. Mark confirms Jesus’ story has struck a nerve with the audience, for further on in the same narrative, the evangelist writes: ‘They were seeking to arrest him, but they feared the crowd, for they realized that he had addressed the parable to them.’ Mark 12:12

This can leave those of us who have come after with the comfortable feeling that in this parable at least we are the ‘good guys’. As Christians, Jesus isn’t talking to or about us.

But there’s another way of looking at this parable.

Suppose instead the vineyard is an analogy for each one of us. What if we are the vineyard? God has ‘planted us’ and leased us to ourselves—we remain His; we certainly do not belong to ourselves.

When the time comes, He will send His servants to us. They will come in many shapes and sizes. We will probably not recognize them anymore than the Jewish people recognized God’s messengers of old.

They will come to us as they did to the Israelites, as natural disasters (plagues), as war/acts of terrorism (foreign invaders), as the inarticulate (Moses), military leaders (Joshua), crazy men (Saul), boy upstarts (David), quarreling couples (Samson and Delilah), adulterous politicians (also David), beauty queens (Ester), weepy youths (Jeremiah), grumpy runaways (Jonah), loudmouth ascetics (John the Baptist), dreamers (both Josephs) and unwed mothers (Mary). If you take away their Scriptural significance, can you imagine a motlier group?

They are us.

They are also visitors to our vineyards.

How many have we ignored? Beaten? Verbally, if not physically? Killed? Either emotionally, spiritually or mentally?

God will keep sending them to us, to His vineyard. He did the planting. He is coming to collect His produce. Eventually the visitors will be replaced with the Visitor, Jesus.

Oh Lord, I thank You for that wonderful priest, Your son and the amazing insight You shared with him. I have had many visitors to my vineyard since that day: rude drivers and good friends; the disgruntled and self-satisfied; family and strangers. There have been many messages from You I welcomed, some I learned from, a few I still don’t understand and others causing me horror and great pain.

Whatever my feelings or thoughts, I thank You for helping me see that they all come from You. Please help me continue to accept each and every visitor You send, as someone sent by You to help prepare me for Jesus’ Second Coming.

Worth Doing

2011-04-02T10:44:00.000-07:00

“If a thing's worth doing it's worth doing badly.” ~~G.K. Chesterton

Today they buried my friends, Rose and Dave. In spite of how violently they died, how much publicity the crime has received, and how packed the church was, it was a solemn, beautiful Mass of Christian burial followed by full military honors for Dave who retired from the Air Force after 24 years. The Freedom Riders turned out in large numbers to line the street with flags and stand at attention for the salute and playing of Taps.

The weather also cooperated. It’s a perfect spring day here in Oklahoma—the sun’s shining, there’s a crisp breeze and yet it’s still not too hot.

So why the quote?

The funeral was lovely, a fitting tribute to my unforgettable friend, Rose and her devoted husband—all anyone could have asked for and more.

This morning as I was getting ready to go, I felt so strangely at peace, more so than I’ve been since I first heard the awful news. I knew without a doubt I was supposed to be a Communion minister today. I’ve never been a Communion minister at a funeral before; very often they don’t need extraordinary ministers, especially not when you have two priests and a deacon presiding as was the case today. When one is required, usually it’s the Mass Coordinator. But somehow, it just seemed right. Rose was the one who told me I could bring Holy Communion to the homebound years ago when I couldn’t fathom such an honor.

“But what if I mess it up?” I think I probably asked her back then.

“How will they know?!” She probably answered. I can just imagine her thinking, “Silly rabbit! Stop worrying and just bring them Communion! These sick people need your help. Perfectionists! Yeesh!”

She gave me a pyx, a book of prayers, a bunch of holy cards and sent me on my way. I was hung up on doing things “right”. Rose didn’t worry about that so much. Oh sure she tried to follow the big rules so far as they went. But she was more about visiting the person, seeing that each sick friend—and anyone in a hospital bed was her friend, whether she knew them or not—had Communion if they were Catholic, and magazines, candy, fast food or whatever else she could smuggle into the hospital, if they weren't.

Today I was the only lay extraordinary minister at my friend’s funeral. This morning, I told her that if it was God's Will, I'd really like to do it. I guess it was. Anyway, like so many other things I know I’ve done, it was worth doing—however I did it—because it wasn’t about me. None of it is about us, which is why it doesn’t matter so much how well we do it, but the love we put into it. Rose—and God—know how much her gifts meant to me over the years. Oh sweet Lord, let me be a ‘Rose’ for others.

And now she gave me another gift by helping me discover the courage to do something else I’ve never done. Thank you dear friend. One of the most beautiful things about getting older and losing dear ones is that it makes your own death less scary. Each time I can count one more soul ‘over there’ to welcome me when it’s my turn. Not such a bad thing when you think about it.

Thank you God for letting me be Catholic. Help me keep on ‘doing it’...however badly.

For Rose

2011-03-25T11:55:00.000-07:00

Today I am staying home and remembering a friend who died Wednesday night at the hands of her sixteen year old grandson. She was 57, just a few years older than me. I‘ve known Rose almost since we arrived here in Oklahoma in 1998 when my husband was still on active duty in the Air Force and we were members of the Tinker Catholic Parish of St. Francis of Assisi.

Rose got me started in the hospital ministry, visiting and bringing Holy Communion to the sick and dying. I was in a lot pain myself at the time—my psoriatic arthritis was years away from diagnosis and treatment—and Rose helped me find the inner confidence to minister to those more ill than myself.

Rose always ran circles around me in terms of what she could do. She was brash and sometimes loud. Although she rubbed some people the wrong way, she had a heart of gold and would help anyone in need. After my husband retired and we switched to an off-base parish, I saw Rose less but got to know her best friend, who later became my oldest daughter’s Religious Education teacher and Confirmation Sponsor. I kept up with Rose though her. We often got together as a group and went out to dinner after Saturday evening Mass.

The last time I really visited with Rose was at my daughter’s Graduation party. Rose never missed an opportunity to celebrate ‘family’. She believed in God, love and family. She believed in the young grandson¹ who brutally took her and her husband’s² lives two nights ago. This isn’t easy for me to get my mind much less my heart around today.

I think it’s going to take awhile ... to say the least. I have been crying off and on ever since I heard the news.

I have heard and in fact already know all the truisms about such tragedies.

“She’s in a better place.” Yes, I believe she is.

“She isn’t hurting anymore.” Yes, thank God!

“It doesn’t help to dwell on how she died.” No, it never helps to dwell on violence.

“Prayer is a great healer.” It truly is and I have been and am praying.

“You will see her again someday.” Yes, the best thing about our faith is that certainty of eternity with our God.

I'm not looking for answers or quick fixes or even anything to ease the pain. I don’t need to have everything fixed today. I don't need any answers, because anything easy I can think to say just sounds trite. Maybe I just need to remember my friend—as she was—with humble gratitude for the gift of her life and all she gave me; remember her and grieve.

Here’s to Rose ... and Dave

May you live forever with Him Whom you served.

With much love,

¹The grandson is in custody where hopefully he will stay. He needs our prayers more than anyone; however, he also needs to be physically restrained so that he cannot do anyone any more harm.

² I don’t mean to ignore Dave, Rose’s husband, in this post. It’s just that I didn’t know him as well as I did her. But I do know he was a very quiet, gentle man who loved her.

Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God

2011-03-05T10:54:00.001-08:00

Recently I listened to Jonathan Edward’s famous sermon, Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God. I had heard of it yet never read it. My initial reaction was surprise. This was the sermon which provoked the 'Great Awakening'? I had to walk away and find something else to do. I prayed a lot the next day and fortunately it was my day off so I had the time to do it.

Also fortunately, the readings yesterday at Mass were about an incident where Jesus becomes angry. Perfect. This allowed me to prayerfully write this book review for goodreads:

'Reflecting on Edward’s sermon, there’s nothing technically wrong with it and yet still it doesn’t ring true. It doesn’t sound like the same God I have come to know through the Jesus I’ve met in the Gospels. Where is the Abba, Father we are supposed to address our prayers to?

Yes, Jesus does become angry in the Gospels. In the Gospel of Mark in particular, Jesus is portrayed as rather impatient, brusque even. He curses the fig tree—symbolic of barren Israel and a parable on the fate of Jerusalem—and it withers. He trashes the moneychangers in the Temple and then he teaches. He teaches. Like all good parents, he gets his children’s attention with a little anger and then proceeds to explain its meaning, why he lost his temper.

And why did he become angry? What are the wayward children doing which has led to this? What does Jesus tell them? That God delights in holding his children in Divine suspension until it is His pleasure to send them to the fiery abyss? No. ‘That the reason why they are not fallen already and do not fall now is only that God's appointed time is not come?’ No. Hear what happens in the Gospel immediately after the incident at the Temple with the moneychangers:

‘Peter remembered and said to him, "Rabbi, look! The fig tree that you cursed has withered." Jesus said to them in reply, "Have faith in God. Amen, I say to you, whoever says to this mountain, 'Be lifted up and thrown into the sea,' and does not doubt in his heart but believes that what he says will happen; it shall be done for him. Therefore I tell you, all that you ask for in prayer, believe that you will receive it and it shall be yours. When you stand to pray, forgive anyone against whom you have a grievance, so that your heavenly Father may in turn forgive you your transgressions." (Mark 11:24-26)

Peter sounds like a little boy excitedly reporting news to his favorite teacher, which in fact was exactly what was happening. Jesus told them to believe in God, to pray and to forgive each other so that God would be able to forgive them in kind. Does this sound like an angry God? Not to me. And if you go back and read that whole chapter slowly and in context, I promise a fuller picture emerges—as always happens when you sit down with the Jesus of the Gospels. He is desperate to talk to us. Angry? No. Passionate? Yes! There is love and deep compassion in his every word.

Yes, there will be justice along with mercy; that is in fact true mercy. Those who deliberately, with full knowledge, choose to turn their backs on God will get their heart’s desire.

I wanted to be moved by this famous sermon. Well, I suppose I was, just not in the way I’d hoped. God is a God of Love and Love is the most powerful force in the universe, more powerful than anger by far. Perhaps where Love is weak, we humans build up other things to fill the gap. I don’t know.

The thing I am most sad about, however, is that Edwards didn’t persuade me. We have no shortage of sin and I know it must cause Our Lord a great deal of anguish because he loves us all so very much. Sadly, Edwards is 100% right about the eternal suffering of those who are bent on refusing and denying God. They will surely get what they have asked for.

An excellent rendering of this classic sermon may be heard on Sermon Audio. However, I suspect the reader, David Bruce Sonner, presents a much more matter-of-fact version of this hellfire and brimstone text than that which was first given by Edwards on that July day in 1741.'

What I Want to Be When I Grow Up

2011-03-01T17:39:00.000-08:00

Last night my daughter, Michelle, a senior, was in her high school pageant.

I guess I must be one of a handful of people in the world who don’t get into pageants. I mean I’m happy that everyone else enjoys them and I try to put on my best public face so that no one thinks I’m too weird, but aside from the fact that I know they mean so much to my children, I’d probably rather visit my dentist—at least I’d come away with clean teeth. Sadly I usually leave most of our local high school functions feeling at best faintly tainted and at worst like I need to make a general confession; the ‘entertainment’ is almost always tasteless, raucous, and suggestive.

And yet, I know I cannot completely shelter my daughters from what is ‘out there’ – to attempt to do so would only put us in this tug o’ war relationship, with me fighting to keep them away from what looks and sounds like ‘fun’. So I shudder and prepare to endure another pageant.

As I sat there last night watching each young couple walk out on stage and listened to the description of his/her accomplishments, favorite teachers, quotes, memories, aspirations, heroes, and goals, I began to marvel at how many of them named a mother, father, sister or grandparent as a hero.

Thinking back to my older daughter’s pageant the previous year, I remembered a different sort of text. It seemed all the student introductions were much more goal-oriented then and much less personal; whereas this year, the focus was on values, people, and why individuals mattered. The entire tone of the ceremony had shifted.

Then I thought back to my own high school days. Who was my hero? What were my goals? Did I even think about becoming anyone’s hero back in those days? Or was I too busy thinking about what I wanted to do, where I wanted to go and what I wanted out of life? It was all about me then. Many days I still am ‘all about me’. Most days?

I thought how wonderful it was that all around me were Heroes—not famous heroes, maybe, but heroes, nevertheless. Here sat moms and dads, brothers and sisters, grandmas and grandpas who meant something to these young people.

Okay, so these same young people listened to loud music and they dressed funny and yes they still have a lot to learn, but so did I when I was their age and heck I still have a lot to learn ... and for that matter, I still dress funny ... well to some people. Silent tears ran down my cheek.

When you think about it, is there anything better you can aspire to be when you grow up, than your own child’s hero . . . especially when your offspring is no longer a tot?

My daughter walked out on stage. She was beautiful. I could hardly believe it was her. I can still see the little three year old who told me she was going to live with me when she grew up and make my sandwiches. Where was that sweet little chubby face?

I can’t remember the exact words but when they read her name they said her heroes were her parents.

My husband was standing in the back filming the performance; I was sitting next to strangers. No one was embarrassed by my crying.

My parents and my parents-in-law are my heroes too.

Thank you God and please bless our family.

I guess I have to say I have changed my mind about pageants.

First Reconciliation

2011-02-26T13:23:00.001-08:00

I arrived early. The church smelled good; the cleaning people were just leaving. There were fresh flowers. The First Reconciliation certificates were in the folder.

All that was needed was the list of penitents and the order in which they would see Father. At the last parent meeting I’d had everyone draw numbers for the sequence in which their child would receive the sacrament. Now I only needed to type up the list from the numbers. It took a few minutes. I printed it out, put it on a clip board and brought it out to our Narthex along with a freshly sharpened pencil.

Everything was ready for the children to sign in when they arrived.

One concerned little girl and her mother came early as arranged so that she could ‘practice’ one more time.

More families began arriving. The Narthex filled and was abuzz with excited chatter. Finally Father showed up and I asked his help with adjusting the volume for the background music which would be playing in the main church while the parents waited. Our confessional is off our daily Mass Chapel. One child would be in with Father and one more child would be waiting with the First Communion teacher in the Chapel at all times.

Everything went like clockwork. Everyone showed up—more or less on time—and even those who were a little late didn’t matter. The only glitch, an overlooked certificate, ended up being no problem at all. The mother was relieved when I apologized and said, “Is that all? I was afraid it was something serious.” And the little girl didn’t realize she was the only one in her class not to get a certificate because she was first and left before the other children—beaming. I’ll have her certificate by Monday when she returns to school.

So now that everything is over, why am I sad? The children came to Jesus in this wonderful sacrament. I did all that I could to facilitate the process. It was a joyful day and the occasion went well.

I don’t know. Maybe it’s just simple let down. Maybe it’s just me being selfish and not liking to see things end. But maybe it’s something else...

Sometimes I think it’s because on days like this, when so many people—especially so many young people—celebrate a sacrament together, we come so close to Jesus, to the amazing, transforming power of His Grace and then, we just have to go back to normal life again. We were so close to Him, so near Heaven, we could almost peak inside the door, but it slammed shut again disappearing without a trace.

He was there today. I saw nervous children going to their First Confession; He met His little sheep coming to be forgiven. I saw shining, smiling faces emerge from the chapel; He made their souls white as snow again. Thank You Lord Jesus for this wonderful day; may my sorrow now remind me to guard my thoughts, words and actions so that I may please you in all things.

I look forward to the day when I can see Your Beautiful Face shining back at me. I pray You forgive me my sins as well.

Letting go means finding

2011-02-09T17:34:00.001-08:00

I asked God for all things that I might enjoy life. God gave me life that I might enjoy all things.

We’re snowed in again here in Oklahoma.

So I'm at home—working, writing, cleaning, doing laundry, etc. When I saw a big pile of stuff my daughter had put in the back room to donate to the next agency calling to pick up our ‘give aways’ I was inspired. Time to scour the shelves and closets looking for things I can ‘harvest’ and prepare to pass along.

Immediately I set to work.

Here’s something—a tape series on mentoring your teen. And how about this, some old homeschooling stuff. Don’t need that anymore for sure. So as I cleaned off a side table in the corner of the front room making piles, going through papers, books and things I hadn’t looked at in months, maybe years, dusting and rearranging I discovered some spiritual material from a long ago retreat which I could use for a meeting this week-end. Wonderful! Thanks God! I can’t remember the last time I saw that.

And then! Then!

My CAT NOTEBOOK! What?

My what? My Cat Notebook! This was given to me by my Mother-in-Law on the 28th of January 1988. It’s only a paperback book, roughly 8 x 10 consisting of (originally) blank pages, cat quotes and now bulging fat from all the cards, newspaper articles, stories, poems and miscellaneous truisms I’ve pasted in it. It’s a treasure chest of booklady wisdom collected over the years, meaningful only to me but very dear because of who gave it to me and all the odds and ends I’ve stuck in it. I’ve shared it with my husband, Mom, very special friends, and both my daughters at various times.

It has been “lost” for the past year or more. I’ve searched high and low for it but couldn’t remember where I put it, who (if anyone) I loaned it to or what could have happened to it. I tried not to worry but I missed it numerous times.

It made me smile. Another beautiful lesson: I needed to let go of some things in order to find what was lost.

Now! Let’s see what else I can get rid of! ☺

‘With the qualities of cleanliness, discretion, affection, patience, dignity, and courage that cats have, how many of us, I ask you, would be capable of being cats?’ ~Fernand Mery

And as I typed that last letter, my faithful CAT meowed to let me know he had followed me into yet another room ... as he has been doing all day long. ☺

Now That You've Gone Home

2011-02-09T10:10:00.001-08:00

The hand of God is usually unexpected—that’s how you know it’s His Hand. Well that’s been my experience anyway.

His trademark is quiet surprise: the friend who is standing in front of you just when you desperately need her; finding something you weren’t looking for but have been missing for months; the package arriving in the mail from someone you barely know.

Such was the case with this book and another sent by Julie Cragon over at Hand Me Down Heaven. One day I came home from work to discover I had two books from a ‘friend’ I didn’t know I had. Julie had gone to a book convention and she bought me this book and The Four Teresas, which I’ve loaned to another friend and have yet to read.

Now That You’ve Gone Home is a sweet, gentle book. It enfolds the grieving spirit like a warm comforter in a bright sunny room. I imagine myself reading it at a friend’s house who lives out in the country with floor-to-ceiling picture windows on both sides and a fire dancing before me. A white winter sky flecked with the bright color of birds flocking to the feeder. Snow drifted outside, yet I am cozy and snug, drinking a mug of something delicious, further soothed by the words of the kindest of spirit guides, Joyce Hutchison and Joyce Rupp.

Both authors have experienced profound tragedies in their own lives but it is from the anguish of their losses that their deep compassion blooms.

It is the book I wish I'd had when my brother died 19 years ago. It’s the book I will recommend to anyone now who loses someone dear. It begins with short chapters relating Joyce Hutchinson’s journey through the dark days after her husband’s death. Reading it brought out tenderness toward my own dear spouse I wish I practiced every minute of every day. It was a reminder of the brevity and preciousness of this life—ours and those we love.

After Joyce’s stories, the book moves on to a collection of other stories from parents, children, siblings, persons married and single, from all walks of life and how each dealt with the death of loved ones. There was every kind of death imaginable from old age to suicide to illness to horrible accident, as well as many different responses and coping methods on the part of those grieving. Each story chapter concluded with a meditation, prayer and affirmation for the day.

I can hardly imagine a better resource to give someone struggling with the aftermath of personal loss except—of course—a devoted friend and constant prayer.

Thank you Julie for your generous gifts! You blessed my life; may yours be blessed as well.

Simply Pray ...

2011-02-07T11:47:00.000-08:00

...and pray simply.

My friend called last Friday night to remind me about the Oklahoma Catholic Women’s Conference the next day. With snow storms, no work or school and numerous other cancellations all week, I’d completely forgotten I even had any other scheduled activities except for Religious Education classes on Sunday—which I was still anxiously watching the weather and trying to decide on ... ‘yeah’ or ‘nay’.

“So?” she asked, “Are we getting up and going to 8 a.m. Mass? Or are we going to wait and go in when the first scheduled speaker begins at 10?”

We went to Mass because of course we knew we’d be much happier with ourselves and we were. Time was when I would have slept in, spent more money and left early. But Mass was worth getting up for, in spite of cleaning the snow and ice off my husband’s car and that cup of coffee afterwards was all the better for having waited for it.

I visited all the vendors but I have enough books at home. I just finished My Life with the Saints and The Secret of the Rosary (for the second or third time). I’m finishing Messenger and planning to read A Travel Guide to Heaven. I don’t need any books. What I was looking for was special little things which might inspire or encourage or help those I love. So many people I know are bearing crosses of one sort or another. Then I ran across this box of cards of “The Golden Hail Mary”. Each card reads as follows:

A Golden Hail Mary

One Fervent “Hail Mary,”
With love and thought said,
Is better than volumes of
Prayers poorly read.

If time and one’s duties
Prevent a long prayer,
Just say one “Hail Mary”
From the heart and with care.

The greatest of blessings
From Mary it brings;
Like flowers and birds
And the waters of springs.

We never will know
Till before Mary’s throne,
How that daily “Hail Mary”
Brought us to her home.

That’s what I bought. That’s what I’ve been saying ever since. It’s such a simple prayer. And yet as I learned when I read St. Louis De Montfort’s classic, The Secret of the Rosary, the Angel

‘Gabriel's greeting to Our Lady is one of the most beautiful hymns which we can possibly sing to the glory of the Most High. “I will sing a new song to you.” This new hymn which David foretold was to be sung at the coming of the Messiah is none other than the Angelic Salutation. There is an old hymn and a new hymn: the first is that which the Jews sang out of gratitude to God for creating them and maintaining them in existence -- for delivering them from captivity and leading them safely through the Red Sea -- for giving them manna to eat and for all His other blessings.

The new hymn is that which Christians sing in thanksgiving for the graces of the Incarnation and the Redemption. As these marvels were brought about by the Angelic Salutation, so do we repeat the same salutation to thank the Most Blessed Trinity for His immeasurable goodness to us.

We praise God the Father because He so loved the world that He gave us His only Son as our Savior. We bless the Son because He deigned to leave heaven and come down upon earth -- because HE WAS MADE Man and redeemed us. We glorify the Holy Spirit because he formed Our Lord's pure Body in Our Lady's Womb -- this Body which was the Victim of our sins. In this spirit of deep thankfulness should we, then, always say the Hail Mary, making acts of faith, hope, love, and thanksgiving for the priceless gift of salvation.

Although this new hymn is in praise of the Mother of God and is sung directly to her, nevertheless it greatly glorifies the Most Blessed Trinity because any homage that we pay Our Lady returns inevitably to God Who is the cause of all her virtues and perfections. When we honor Our Lady: God the Father is glorified because we are honoring the most perfect of His Creatures; God the Son is glorified because we are praising His most pure Mother, and God the Holy Spirit is glorified because we are lost in admiration at the graces with which He has filled His Spouse.’

There is much more, but that is enough for now.

The important thing is simply to pray. Don’t have time for an entire Rosary? Say one Hail Mary—one GOLDEN Hail Mary—with all that is in your heart. Don’t have your Bible? Say one Our Father, the prayer taught us by Our Lord Himself, the perfect prayer, the prayer which says it all. Too stressed to think? Say the Jesus Prayer. “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God have Mercy on me a sinner.” Afraid? Say the Apostle’s Creed. There is power in affirming one’s belief in God. Too sick to pray? Call on the Holy Name of Jesus, the Name which is a prayer itself. Jesus! Jesus!

And I offer One Golden Hail Mary for all of you today!

Persistence + Patience = Progress

2011-02-04T13:47:00.001-08:00

I did not want to get out of bed this morning. I was tired from yesterday’s exertions and it was warm under the covers. But I had an appointment to go meet with my trainer at the gym. Ugh! That was the very last thing I wanted to do. My days off from work were making me even lazier than normal.

If there had been a max on the snooze button, I would have reached it. Finally I got up. Was it Grace or my Guardian Angel? I know I don’t deserve the credit.

The snow was coming down in small flakes when I arrived at the nearly deserted gym. I admitted my lack of ambition to my trainer. “Good for you for coming anyway!” she cheered me on. While I appreciated her encouragement, I little thought I deserved it.

Surprisingly even though I had been mostly sedentary during the week, I had a good, if moderate, work out. No gold medals here unless they give them for showing up and hanging in there...

Later back at home, it was almost the same struggle to make myself pray.

I don’t feel like praying God. What is “praying” anyway? I’m just saying words... I guess this is what they mean when they talk about dryness... My prayers are like sawdust... Do they mean anything? Where is the inspiration? What is the point? Hello?! Are You even listening God?

You know some days God, I get a little irritated with You. You could make this a little easier, couldn’t You? I mean after all I am trying to do this right. Why don’t you at least tell me like my fitness trainer does, “Good for you for showing up and praying anyway!”

It would be nice to get some feedback. (sigh) Do you hear me God? I keep showing up and saying these prayers. Sometimes it feels like I’m just opening my warm house and letting all the heat out—to be swallowed up in the immense winter freeze outdoors. The ‘heat’ of my prayers seems to dissipate as fast as I generate them. What’s the point? Is there any?

My prayers are finished.

I pick up my phone and read a text from someone I spent a deal of time trying to help yesterday. I prayed for her, listened to her, talked to her, listened and prayed and prayed some more. Today she writes that what was troubling her yesterday is much better. She’s even laughing about what was causing so much pain.

As I read her words I realize I just got my prayer answer and my “atta girl”. They didn’t come the way I expected.

You never answer me the way I think You will God—but You always answer me. Thank You God! Forgive me for my lack of faith.

You are so faithful. I KNOW I can count on you. Why do I doubt? Have patience with me God.

Help me to keep ‘showing up’ every day, every day, and every day for my prayer time—no matter what.

In time, this patient persistence will equal progress; will result in an unswerving faithfulness that never questions You or Your purposes. I ask this in Your Son's Name.

See what the Holy Father says about Prayer.

God bless you dear readers!

Presentation to the LORD

2011-02-02T11:38:00.000-08:00

Today is the Feast of the Presentation of the Lord or the Feast of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin, a relatively ancient celebration. In some places it’s called Candlemas Day. If I wasn’t snowbound, I like to think I’d being going to Mass to celebrate this day. As it is, I said my rosary and I’m having a quiet presentation of my own here at home with my husband and cat.
Reading up about this tradition, I learned that,

‘According to Jewish law, the firstborn male child belonged to God, and the parents had to "buy him back" on the 40th day after his birth, by offering a sacrifice of "a pair of turtledoves, or two young pigeons" (Luke 2:24) in the temple (thus the "presentation" of the child). On that same day, the mother would be ritually purified (thus the "purification").

Meditating on these customs of long ago, I thought about their applicability to my relationship with God today.

It’s been 40 days since Our Lord came to us on that glorious Christmas Day. We awaited Him with such joy and anticipation. Then He quietly stole into our world in the most unexpected and out-of-the-way place He could find, yet still fulfilling all that His prophets had foretold about Him. He came as a vulnerable infant, who could have been refused by His mother, denied by His foster father and slaughtered by His ruling monarch. Instead, His birth was sung by a whole Host of Heavenly Angels, witnessed by God’s chosen few and honored by a celestial event. But really that was 2000 years ago, even if we do relive the event every year when we celebrate December 25th or every time we pray the Joyful Mysteries of the Rosary.

The Mystery of Christmas is all about the celebration of His Coming into this world. But what is the Mystery of the Presentation?

Is it Mary’s purification and mine? Do I join her in praying the beautiful words from the Magnificat, “My spirit has rejoiced in God my Savior because he has regarded the humility of his handmaid.” Unlike Mary, I only pray the next words as they apply to her. And yes, dear Mother of Our Lord and mine, all generations do call you blessed because He that is mighty, has done great things to you.

Yes, that is part of the Mystery of the Presentation. But there is more. There is also Our Lord’s Presentation. There are the beautiful meetings between the Holy Family and the two people, Anna and Simeon, in the Temple, their joy in beholding Jesus and our joy that at least they understand His significance even if all the rest are ignorant.

Jesus has come to earth, a gift to us from the Father and at the Temple He is offered back to the Father in accordance with Jewish Law, in recognition of the fact that He belongs to God. So Mary and Joseph offer two simple turtledoves in payment for you dearest Jesus. I like to think that they themselves are the little turtledoves and Our Heavenly Father was very pleased with their humble offering. He knew His dearly beloved son would be safe with such parents, young as they were, for they had such pure hearts.

And me? Am I only a spectator of all this? Do the mysteries of the Rosary and Our Faith merely offer us lifeless cold images to look at and speculate about? Or do they invite us into the story as a participant in the wonder and beauty of Christ’s relationship with His Church, the Father’s bond with the Son and depth of love in the Holy Trinity?

I believe we are always invited into the mysteries in a personal way.

I have now come to the Temple as well. I come to present all I have. It isn’t much. It is only ... me. If I should be transformed into something which could fly—and Mary and Joseph are turtle doves—I think I would be a flea or a gnat. But whatever I am, here I am Lord. Please purify me, redeem me and accept this, my presentation, on Your Feast Day. Thank you Jesus for the gift of your life and the glimpse into this scene. Please allow me to go deeper into the Gospel mysteries each time I pray.

Pray for the Dead ... and the Living

2011-01-28T11:12:00.001-08:00

The longer you work in or with a church—whether paid or volunteer —the more you come to realize the many sorrows everyone bears. The friend across from me laments a son with a drinking and drug problem, a husband who doesn’t believe in God all the while mourning the loss of the woman who was her mother figure. Another woman never married but cares for her dying brother; she was also there to see to all the needs of both parents in their last hours. A man lost his wife over ten years ago and yet still loves her and misses her as if it were yesterday. An elderly mother has buried three of her five children, a husband, all but two of her eight siblings and outlived most of her friends. Another woman lost her husband when he tried to stop a crime in progress and one of her two sons to an accident; she also lost five babies to still births and always dreamed of having a large family. Her only surviving son lives over in Europe and is approaching 40; she quietly accepts that she will never have grandchildren of her own and lavishes her love on the parish children.

Death. It’s all around us. So is sorrow and grieving. We aren’t supposed to be a grieving society. We are affluent America. We’re supposed to be happy. It’s what American parents reportedly desire for their children and for themselves—happiness. And we want it in this life; we even expect it. Our own Constitution tells us it’s our God-given ‘right’, or the pursuit of it is anyway. I’ve never had much luck with ‘pursuing’ happiness myself, but that’s another story.

Interestingly, those same people who have – and are – suffering so much are often the most joyful people I know. They aren’t always ‘happy’, but they are usually full of His Joy.

Last night I discovered another such soul, a woman I’ve seen and known by sight around my parish for years. And she asked an interesting question, a question I’ve given some thought to myself.

She wanted to know why we as Catholics pray for the dead. Her husband has been dead for years now and their six children apparently are offended by the fact that she still prays for him. Like their mother, they loved their Dad very much and believe he was a very good man. Their reasoning is, if ‘Dad’ was such a good man, isn’t it an insult to his memory to pray for him? Why not have faith in his good life—or if not in him, then in God’s all powerful mercy—that this good man will go straight to Heaven?

Well of course I did think of the Biblical argument that there is ‘no one good but God alone’ but decided not to go down that path. Scriptural debates are all well good in their place. This was a matter of the heart. And anyway, I knew why this woman was still praying for her husband and it had nothing to do with her beliefs about her husband’s soul or God’s mercy and it had everything to do with her undying love for him.

You see if you really love someone, that love doesn’t stop with death. It doesn’t end; it can’t. It goes on just as that person’s life goes on in eternity. So whether or not we may be aware of it, it’s our need to reach out to our loved one which is met through our prayer for that person. Of course this isn’t the Church’s theological reasons for prayers for the dead and those are certainly worth studying too. But in this case, I think my friend will have more success explaining to her children that she prays for her deceased husband because she loves him. She loved him so much and for so long, she couldn’t—can’t—just stop because he’s died. So now praying for him allows her to express those deep feelings.

And what about the prayers?

What about them? Well, they are surely from her heart, so they are good prayers. In fact, they are probably the very best kind of prayers in the entire world knowing the sweetness of this dear woman.

So, if in fact, her husband does need her prayers, so much the better.

And if he doesn’t? Doesn’t this world need prayer?

Is there any doubt?

Are prayers wasted? If you believe in an all-merciful and all-loving God, as I do, I think you know the answer to that question. He has plenty of use for such prayer.

Is there anyone you are grieving? Anyone you miss more than your own life? Pray for them and be consoled. If they need your prayers, you may bring them to the arms of God. If not, you will still bring YOU—and perhaps some of your hurting brothers and sisters here on this earth—there with you.

Pray. Pray. And Pray some more.

“Can you drink the cup?”

2011-01-25T17:56:00.001-08:00

‘Then the mother of the sons of Zebedee approached him with her sons and did him homage, wishing to ask him for something. He said to her, “What do you wish?” She answered him, “Command that these two sons of mine sit, one at your right and the other at your left, in your kingdom.” Jesus said in reply, “You do not know what you are asking. Can you drink the cup that I am going to drink?” They said to him, “We can.” He replied, “My cup you will indeed drink, but to sit at my right and at my left, (this) is not mine to give but is for those for whom it has been prepared by my Father.” Matthew 20:20-23

I just returned from retreat—my first ever work-related retreat. Our retreat master, a nurse by profession—who for the past thirteen years has been working for our archdiocese in a service capacity—is one of those dynamic people who radiates enthusiasm and joy. She chose the above Scripture passage for our theme.

Using the analogy of ‘the cup’ as representing our own life, or God’s Will for us, we were invited to examine holding, lifting and finally drinking the cup. In the first step, we had the opportunity to see how we accept and embrace the lives we are given—in all their idiosyncrasies, mystery, pain, wonder and totality. We were entertained by many stories, some happy, others bittersweet which served to remind that God fills our cups with many varied things.

The second step, lifting or tipping the cup, was the act of community. Last night we even had a little ceremony where we held, clinked and drank from matching stoneware chalices in a symbolic opportunity which showed us visually our connectedness to each other. The beauty and vitality in this transitional movement is that to reach the point of being able to ‘drink from the cup’ we must first recognize the other. Your cup is different than mine. It may look the same on the outside—or not—but it certainly contains different things on the inside. When our cups touch, I acknowledge you and you do the same for me. Such a simple, old-fashioned notion, but oh so desperately needed in the world today.

And finally, I drink of my cup. It is in this action I am joining Christ and accepting the Father’s Will in humble, trustful surrender. Some days it is easy to drink from my cup; other days it is not. But it remains mine and mine alone to drink to the very bottom.

I’ve been trying to take a retreat ever since I started this job. I’ve needed something like this for ages. So often I say, ‘I’m too busy right now. I can’t get away. I’ve got all this work to do.’

And it’s true ... I do have all this work to do. And even more things here at home that I need and want to do. That’s my cup: full-time job which is also a ministry; good marriage I want to keep strong; a busy family life and extended family close and spread all over the country; friends in town and out; a home to care for; and many activities I like to do.

It is a very full cup, but probably no more full than most other people today. Very gingerly I lift my cup to you. Tell me about your cup. Then we can tip our cups together and drink of Our Father's Will.

challenges to prayer

2011-01-21T08:47:00.001-08:00

Last post I wrote about the changes which inevitably occur in our lives sooner or later upsetting our best plans and intentions to begin a life dedicated to prayer. The “changes” I mentioned were all positive—a new job, primary relationship or baby—but what if the change is something we don’t desire? What if we experience the death of a loved one or major illness, the loss of a job, the complete or partial destruction of a home or property? How do such things impact our prayer life? First let me say, that my challenge or change was only a small one, but even so, it had a major impact on my ability to pray.

Last week I started an exercise program. My husband and I joined a fitness facility in the fall when my daughter was leaving for college; I thought it would be a good thing for me to do to keep my spirits up with her leaving, not to mention I need to have some sort of regular exercise program. I even talked to and set up an appointment with a personal trainer. Then reality kicked in; I cancelled the appointment and I stopped going. I didn’t have enough time for myself ... well I didn’t make enough time for myself, but that’s another story. My husband still used the membership so we kept it open. He's an optimist; he was sure I'd go back.

Last week the trainer called me and asked if I wanted to set up another appointment. I did. We got together and it was great. She worked me hard, but also showed me stretches which balanced out the weights. I went back to the gym over the week-end and did the bike and treadmill with my daughter from college who was home visiting. Then on Monday, I went for my second lesson. I can still see that dirty Kleenex on the treadmill. I didn’t touch it but I didn’t need to. I’m sure the user’s germs were all over the machine. Still I had another great workout and I came back to work. The volunteer who was scheduled to help me was there shortly after I returned. I don’t remember taking time to wash my hands after coming back from the gym. But I grabbed my lunch and started eating while we worked. Big mistake!

The next day, Tuesday, around noon I started getting a scratchy throat and chills. By the end of the afternoon there was no doubt in my mind, I had a cold. I haven’t had a cold in at least two years. I thought I’d sleep it off. I stayed home from work and slept away most of Wednesday. What first amazed me was that I could sleep ALL day. I had no appetite. I had to force myself to eat because I knew if I didn’t I’d get a migraine. My head hurt even so but it hurt worse, much worse, every time I coughed and I kept having coughing fits. Water tasted awful but I drank it anyway because I was parched. My dear husband brought me Sunny Delight and it tasted a little better than the water. I ached all over. I was hot; I was cold. I was miserable. But the biggest surprise was, I couldn’t pray. All I could do was say little prayers like The Jesus Prayer, “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner,” the Divine Mercy, “Jesus, I trust in You!” and the prayer Father Corapi suggests, “Immaculate Heart of Mary, I place all my trust in you.” I tried to muster the energy to say something more organized but I couldn't.

Then Wednesday at 3 in the morning, I woke out of a sound sleep because my lower back had seized up. My husband said it was because I’d slept all day the day before. I think it was also because of my recent workouts. My trainer had me working back muscles I didn’t usually work. I was also still having coughing fits which were making my head want to blow off and sending further spasms of pain down my back.

So at 3 in the morning my dearly beloved husband helped me get down on the floor with a heating pad on my back and a hot water bag on my stomach. Eventually the muscles loosened up enough to where I could get into a fetal position which stretched out the back muscles. I fell asleep like that. The hot water bag leaked but I didn’t even care.

Today, Friday, my back and stomach are still very sore and I’m having coughing fits but on a much less frequent basis. I feel weak but able to move around. My appetite still hasn’t come back but knowing me, it will.

What surprised me most in the whole thing was that I could not pray. I wanted to. I tried to. I thought about it and I did remember that even to call Jesus’ Holy Name is a prayer. I did do that. But I felt so desolate being unable to pray.

Today being Friday I said the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary. As I got to the 4th Mystery and contemplated them mocking Jesus while He carried His Cross, the Cross He bore for us, I felt this overwhelming feeling of loneliness. I’m not sure, but I think it was a teeny tiny glimpse of the great loneliness He felt when He carried the Cross for us. He loves us so much. And yet when He picked up the Cross that day, He looked into His children’s eyes—children whom He loved deeply—and they were mocking Him. How often do we mock one another? Belittle and tease each other? Make light of another person’s pain or experience? When we do, we also join those Roman soldiers mocking Our Savior.

Oh Lord, help me to remember this small insight, that my challenges are everyone’s challenges and I never suffer in isolation. When one part of the Body of Christ suffers, the whole Body suffers. Help my experienced pain make me more compassionate, considerate, patient and kind to my brothers and sisters. Help me also remember that prayer is the very best gift I can give anyone, but especially those who are sick, because often they can’t pray for themselves.

prayer journeys

2011-01-14T11:30:00.001-08:00

I’ve often wondered if prayer is such a good thing, why is it so difficult to maintain? Oh sure it’s easy to begin to pray or say you’re to going to develop your prayer life or that you want to deepen your relationship with God through more consistency in prayer, but how many of us find that after a week or two, or maybe even a couple months we hit a wall?

Or maybe something big changes in our life, like a new job, marriage or baby and suddenly the time and routine which we’d formerly devoted to prayer, is now consumed by duties too important to neglect. We’re overwhelmed and it’s easy enough to let the prayer slip into whatever time and space is left over.

As for myself, I justified my recent neglect of private prayer by saying, “But I go to Mass almost every day. Isn’t that good enough?” No! The Mass is the chief or central act of communal worship in the Catholic Church and there is nothing which can replace it. I would not miss any opportunity to go to daily Mass, however, it is not a substitute for my individual prayer time with God. I need both. I need to go away from everyone and spend time alone with the Father—just as Jesus did so often, as we are repeatedly told in the Gospels. When I do this, I find a world within myself where He dwells. I discover that still small voice.

We are all on a spiritual journey. For most of us, I suspect, it isn’t along a superhighway. I know I’m traveling the back roads. Lately, I think I’m not even on a road at all. It feels like God has taken me out of any motorized vehicle and is leading me along an unexplored path through a wooded area. He has me by the hand but I can’t see the way ahead at all. Maybe it is night time or He could have me blindfolded. In any event, the effect is the same; I’m completely dependent on Him to take me where He wants me to go. For someone who is a planner and organizer, this is not a comfortable position to be in. I have to trust Him utterly. I can’t stop praying—not because I’m good or self-disciplined but more out of a sense of desperation.

I don’t know if this means my prayers are less efficacious because they are as necessary as drinking water or breathing, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. I do wonder sometimes how many different levels we pray on. When I am very relaxed and praying the rosary, I’ll be contemplating Our Lord’s actions in one of the mysteries and yet I am also aware of being very conscious of my plea to Our Lady, “Pray for us!” Today when that happened, I wondered if one was the spirit and the other the mind or if they were both just simultaneous thoughts of the mind. I suppose that's not really important either ... just my random musings. Of course, that’s not to say, there aren’t other times, when I’m not concentrating on any level, so please don’t think I don’t have my fair share of distractions. I do!

I’m still very much a child of prayer, taking stumbling steps.

Oh Jesus, You have brought us safely thus far. Please continue to watch over us as we continue on our individual and collective journeys, always traveling toward You, the only and ultimate destination.

Child of Prayer

2011-01-02T09:04:00.001-08:00

A friend asked me about my New Year’s Resolutions the other day. “What are your plans and dreams for the upcoming year?”

Plans and dreams... Yes, those are both very good things! God has a plan for my life—for every second of every day I have ever lived and will go on living in this world. And He often communicates His desires to His children through their dreams. So what plans and dreams can I have but His?

What I have for the upcoming year are prayers and one prayer in particular: to become a person of prayer.

I desire to live in constant communion with Him.

Every time my mind wanders to a problem, let it be drawn back to Him in trustful surrender.

When my eyes behold evil, let Him show me the Way, the Truth and Life.

If my heart seizes with fear, let His Love encircle and warm me, bringing more love than I’ve ever known before.

May He be my first thought every morning and may I fall asleep with His Name on my lips.

May He love and protect my dear ones as I would if I could—were I but All Knowing, All Loving and All Good.

May He turn all my sins into opportunities for growth in kindness, humility and patience.

Sweet Jesus, with every breath I take in, let me seek You; with every breath out, may I grow closer to You.

You know LORD what a wretch I am—how far I have to go, how much I ask by daring to pray as I do. And yet, You are the God of the Impossible. With and through You, All Things are possible, even my sanctification.

Help this year be a YEAR OF PRAYER for your servant. Help me seek You at all times, in all ways and without tiring.

Make me Your child of prayer.

And God Created the World...

2010-12-13T14:04:00.001-08:00

“I have a question for all of you,” said my college freshman daughter, Meg, last week-end, “Is there more good or bad in the world?”

“It doesn’t matter,” replied my husband, “It’s our job to be on the side of good.”

“We can’t tell,” was my younger daughter’s answer but she agreed with her father that it’s our mission to be working for The Good.

I was surprised. I thought the answer to Meg’s question was obvious, but their evasive non-answers gave me pause. Was I the only one who thought like that? Maybe the question went deeper than I knew. Maybe I was just naïve. “What do you say?” I asked Meg, the question’s originator.

“I believe the world is mostly good,” she said a little slowly. But she went on to add that a good friend—an evangelical Christian—believes the world is mostly bad. “She’s constantly talking about all these dark forces and evil powers.”

We discussed the various theological perspectives of different Christian denominations for some moments before Meg asked, “What do you think Mom?”

“I believe what it says in the Book of Genesis,

‘God called the dry land “the earth,” and the basin of the water he called “the sea.” God saw how good it was. Then God said, “Let the earth bring forth vegetation: every kind of plant that bears seed and every kind of fruit tree on earth that bears fruit with its seed in it.” And so it happened: the earth brought forth every kind of plant that bears seed and every kind of fruit tree on earth that bears fruit with its seed in it. God saw how good it was.’

God created this magnificent earth and saw that it was good. Ever since then, we human beings have been trying to mess up God’s work. Yet He loves all of His Creation especially us and this is still a good world—mostly in spite of us. Sometimes, when we cooperate with Him, it is a good world through us but always it is a good world because of Him.”

Since then I’ve been posing this question wherever I go, is this world good or bad? Or as my daughter phrased it, is there more good or bad in this world? I’ve been amazed at the answers I’ve received to the question, but—so far—no one has given me an answer (although several have tried!) which has convinced me God’s world is bad. I pray they never do. So... what do you think?

Ten "Things" Mom Wants For Christmas

2010-12-07T17:05:00.001-08:00

My younger daughter told me last night I’m the hardest one in the family to buy gifts for. I laughed and said that’s probably because I have everything I want. She looked at me like I have seven heads. Okay, sure, I would like to get my favorite recliner reupholstered and new carpeting for the front room, but such mundane someday-they-would-be-nice-es aside, I’m probably the most contented person I know, so far as THINGS go. I don’t want any more things.

What I value most in my life right now are the people I love and the time I get to spend with them. I can never get enough of both of those. So keeping that in mind, dearest offspring, here are some ideas of what mama bear would like from her cubs for Christmas.

1. Read any Jane Austen book and then plan a “Jane Junket” where we watch the mini-series corresponding to that book (actually we have two!) and maybe even take in the additional movies, “Becoming Jane” and “The Jane Austen Book Club”. I know this would involve a lot of time but you have Christmas vacation coming up and you did ask what I wanted. ☺

2. Take me out to lunch. I don’t care where we go or what we eat, how many coupons you use, what the specials are, or how cheap the meal is, so long as you don’t look at your watch, we have a nice leisurely meal where I can drink coffee and we can talk about nothing and everything and not be in a hurry … !

3. Invite me to have a pajama party with you and your sister. You may even invite over one of your friends that I call my third daughter (you know the girls I mean). Let me hang out with you, watch movies, decorate cupcakes, eat ice cream, tell ghost stories, get my hair done and pretend I’m girl again. Maybe you'll be surprised to find out how fun your mom can be!

4. Surprise me by showing up at my office one day during the holidays. You don’t have to bring lunch or even help me do any work. Just drop by and see how I am. If you stayed for a short visit, it would be heaven.

5. Go to Mass with me one day during the week without me asking. That’s it.

6. Run away for a day to someplace neither of us has ever been to before.

7. Spend the afternoon/morning at Barnes and Noble. Find a book we both like which there are two copies of. Find comfy chairs near each other and speed read it. Then over café mocha or hot chocolate talk about it.

8. Just hang out with me some Friday or Saturday night. With the Christmas tree up, we can talk, play a game, try out a new recipe, work 3D puzzles, walk around the neighborhood and look at the lights, or do something else which you think up.

9. Get out our book and start writing in it again. Tell me something about yourself you have never told me before.

10. You! You are the very best gift to me. Decide how to ‘package’ yourself. By that I mean, you figure out a fun thing we can do together.

These are some ideas. I hope they help.

I want to be with you. I want to see you, hear you, enjoy your company and know that you are safe and well. I want you to be good, wise, upright, kind and true. I want you to know, love and serve God in this life so that we may all live together with Him in eternity.

I want the same thing for Christmas Mary wanted: God’s Will for my child. May He bless you this Christmas!

Sisters

2010-11-29T18:33:00.001-08:00

“Children of the same family, the same blood, with the same first associations and habits, have some means of enjoyment in their power, which no subsequent connections can supply...” ~Jane Austen, Mansfield Park, 1814

Recently I hugged a young woman at the funeral of her only sibling, a handsome sixteen year old cut down in the very prime of life. It was one of those funerals you hate to go to but you know you can’t miss. I hugged her harder and longer than I usually hug anyone. I told her about losing my only brother eighteen years ago when he was only 29. Although it wasn’t the same, it was the most devastating loss I’d ever experienced; I know what it is to lose a brother.

She asked me one question, “Was he your only sibling?” No, I had to admit honestly. He was my only brother, but I still have two sisters.

She was now an only child. I was wealthy by comparison.

Funny how difficult it is to see one’s family as a ‘treasure’ when you’re growing up; then siblings are rivals for finite resources, such as mom’s time, the favorite chair, or extra food, etc. Still I do remember a few lights shining through the fog where I saw—really saw—what a wonderful thing it is to have other souls who share the same parents and similar childhood memories.

But something that I value even more than the collective conscious is the sense of belonging that I share with my sisters. When we were younger we had our rivalries and jealousies. Especially intense were our competitions over grades and scholastic achievements. Both of my sisters made higher grades than I did and earned more awards and scholarships—much to my chagrin.

However, my one sister who never married struggled to overcome her own desires for family life and children. And my other sister who has two autistic sons had to learn not to blame herself for the boys’ disabilities. Both sisters suspected my life a little bit too perfect until our girls became teenagers and I recounted some of the trials inherent in mothering young women today. Is anyone’s life without bumps, pitfalls and obstacles? Isn’t it the challenges we face which make us who we are? Doesn’t character develop over the long term?

“Sisters is probably the most competitive relationship within the family, but once the sisters are grown, it becomes the strongest relationship.” ~Margaret Mead

We just returned from a wonderful visit home where I was able to see both sisters and the rest of our family. The days of petty childhood differences are long gone. My single sister babysits for our autistic nephews. My youngest sister, Julie opened her beautiful home to us for the holiday and even waited up for us when we arrived late Tuesday night. My family is on one schedule due to college age kids; her family is on another time clock due to her boys’ special needs, but we worked it out.

Both of my sisters are amazing women. Patti recently finished her Masters in Pastoral Administration. She’s also a Master Gardener and she does triathlons. Julie has decorated her entire home herself—done the painting, wallpaper, curtains, made quilts and pillows for her son’s beds, does scrapbooking and lately has taken up miniatures as well! Pictured at the top is her entry for an upcoming competition. Hasn’t she done a nice job on this Jewelry Boutique?! I couldn't be more proud of my sisters' accomplishments if I'd actually done all of those things myself. I love them immeasurably. They are my dearest friends.

God bless you both!

We had a wonderful Thanksgiving. It was our best visit ‘home’ ever!

Thanks to everyone! We love you all so much!

“Bless you, my darling, and remember you are always in the heart - oh tucked so close there is no chance of escape - of your sister.” ~Katherine Mansfield

We Are The Catholic Vote

2010-10-27T20:04:00.000-07:00

Make yours count for LIFE!

Daughters of Abraham

2010-10-25T17:22:00.000-07:00

'Jesus was teaching in a synagogue on the sabbath. And a woman was there who for eighteen years had been crippled by a spirit; she was bent over, completely incapable of standing erect. When Jesus saw her, he called to her and said, “Woman, you are set free of your infirmity.” He laid his hands on her, and she at once stood up straight and glorified God. But the leader of the synagogue, indignant that Jesus had cured on the sabbath, said to the crowd in reply, “There are six days when work should be done. Come on those days to be cured, not on the sabbath day.” The Lord said to him in reply, “Hypocrites! Does not each one of you on the sabbath untie his ox or his ass from the manger and lead it out for watering? This daughter of Abraham, whom Satan has bound for eighteen years now, ought she not to have been set free on the sabbath day from this bondage?” When he said this, all his adversaries were humiliated; and the whole crowd rejoiced at all the splendid deeds done by him.' ~Lk 13:10-17

Today at Mass I heard this Gospel proclaimed. In my mind's eye I saw a group of "daughters of Abraham" who are and have been living for '... years ... crippled ... bent over, completely incapable of standing erect" ... or worse. Their faces are invisible as are their lives. They have no identity, no voice, not even enough vision with which to see the world. The clothing they are forced to wear is so heavy it all but weighs them down.

What would Jesus say to them? “Women, you are set free!”? Would He lay His sacred hands on one of them? Each of them? How would that be received?

What would He say to those who enshroud and enslave them? “Does not each one of you on the sabbath untie his ox or his ass from the manger and lead it out for watering?” In other words, your dumb beasts have it better than your mothers, daughters, and wives!

These daughters of Abraham came from Ishmael. Are they less than the daughters of Isaac? If not, why are they kept in these canvas prisons? I wonder what Jesus would say ... and do ...

Best Job in the World

2010-08-15T13:47:00.000-07:00

This week my oldest leaves for college. She came in to sit on my bed a few nights ago for one of our talks and as she was getting up to leave she said, ‘You know Mom, you kind of surprised me. I expected you to be really upset about me going away ... but you're not. I think I'm more worried about it than you are.”

After she left my room that night, I thought about it some more and realized she was right. I've made a few jokes about coming to work in black on Thursday—the day after my husband and I drive her up to OSU—but aside from that I'm not feeling sad or fearful, lonely or even apprehensive. Funny, but I always thought I'd be a basket case when it came time for my children to ‘fly the nest’.

I always said being ‘Mom’ was the ‘best job in the world’.

I hated when our years of homeschooling came to an end and my children went to school. I nearly fell apart from confused feelings of uselessness and regret. All I could think then was the good times were over and yet I hadn’t done nearly all I wanted to do. There was so much more I could and should have taught them, done with and for them and now it was all in the past. They had moved on. I was left behind.

What’s different now?

Mostly, I know they still need me, or rather they still need their mother, much as I still need my mom—not in the immature little girl way we do while we’re still growing up, but in the way we do when we’re older—as a most trusted mentor. If we are truly blessed, our parents may be the most trusted guide(s) God gives us.

I guess it can be summed up in one perfect example. Last night my second oldest daughter, Michelle, came home to get her things for a sleep-over with her girlfriends. She was in no particular hurry to leave. She apologized for interrupting the movie her father and I were watching, although we didn’t mind in the least; we were happy she wanted to spend time with “hermits” like us on a Saturday evening. That’s what both of our daughter’s call us because—as they say – we don’t drink, smoke, gamble or ‘party’.

Anyway, Michelle looked rather disconcerted as she told us that she felt ‘too old’ to be returning to high school this year. This is her senior year and she said that most of the girls she’s hung around with since her freshman year are so immature—something my husband I both hoped and prayed would happen three years ago. She described watching and listening to them from somewhere outside the group. I remember that place years ago and sometimes still when I am around certain types of people.

I told her that her sister had said at graduation her teachers were the people she thought she’d miss from her high school days.

We talked some more. Then she told me the nicest thing I think she’s ever said to me. She named her three best friends and I was one of them.

I’m not her friend of course. I’m her mother and that’s so much more important, but I know what she meant. She meant she trusts me and she knows she can come to me with her problems. And as George MacDonald said, ‘To be trusted is a greater compliment than to be loved.’

Earlier in this post I asked, ‘what’s different now?’

There’s another difference. God has given me another ‘best job in the world’. I didn’t think anything could ever top motherhood, or even come close. I thought when my children no longer needed me so much, I’d just sit around and read, write maybe, crochet and be a good little stay-at-home wife awaiting grandchildren and old age.

I was wrong again. God had other plans. He doesn’t waste anything.

He called me into active ministry—not once or twice but three times. Finally I listened and answered.

It isn’t always easy. There are many sacrifices, big and little. But there are also so many joys! I’ll just tell you about one from last night.

Besides being Director of Religious Education for my parish, I also get to serve as Extraordinary Minister of Holy Communion once a month, the greatest honor next to receiving Our LORD.

At Mass last night I gave Holy Communion to a very special little boy, ‘N’ who was in my First Communion class this year. He received Our LORD’s Body with such reverence it was as if he was receiving Him for the first time, as it should be for all of us each time but so seldom is. When I came up to ‘N’ after Mass, to compliment him, I noted he was wearing his Vacation Bible school t-shirt.

His grandfather said, “Oh yes! He loved his time at Vacation Bible School, still talks about it all the time, and is proud of his shirt.” When I complimented ‘N’ on how reverently he received Holy Communion, he told me it was his 20th time to go to Communion.

I said in astonishment, “You’re still counting each time?”

His mother smiled and said quietly aside to me, “he’ll probably never stop counting.’

This little boy is rather special in more ways than one. His slightly autistic nature causes him to be teased at times and yet there is something there which also makes him impervious to that which isn’t truly important. I smiled back at his devoted mother and grandfather. School begins soon and then I’ll be able to see little ‘N’ during the week as well as on week-ends.

After my little friend and his family left, I thanked God for this second chance, for this new job which is also such a blessing. How many jobs offer the opportunity to be part of the process of a child's First Sacrament's, facilitate fun at VBS and then witness such sanctity in a precious child of God it utterly humbles you?

Thank you God for not only loving me, but also for entrusting me with this ministry; it is such a great gift. Please dearest Jesus, continue to support and guide me in it. And watch over Your dear Meg as she journeys to college this week. She’s always been Yours Jesus, on loan to me. I’ve enjoyed and treasured every moment as her mother and I pray there are still many more to come.

Day 18 - Tending the Vineyard

2010-06-19T10:01:00.001-07:00

‘He began to speak to them in parables. “A man planted a vineyard, put a hedge around it, dug a wine press, and built a tower. Then he leased it to tenant farmers and left on a journey. At the proper time he sent a servant to the tenants to obtain from them some of the produce of the vineyard.”’ Mark 12:1-2

Vineyards would seem to be an especially long term expenditure of time, money and effort. In this Gospel story Jesus wants us to the see the great value the man placed on his vineyard. He was so concerned with its ultimate success that he was willing to put a fence around it, build a watchtower and wine press and lease it to tenant farmers.

Our children, or rather the children God gives us, are very much like the plants in the vineyard; we work at them a long time before realizing whether or not we're going to have a harvest. Raising a family is the closest analogy I can think of to a ‘long term expenditure of time, money and effort’.

Currently I’m just past the middle of the endeavor. My ‘vines’ are only three quarters grown. They haven’t produced any grapes yet. There’s always the possibly they never will.

Wine production is a risky business. I can certainly empathize with the man in Jesus’ parable. This parenting stuff is a lot of work and the outcome is uncertain at best. So is the fate of Our Lord’s story. We all know what happens to those sent to collect produce on this vineyard. They got beaten, treated shamefully and killed. Is any of this worth it?

Some days being a parent doesn’t seem worth it either. But it is.

This has been a rough week for me a mom. I’m dealing with a teenager in the middle of a crisis. Looking back on my own life, it’s not the worst thing that could ever happen, but it’s also far from the best.

But as I read these words which occur later on in this same selection from the Gospel of Mark, I find great comfort, “The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone; by the Lord has this been done, and it is wonderful in our eyes.” Mark 12:10-11

Sunshine and rain are both necessary for the healthy development of grapes. Just so, successes and trials are necessary for our children’s emotional maturity. May He grant us enough of each!

Are You Listening?

2010-06-12T13:19:00.000-07:00

Check out my books on Goodreads!

Day 17 - Finding God in Narnia

2010-06-12T11:18:00.000-07:00

‘When he saw the crowds, he went up the mountain, and after he had sat down, his disciples came to him. He began to teach them, saying: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the land. Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied. Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. Blessed are the clean of heart, for they will see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you and utter every kind of evil against you (falsely) because of me. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward will be great in heaven. Thus they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”’ Matthew 5:1-11

For Reverend Mills, Jesus’ teachings on the kingdom make him think of the magical land of Narnia created by C. S. Lewis, especially as it is discovered and explored by Lucy and the other Pevensie children.

Parallel worlds are in fact one of the best ways to understand many of Our Lord’s teachings.

Sometimes daily life offers similar glimpses which we can share.

This past week I agreed to speak to a group of seniors from our parish on the topic of Adoration—the History of Adoration in the Catholic Church in 8 minutes or less was actually my assignment—if you can believe it.

I agreed to do it because I love Adoration, full stop. Trying to imagine doing justice to such an important topic in only 8 minutes—much less anything less—I never took seriously even before I started my research. I mean really? We’re talking two thousand years of Catholic Church history here. It simply can’t be done.

Throughout the week I made sure I spent at least an hour with Jesus every day in our Blessed Sacrament Room talking to Him about what He wanted me to say about Him.

Without a doubt it’s been the best week of my life. I worked ten hour days, fourteen on Wednesday but somehow everything came together. The talk went well. I know I went over my 8 minutes but no one complained. I’ve never been less nervous in front of a group of people in my life. Never. And I would say that usually I prefer dental visits to public speaking.

However, last evening I was thrilled to speak. It was the Solemnity of the Sacred Heart, a feast closely associated with the Holy Eucharist.

Just the day before, I had received a lovely gift from a dear blogging friend, Julie Cameron, two autographed books which she picked up for me. The one book she’d told me about, the second was an extra surprise. I look forward to reading and reviewing both books for her. God bless you Julie!

Seek the Kingdom of God, the Pearl of Great Price. He is worth it!

He is waiting there for you and He is Everything!

"AND GOD SAID...."

2010-06-10T18:20:00.000-07:00

I said, "God, I hurt."
And God said, I know."

I said, "God, I cry a lot."
And God said, "That is why I gave you tears."

I said, "God, I am so depressed."
And God said, "That is why I gave you Sunshine."

I said, "God, life is so hard."
And God said, "That is why I gave you loved ones."

I said, "God, my loved one died."
And God said, "So did mine."

I said, "God, it is such a loss."
And God said, I saw mine nailed to a cross."

I said, "God, but your loved one lives."
And God said, "So does yours."

I said, "God, where are they now?"
And God said, "Mine is on My right and yours is in the Light."

I said, "God, it hurts."
And God said, I know."

Posted on the wall at the
Oklahoma City bombing site
by K. C. and Myke Kuzmic
Stockton, CA

Day 16 - My Ways Are Not Your Ways

2010-06-08T14:59:00.001-07:00

‘At noon darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. And at three o'clock Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” which is translated, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Some of the bystanders who heard it said, “Look, he is calling Elijah.” One of them ran, soaked a sponge with wine, put it on a reed, and gave it to him to drink, saying, “Wait, let us see if Elijah comes to take him down.” Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last. The veil of the sanctuary was torn in two from top to bottom. When the centurion who stood facing him saw how he breathed his last he said, “Truly this man was the Son of God!”’ Mark 15:33-39

‘“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the LORD.’ Have you ever read these words in Isaiah 55 and thought somewhat ironically, ‘no kidding!’

I know I have. Okay, I admit it. I have a bit of a smart aleck streak which 50+ years and a wide variety of experiences haven’t quite been able to knock out of me.

God is still working on me…

But seriously, the humor of “Oh, God!” and “Bruce Almighty” aside, could you imagine watching your servant Job suffer and not lift a hand in assistance? How could God remain silent during the barbarity of so much of human history?

How could we?!

How could He have sacrificed His only Son on a cross?

Especially for the likes of us who would stand by for . . .

Legalized slavery and the transportation of people under conditions not fit for cattle?

Human torture and sacrifice?

Racial and religious genocide?

Child abuse and neglect of every sort imaginable and then some?

Endless cycles of war, oppression and poverty?

Hatred and refusal to forgive leading to more violence?

The Third Reich, Stalin, Rwanda, the murder of over a 1/3 of a generation of American unborn through abortion?

No, His ways aren’t like our ways.

Thanks be to Him!

Teach me oh Lord to follow Your Way!

Day 15 - Don’t Be Late for Dinner

2010-06-06T15:52:00.001-07:00

‘Jesus again in reply spoke to them in parables, saying, “The kingdom of heaven may be likened to a king who gave a wedding feast for his son. He dispatched his servants to summon the invited guests to the feast, but they refused to come. A second time he sent other servants, saying, ‘Tell those invited: “Behold, I have prepared my banquet, my calves and fattened cattle are killed, and everything is ready; come to the feast.”’’ Matthew 22:1-4

Yes, I realize I’ve missed Day 14. It wasn’t a mistake; it was intentional. When I go back and do that post, you’ll understand why I just couldn’t publish it today on the Feast of Corpus Christi—as well as why this topic is so much more relevant.

“Don’t be late for dinner!” How many times did you hear that as a child? For me, it was usually as the screen door banged shut behind me; the last sound of my mother’s voice before I was gone to play. She knew that. That’s why she said it. She wanted me to remember to come home when there was every likelihood I'd be distracted . . . by my friends, the game we were playing or who-knows-what.

Our Lord is also preparing dinner for us. But not just any ordinary dinner. He has called us to a banquet of all banquets.

‘Everything is ready’, He says.

But the question remains, are we? Am I?

Day 14 - Jesus Irritates Me!

2010-06-05T08:01:00.000-07:00

‘They came to the other side of the sea, to the territory of the Gerasenes. When he got out of the boat, at once a man from the tombs who had an unclean spirit met him. The man had been dwelling among the tombs, and no one could restrain him any longer, even with a chain. In fact, he had frequently been bound with shackles and chains, but the chains had been pulled apart by him and the shackles smashed, and no one was strong enough to subdue him. Night and day among the tombs and on the hillsides he was always crying out and bruising himself with stones. Catching sight of Jesus from a distance, he ran up and prostrated himself before him.’ Mark 5:1-6

Jesus irritates me! I feel rather guilty admitting this—all the more so because it’s true. That I didn’t choose the blog—or chapter—title doesn’t make the verity of it any less applicable to me.

I admit it. There are times Jesus irritates me. Or rather, I should say I get frustrated by things which happen to me. I think they are unfair, unmerited or unbearable, sometimes all three. When I refuse to accept the events and circumstances which God chooses to send me—at least those I cannot change—then I am refusing to accept Him.

One thing which consistently upsets me is hurting other people, especially those I love. In fact, it is at the top of my list of least favorite things. I really dislike causing loved ones pain. Probably because I have been hurt so often myself, I want to do all I can not to do the same thing to others. However, sometimes there are circumstances when everything conspires together in such a way misunderstanding seems almost inevitable. When that happens it takes everything in me not to get angry with God.

Recently I had such an event with a dear, dear friend. We’ve been friends for years. She wrote and asked me about a book.

It’s a popular new fiction book. I admitted to her that I didn’t like it. For starters, it’s in a genre which I don’t happen to care for. Secondly, although I agreed with the author’s position, I didn’t care for his presentation, development or literary style. Booklady that I am, I can get a bit esoteric and dense when it comes to books. I should have realized she just wanted affirmation of her choice of a book. I didn’t. I needed to be a friend. Instead I was literary critic. I hurt her feelings. I only realized what I’d done when it was too late. Needless to say, I felt like a heel.

Time was, I would have gotten mad at God. Or myself. It wasn’t His fault of course. My husband said it wasn’t mine either. It was just e-mail and miscommunication. If we’d been face-to-face, the misunderstanding never would have happened.

This time, however, instead of getting irritated with Him, I thanked Him. I didn’t want to thank Him. But I did it anyway . . . all the while I was crying.

After that I went to Mass and offered my Communion for my friend. I did the same thing the next day and the next.

And I called her. We talked. We’ve exchanged a dozen or so e-mails since and we’re better friends now than we were before the misunderstanding.

I used to get angry with God about so many things. The week before it was when my daughter forgot to return a call to my Confessor who needed directions to our home so he could come to her graduation reception. He was really hurt she didn’t call him back. I wanted to be angry with my absent-minded daughter for being so careless and slighting someone who is so dear to me. Instead I prayed and thanked God. My husband suggested we take Fr. John out to dinner tomorrow night. So we are. He seemed very pleased when I invited him to have this special night out with our family. Amazingly, we're even able to get all of us together on the same evening.

Anger into gratitude. It works!

Day 13 - How Do I Read?

2010-06-03T11:20:00.001-07:00

‘For whatever was written previously was written for our instruction, that by endurance and by the encouragement of the scriptures we might have hope. May the God of endurance and encouragement grant you to think in harmony with one another, in keeping with Christ Jesus, that with one accord you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.’ Romans 15:4-6

How do I read?

What a thought-provoking question!

In case you don’t know by now, I’m not choosing the titles of these blog posts. They are coming from the titles of each chapter in the book by Reverend Mills. Often they are a meditation unto themselves—as is the case here.

How do I read?

How we do something—as we all know—makes all the difference in everything that we do. Most actions accomplished half-heartedly, aimlessly or with a distracted mind might as well be left undone. We all know what God thinks of lukewarm lovers. Be on-fire for Him or be gone.

So again I ask: how do I read?

S lowly, taking time for each thought, each phrase to dissolve into me.
C arefully, being as gentle with a word as I would with The Word.
R eflectively, savoring subtle meanings, like delicate flavors of a fine wine.
I ntrospectively, letting everything I read filter down through my journey.
P rayerfully, seeking the Father, through His Son, by the power of the Spirit.
T hankfully, bowing humbly before the Source to all Life and Grace.
U niversally, acknowledging my nothingness except as His child.
R everently, loving Him utterly for all He has done; striving to do the same.
E veryday! Everyday! Everyday!

How I read is as important as what I read.

Day 12 - Blessed is He Who Comes in the Name of the Lord

2010-05-24T18:07:00.001-07:00

‘On the next day, when the great crowd that had come to the feast heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem, they took palm branches and went out to meet him, and cried out: “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord, (even) the king of Israel.” Jesus found an ass and sat upon it, as is written: “Fear no more, O daughter Zion; see, your king comes, seated upon an ass's colt.” His disciples did not understand this at first, but when Jesus had been glorified they remembered that these things were written about him and that they had done this for him.’ John 12:12-17

This is one of those beautiful chapters which makes Reverend Mill’s book worth its price even if it’s the only chapter you read. It is a ‘taking apart’ if you will of the familiar Palm Sunday and Passover stories which we think we know but maybe we could stand to examine in a lot more detail, if for no other reason than during Holy Week there is so much going on, it’s hard to take everything in.

Although there’s no way to do justice to this chapter and I’d have to plagiarize half the text in any attempt to do so, I thought I’d keep my ambitions for this post extremely small and just focus on the chapter title, which also happens to be the most important line in that Scripture reading: ‘Blessed is He Who Comes in the Name of the Lord.’

I want to be blessed, don’t you?

Mostly I believe I am blessed. Whenever I see my eighty + year old friend Lloyd and ask him how he is, he answers, “I’m blessed!” I love his Faith. It’s a reminder to me that I’m blessed too.

But what about the rest of the sentence, ‘. . . is he who comes in the name of the Lord’?

When do I come, ‘in the name of the Lord’? Whenever I make the Sign of the Cross*, I say, “In the Name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” Isn’t that the name of the Blessed Trinity? Isn’t that my God? If I begin every journey with the Sign of the Cross then am I not going – and coming – in the name of the Lord? And by extension am I also not blessed?

“In the Name of the Father, and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Blessed Trinity, help me to remember to begin all my endeavors—however small—in Your Holy Name that I may be blessed in all I say, think and do by Your Grace. Amen.”

* When I make the Sign of the Cross I hold my hand as shown in the picture above. I learned about this Byzantine Catholic or Eastern Christian tradition when I was teaching my own children about the Sign of the Cross many years ago. The position of the fingers gives additional meaning to the physical signing action and I liked that. As a teacher I had learned that the more sensory involvement in any activity the greater the overall learning potential and individual participation. The Byzantine view is explained in more detail here.

Day 11 - God Doesn’t Give Handouts

2010-05-21T15:01:00.000-07:00

‘Jesus began to teach them that the Son of Man must suffer greatly and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and rise after three days. He spoke this openly. Then Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. At this he turned around and, looking at his disciples, rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan. You are thinking not as God does, but as human beings do.” He summoned the crowd with his disciples and said to them, “Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me.”’ Mark 8:31-38

There’s an old Chinese proverb which says, “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.”

I’m a teacher. It’s my vocation, my charism; it’s in my blood. I taught my baby sister to read when she was three and I was thirteen and then went on to organize a summer neighborhood nursery school camp for her and her little friends which I ran for the next three summers. I wasn’t going to charge for it, but the mothers of the tots—children I babysat for—all insisted. Still my profits were nil because I reinvested every nickel I made in treats, art supplies and games for the kids. In the military I was a part-time instructor. When I got out it was to homeschool my own children. Now I’m the Director of Religious Education for my parish. What can I say? I love to learn and I love to share that love of learning with others.

Some lessons are harder than others. One of the hardest is this one: God, and your fellow man, are here to give you a hand up, but not a hand out. There’s a difference—a big difference. Ultimately, my destiny is my own responsibility. It is the result of my own choices. Every time something happens to me, I have a choice. I can accept what happens or I can whine, complain, and blame others for my circumstances. I wish I could say I never resort to those childish forms of behavior—that I always cheerfully accept whatever circumstances I encounter. I wish that were true, but it isn’t . . . yet. I’m still working on it.

That’s why I like this chapter so much. I need this reminder. In the next hour or the next day, something will happen which I don’t like. I can focus on those things or I can keep my eyes on what I can do, my next goal, what lies ahead.

My oldest daughter graduates from high school tomorrow. I’m feeling many things as I look ahead to this milestone. Fortunately I’ve been so busy lately; I haven’t had a moment to think about my feelings concerning this event, which swing from excited to sad and from proud to lonely all in the space of five minutes. Last night we went out to help some friends who were hit hard by the May 10th tornadoes clear trees. My house needed cleaning and I was tired from a full day at work, but somehow—with His Grace—I found the energy to do everything. Best of all I forgot about my daughter growing up, graduating and moving away.

Life changes and moves on. Today I went to a funeral—always a good reminder of the brevity of this life. I know that mine is going by at a break neck speed! In the meantime, if I can lend someone a hand up, I hope I do.

And I pray that somewhere along the line I taught my daughter to fish—literally and spiritually.

Day 10 - In The Groove

2010-05-17T19:34:00.000-07:00

‘They were on the way; going up to Jerusalem, and Jesus went ahead of them. They were amazed, and those who followed were afraid. Taking the Twelve aside again, he began to tell them what was going to happen to him. “Behold, we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes, and they will condemn him to death and hand him over to the Gentiles who will mock him, spit upon him, scourge him, and put him to death, but after three days he will rise.”’ Mark 10:32-34

Of the chapters which I’ve read thus far in Reverend Mill’s book, A 30 Day Retreat, this has been my favorite. In it he describes Jesus on the way to Jerusalem, knowing where He is going and what He’s about to do. He is on track and on purpose. His disciples, by contrast, couldn’t be more lost. They don’t get what’s happening, where they’re going or what Jesus is saying and doing. Put in common parlance, Jesus is in the groove and they are out of it.

Where does that leave me?

Am I getting this? Do I know where I’m going?

Do I stay on track keeping my eyes fixed on Jesus, or do I keep letting little unimportant things distract me?

When I catch myself getting off track, what do I do? Do I immediately take corrective action such as prayer and/or confession? Am I willing to admit when I’m wrong, to be humble, and to be last and the least of all?

Do I forgive as I want to be forgiven? Love as He has loved me?

Am I willing to share my faith with those who don’t know about Christ or might need to hear me witness to the Truth?

Do I go daily for spiritual sustenance? Attend Mass as often as I can, pray before the Blessed Sacrament, and say the rosary?

Do I keep studying and trying to learn, understand and grow in the truths of my faith?

Do I accept that being a Catholic Christian isn’t necessarily an easy choice, but it’s my only choice?

Do I?

Right now dear Lord, help me find that road to Jerusalem with You. That’s where I want to be—the road I want to take. Take my hand. I want to be ‘in the groove’ with You, not wandering lost somewhere. Basically Jesus I’m a coward and sinner, like the rest of your disciples. I probably don’t ‘get’ what is going on any better than they did, but with Your help I want to. Please help me. Hold on to me tight Lord. Keep me with You and don’t let me get in Your way.

Day 9 - The Long and Wending Road

2010-05-15T08:39:00.000-07:00

‘Then he said, "A man had two sons, and the younger son said to his father, “Father, give me the share of your estate that should come to me.” So the father divided the property between them. After a few days, the younger son collected all his belongings and set off to a distant country where he squandered his inheritance on a life of dissipation.’ Luke 15:11-13

It’s been a long week. The 30 day retreat I meant to do every day has melted into the reality of the month of May with its tornadoes, end-of-school year awards ceremonies, graduations and other myriad of functions and obligations which must be met. And so it goes—the best laid plans, as the saying goes.

I have started almost a dozen posts on this Scripture story, which is a favorite. Sometimes, like Father Henri Nouwen,¹ I think I could write a book on that parable; it is so rich and meaningful.

Instead I’ll just share that our family is in the middle of its own prodigal child story. No, it isn’t one of my own children, thanks be to God. But I know the young woman's parents and they are at least as loving and well-intentioned as my husband and me, if not more so. I don’t see them as to blame for their daughter’s behavior any more than I believe we can take credit our grown children's successes. As parents, we all did the best we could. Then our children made their choices.

Recently, this daughter wrote her heartbroken mother an e-mail in response to this one:

“Dear R, I would love to hear from you, just to know if you’re all right.
Love, Mom”

R's reply:

“Hey, don't bother replying to this, but yes, my life is fabulous. It's done nothing but go uphill since I decided to ditch anybody that holds me back from getting what I want in life.

Hope you all have a great life, best of luck, etc. No hard feelings. Please feel free to forward this on to anybody I'm related to who hasn't yet got the clue that I turned in my club membership card a while back.

Tootles,
R

P.S. This was written by me, R, and not M². Just thought I'd throw that on there for all the low-expectation morons who missed the part where I stopped being 14 years old.”

This was forwarded on to us because my husband spoke up to this young couple concerning how they treated family members, thus earning himself the honor of becoming one of the ‘morons’ mentioned.

I don’t usually air family laundry. I don’t like to say anything bad about anyone. And yet, she herself suggested her e-mail be forwarded, which I read as a plea for help. I’ve changed the initials and won’t mention how we are related to this young woman. I just ask for your prayers for her parents, grandparents, siblings and for the young couple in question. Only God can change hearts and even He needs our cooperation, but I do believe in the power of prayer to work miracles.

I also believe in the story of the Prodigal Son. I should. I was something of a prodigal daughter myself once. Although I'm grateful I never wrote such a letter to my own mother, I also know I didn't grow up in this age of instant communication and, in my opinion, instant regret. Still I managed to cause her more tears, disappointment, grief and worry than she ever deserved. I traveled that long and wending road, made my way back to my parents, was forgiven and have had many happy years since, thanks be to God. By His Grace, I pray for the same reconcilation and reunion for this young relative.

Thank you for your compassionate understanding and God bless you for your generosity in joining us in prayer.

‘His son said to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you; I no longer deserve to be called your son.” But his father ordered his servants, “Quickly bring the finest robe and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Take the fattened calf and slaughter it. Then let us celebrate with a feast, because this son of mine was dead, and has come to life again; he was lost, and has been found.”’ Luke 15:21-24

¹ Author of The Return Of The Prodigal Son

² Her husband of three years

Day 8 - The Man in the Mirror

2010-05-08T12:24:00.000-07:00

‘Two people went up to the temple area to pray; one was a Pharisee and the other was a tax collector. The Pharisee took up his position and spoke this prayer to himself, ‘O God, I thank you that I am not like the rest of humanity--greedy, dishonest, adulterous--or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week, and I pay tithes on my whole income.’ But the tax collector stood off at a distance and would not even raise his eyes to heaven but beat his breast and prayed, ‘O God, be merciful to me a sinner.’ I tell you, the latter went home justified, not the former; for everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and the one who humbles himself will be exalted.’ Luke 18:10-14

Today is Mother’s Day, that annual tribute to motherhood. I believe it’s a wonderful tradition—despite what my husband says about it being a ‘Hallmark Holiday’—because it honors all the sacrifices made for life, God’s greatest gift to us. In this culture of death in which we live, we need to take every opportunity offered to celebrate life and those who cherish, nurture and protect it. Let’s all give thanks today for mothers everywhere. God bless and strengthen them for their work in His Holy Service.

That said, as a mother myself, I am also painfully aware of my shortcomings: all those times I did not live up to my vocation. Yes, I know deep in my heart I've tried to do my best in raising my children, but I also remember occasions I wish I could forget when I didn’t listen or understand, when I put myself first, or when I wasn’t so loving as I could have been. And do I even need to say that when/if I could forget them, my own children would remind me of them? (sigh) Trust me, they do!

But it’s okay. My failures are there to keep me humble and remind me how much I need God’s Grace – and Mary’s intercession – while I strive to do my best for my family.

Still, on this day when everyone is telling me how “great” I am as a mother, I’m going to tell you ‘the rest of the story’. I’m going to rat or snitch on myself. This publican is going confess just one example of why she knows she always stands in need of God’s mercy.

When I was just embarking on my homeschooling career—many, many years ago—I had an extremely difficult time getting my children to sit and do their work on their own without my constant supervision. I knew that if this whole homeschooling ‘experiment’ – as I called it then – was going to work, my children were going to have to learn to be self-motivated and disciplined. What I didn’t know was how to teach that.

I preached at them a lot!

One morning I came back for the fourth or fifth time to find one of my daughters—I’ve forgotten which one—gone from her desk. Vigilante-like, Mom here, was all set to chastise the absentee scholar, the little miscreant. Without checking the circumstances and at the top of my lungs, I yelled out, “________, where are you?!”

The contrite child appeared shortly and looking down at the floor she said in a very small voice, “I was making your bed mommy.”

I dissolved. All my self-righteousness melted into tears and I went down on my knees and enfolded her in a hug of remorse. Then we went upstairs to admire her accomplishment. My eyes still tear up when I think of the lesson that God—using the love of my child—taught me that day.

This mom looks into the mirror through the eyes of her children and knows her true self.

“God, be merciful to me, a sinner!”

Day 7 - Today Salvation Has Come

2010-05-08T08:19:00.000-07:00

‘He (Jesus) came to Jericho and intended to pass through the town. Now a man there named Zacchaeus, who was a chief tax collector and also a wealthy man, was seeking to see who Jesus was; but he could not see him because of the crowd, for he was short in stature. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree in order to see Jesus, who was about to pass that way.’ Luke 19:1-4

What a fun story! It’s a religion class and Vacation Bible School favorite—and for good reason. There’s lots of visual imagery and action, just what children like and will remember. First, it’s not just any tree but a sycamore tree and a man so short he can’t see over the crowds ... running ahead of them to find himself a good high spot from which to hail this Jesus-person.

But with all that slap and dash, it’s possible to overlook some deeper aspects to the encounter.

Jesus was there then. Not tomorrow or the next day, or next week, but on that day. It was a now or never kind of opportunity. As Our Lord says a few lines further on, “Today salvation has come to this house.” Today.

Today.

Is Jesus coming to my town today? Is He ‘about to pass my way’?

He is here for me every day. Jesus lives in my church. The Bread of Life awaits me at every Mass. Reconciliation can be mine for the asking almost whenever I want it. What am I waiting for?

What indeed?!

“For the Son of Man has come to seek and to save what was lost.” Luke 19:10

Day 6 - Do You See What I See?

2010-05-07T19:27:00.000-07:00

‘Now as he approached Jericho a blind man was sitting by the roadside begging, and hearing a crowd going by, he inquired what was happening. They told him, "Jesus of Nazareth is passing by." He shouted, "Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me!" The people walking in front rebuked him, telling him to be silent, but he kept calling out all the more, "Son of David, have pity on me!"’ Luke 18:35-39

The beauty in this story is in the irony. The blind man, Bartimaeus, could see what those who still had two good eyes could not. Jesus was so much more than his traveling companions knew or – if you’ll forgive the pun – could see. They saw Jesus of Nazareth, Jesus, son of Mary and Joseph from Nazareth, a teacher, a holy man, someone they wanted to follow to be sure. But the sightless man saw salvation in the form of God’s promised Messiah.

Do you ever feel that way? That you can see more than meets the eye? Have you ever been in a crowded room at a social gathering where everyone is making small talk—about the food, about the night’s events, about the weather (yawn!)—and you were seeing a different picture? Maybe I’m just weird (okay I know I am!) but sometimes when I’m at those kinds of social events, I look around at all the people and tell myself, ‘God loves all these people—every single one of them.

And yet they are each unique individuals; completely different from each other. Every man and woman here is an original in the eyes of God, with his or her own special story, maybe of pain and suffering, but also of hopes and joys. He knows this man’s fear of bankruptcy and that woman’s insecurity about her weight. He sees back into the past which has brought them here and beyond this day/night until that soul returns to Him.

When I begin to think like that, it’s easy for me to get lost and sometimes I get ‘caught’ at it. People accuse me of daydreaming. Yes, I’m a daydreamer, but I also like to think that I’m a little “blind” when it comes to social functions. I don’t fit in and I’m frequently at a loss for words. Still when I’m seeing things in just that way, I am often reluctant to return to ‘real life’. I prefer to see as a socially blind person.

I wish I could have met Bartimaeus and talked with him. I would have asked him what he saw.

Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me a sinner.

Day 5 - Let Your Light Shine

2010-05-05T18:41:00.000-07:00

‘You are the light of the world. A city set on a mountain cannot be hidden. Nor do they light a lamp and then put it under a bushel basket; it is set on a lampstand, where it gives light to all in the house. Just so, your light must shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your heavenly Father.’ Matthew 5:14-16

I love this time of the year! The days are getting longer but it’s not too hot yet. There’s plenty of sunshine left over even if I have to work late and yet it's already light out when I drive to work in the morning. The birds must like it too; they sing me to sleep and wake me up again the next morning. May and June should be three months instead of two.

Reading the Gospel passage above, I felt God wants us to love the light ... and knows we will be drawn to do so. Can you just picture Jesus almost dancing as He said those words from Matthew? I know I can. His face must have been very animated and He had to be smiling.

As Christians we must share our joy and our love, not because of ourselves but because of Him! He lives and He lives in each of us.

We need to go out and spread some of that Christian sunshine with the rest of the world still living in darkness.

Here catch some of my fire and pass it on!

Day 4 - Whose Child Is This?

2010-05-04T07:36:00.001-07:00

‘When eight days were completed for his circumcision, he was named Jesus, the name given him by the angel before he was conceived in the womb. When the days were completed for their purification according to the law of Moses, they took him up to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord, just as it is written in the law of the Lord, ‘Every male that opens the womb shall be consecrated to the Lord,’ and to offer the sacrifice of ‘a pair of turtledoves or two young pigeons,’ in accordance with the dictate in the law of the Lord.’’ Luke 2:21-24

To receive the full benefit from this retreat or any other, it must be experienced personally. In addition to the Scripture passages each day, I’m reading the selected verses and then the associated text in the book. Not everyone can afford the time or money required for most retreats, so this on-line format offers readers the opportunity for spiritual growth in the comfort and convenience of their own homes.*

This chapter is about names and their importance to identity. In the book we learn about the significance of Biblical naming and name changes. We also read about the dangers of labeling and how cruel labels hung on a child or a young person can damage self image for life.

The baby Jesus was taken to the Temple on the Eighth day—as was the Jewish law—and presented for naming by his parents Mary and Joseph, the carpenter from Nazareth. He is their son and it’s their responsibility to do this.

Jesus is also the only Son of God the Father.

And He is Our Savior . . . the Alpha and Omega . . . the Good Shepherd . . . and so much more.

Names are so important and so tricky.

Whose child is this?

He is mine.

I pray He is yours as well!

*Each day from June 1, 2010 - June 30, 2010, the author, Reverend Mills will post questions for discussion and reflection on his blog, which will relate to corresponding chapters in the book. After reading the day’s chapter, participants are encouraged to post answers to the questions on the blog, or use them as starting points for daily journal entries. Acting as guide and facilitator, Mills will respond to daily postings with comments and questions of his own, creating a month-long online spiritual community. For more information about this on-line retreat opportunity, check out this Press Release.

Day 3 - Peace Be With You

2010-05-04T07:29:00.001-07:00

‘On the evening of that first day of the week, when the doors were locked, where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood in their midst and said to them, "Peace be with you." When he had said this, he showed them his hands and his side. The disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. (Jesus) said to them again, "Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you." And when he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, "Receive the holy Spirit. Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them, and whose sins you retain are retained."’ John 20:19-23

Peace.

Don’t we all long for it?

I know I do.

Inner peace, peace-of-mind, a tranquil home, amiable co-workers, neighborly neighbors and a world free from war? It sounds like Heaven on earth. Where can we find it...?

Today I put myself with the apostles in the inner room. I accepted the Peace of Christ when He offered it to me—both times. I invited the Holy Spirit to dwell actively in me today. I asked for a day of spiritual communion.

Mostly I know what it takes to have peace: to let go of outcomes. It’s the old saying, pray as if everything depended on God and work as if everything depended on you and then trust that whatever happens is God’s Will.

He has sent me now to you. The Peace of Christ be with you!

Day 2 - Love One Another

2010-05-03T17:45:00.001-07:00

‘This is my commandment: love one another as I love you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. I no longer call you slaves, because a slave does not know what his master is doing. I have called you friends, because I have told you everything I have heard from my Father.’ John 15:12-15

The reason God gives us the commandment to love is because love is a choice, not a feeling. Love is a decision. It is a verb, an action word.

We can always choose not to love. We can turn our back on a brother or sister in need. We can hold on to a grudge, refuse to forgive, nurse old wounds. We can tell ourselves that this or that person has hurt me and doesn’t deserve my love.

And we may be right.

In my meditation today I recalled a conversation I had with my daughter’s boyfriend. He believes that none of us ‘deserve’ love, that all love is a great gift, to be treasured when and where it is received. Part of me agrees that we don’t deserve love. As God’s creatures, we can never merit the love He gives us, anymore than we can earn our salvation or justify our lives.

And yet, as a parent myself, I also know that a helpless infant denied love will not survive. We need love. It isn’t a question of whether or not we deserve it; we don’t. But we still have to have it. We are still commanded to give it to each other.

He gave us the commandment to love each other for our own good. I derive more tranquility, joy and gratification from the love I give than from the love I receive. Withholding love from someone brings neither peace of mind nor emotional satisfaction. It does shrivel the heart and shrink the soul.

Today I choose to love.

Day 1 - Walking By Faith

2010-05-02T19:15:00.000-07:00

‘Faith is the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen. Because of it the ancients were well attested. By faith we understand that the universe was ordered by the word of God, so that what is visible came into being through the invisible.’ Hebrews 11:1-3*

Raised in a good home by two loving parents, sent to Catholic schools for twelve years, married now for twenty-five to a devoted, believing husband, it’s easy for me to take my faith for granted. Not my Faith maybe—I remember often enough that Christians are still martyred even now. What I often fail to appreciate is the simple fact that I do believe, that I am able to believe . . . that God has granted me this grace, especially in this age and time of unbelief.

Today I began the retreat, a 30 day retreat. In his Introduction, Father Mills suggests taking some time to quiet yourself each day before reading the selection from the book, A 30 Day Retreat.

After the hectic pace of today, I was only too happy to oblige. I waited until my family had all left or gotten busy doing things. Then I relaxed in my easy chair with a neck support, closed my eyes and took some deep breaths. It was delicious to be quiet, to come away, to seek time out to be alone with Him.

I begin my retreat in joy and humble gratitude.

I also begin it in prayer. My prayer today is one of thanksgiving for the great gift I’ve been given, this incredible Gift of Faith. Reading further on in the eleventh chapter of Hebrews I learn of all my ancestors in faith—those wise women and brave men who walked this path before, who light the way.

Dear brothers and sisters-in-Christ, continue to pray for me, and all of us who know, love and serve Him. But even more, join us in praying for the millions who do not know God or what it is to believe. All journeys, ne all endeavors begin in faith, without which the next step would not, could not happen.

* All Scripture quotes used in this series are taken from the New American Bible, Catholic Edition, found at the USCCB website.

A 30 Day Retreat

2010-05-01T14:04:00.001-07:00

Want to do a 30 day retreat with me?

I was asked by this book's author to review his book. As it is entitled, A 30 Day Retreat, I don't know any other reliable way to approach it except to do the actual retreat over a thirty day time period—one chapter each day as laid out by the book.

Now I'll be honest. I'm pretty scared about this. You can look back over my recent blogging record and see that I haven't exactly been very consistent.

I could blame it on many things: this being my first year in a new job which is very creative and non-routine; going back into the work force full-time after seventeen years of being a stay-at-home mom; the challenge of having two dating teenage daughters, one of whom is a senior this year; my overprotective, wanting-to-be-involved-in-my-children's-lives style of mothering; my in-laws having just moved within a block of us this past year, or a combination of any/all of the above.

But whatever the reason(s), I haven't managed to blog very often recently. Can I now read a chapter from this book and write something about it every day? I don't know.

This won't be an easy month either. Tomorrow is First Communion. My oldest daughter graduates from high school in three weeks. Mother's Day comes in there too. It won't be easy, but I think I need this.

So, I invite you to join Father William C. Mills and me as we spend the next month on retreat.

God bless you!

Embrace Life!

2010-04-30T10:51:00.000-07:00

Women: Know Your Limits!

2010-04-23T20:41:00.000-07:00

Compliments of my daughter!

Check out my books on Goodreads!

Make Space For God

2010-04-21T12:42:00.001-07:00

Do you believe in the Communion of Saints? I mean really believe in it? Believe that the Saints, with a capital ‘S’ actually communicate with us? Think we are worth their time and trouble? I do. I'm convinced of it in fact.

Today is the Feast Day of St. Anselm. Today I finally got around to watching a video a colleague gave me weeks ago. It has to do with Communion and he shows it to our parish's parent's First Sacrament's class every year. After he gave it to me, I misplaced it. I didn't worry about it too much until he asked me for it back this past Sunday; then I panicked. Oh no! Where was it?!

Time to call on one of my favorite patrons, St. Anthony. Having been born on dear St. Anthony of Padua's Feast Day, I feel especially close to this saint and Doctor of the Church who is also affectionately known by many Catholics as the "finder of lost articles." He found the tape called, Sent Forth, and I watched it.

On the tape was this amazing quote from St. Anselm which seemed to be a message from the great saint himself on his feast day. It comes from his famous work, the Proslogion, and is used in the Office of Readings for Friday of the first week of Advent. Here it is:

“Insignificant man, rise up! Flee your preoccupations for a little while. Hide yourself for a time from your turbulent thoughts. Cast aside, now, your heavy responsibilities and put off your burdensome business. Make a little space free for God; and rest for a little time in him.

Enter the inner chamber of your mind; shut out all thoughts. Keep only thought of God, and thoughts that can aid you in seeking him. Close your door and seek him. Speak now, my whole heart! Speak now to God, saying, I seek your face; your face, Lord, will I seek.

And come you now, O Lord my God, teach my heart where and how it may seek you, where and how it may find you.

Lord, if you are not here, where shall I seek you when you are absent? But if you are everywhere, why do I not see you present? Truly you dwell in unapproachable light. But where is unapproachable light, or how shall I come to it? Or who shall lead me to that light and into it, that I may see you in it? Again, by what signs, under what form, shall I seek you? I have never seen you, O Lord, my God; I do not know your face.

What, O most high Lord, shall this man do, an exile far from you? What shall your servant do, anxious in his love of you, and cast out far from your presence? He is breathless with desire to see you, and your face is too far from him. He longs to come to you, and your dwelling-place is inaccessible. He is eager to find you, but does not know where. He desires to seek you, and does not know your face.

Lord, you are my God, and you are my Lord, and never have I seen you. You have made me and renewed me, you have given me all the good things that I have, and I have not yet met you. I was created to see you, and I have not yet done the thing for which I was made.

And as for you, Lord, how long? How long, O Lord, do you forget us; how long do you turn your face from us? When will you look upon us, and hear us? When will you enlighten our eyes, and show us your face? When will you restore yourself to us?

Look upon us, Lord; hear us, enlighten us, reveal yourself to us. Restore yourself to us, that it may be well with us, yourself, without whom it is so ill with us. Pity our toilings and strivings toward you since we can do nothing without you.

Teach me to seek you, and reveal yourself to me when I seek you, for I cannot seek you unless you teach me, nor find you unless you reveal yourself. Let me seek you in longing, let me long for you in seeking; let me find you by loving you and love you in the act of finding you.”

Happy Feast Day St. Anselm! Thanks for the message!

Cosmas or the Love of God

2010-04-15T12:48:00.000-07:00

Usually the best books come from writers writing from their own personal experience. Usually religious vocations manifest themselves; if they don’t, the presumption is there never was one.

But what about the layman—grandfather and businessman—who writes a flawless classic on the monastic life? If I hadn’t just spilled the beans and you’d read Pierre De Calan’s Cosmas or the Love of God without reading my review or the book’s introduction, I promise, you’d think it had been written by someone who’d devoted his life to the Cistercian tradition. That the author was neither a Trappist, nor a priest, nor even a member of any religious order will surprise most readers, when you think about it—which you won’t do often as you're reading the book, I suspect.

So incredible books can come from those writing about subjects which presumably they have not experienced. Cosmas or the Love of God is a retrospective story about a young man who feels called to the Trappist way of life, enters the abbey and immediately begins to encounter problems. However, unlike most cases where pride or some other obvious sin or character defect make it easy for his superiors to send Cosmas on his way with the assurances that he was wrong, he does not in fact have a vocation, this case defies simple disposition. There's something else going on here, but what?

If books can be written under unusual circumstances by those we don’t normally expect to write on certain subjects, can’t vocations manifest themselves in ways not seen before? With God as Author, isn’t the realm of possibility bigger than we may have suspected?

Here is how the wise Father Abbot, Dom Philippe puts it near the end of the book:

“The vocation of a Bach or a Mozart seems to be beyond all question because of the wonderful music they produced. But in the sight of God, have they any more value than that of any other musician, without their talent and grace, who has heard the inner call and tried to answer it until death? Those who suffer from this gap between their aspirations and their attainments—and whom we cruelly call failures—are perhaps less deceived about their talent than we imagine. But in their eyes the sense of inadequacy, of getting nowhere, and their failures, do not relieve them of the responsibility to keep on trying, unweariedly though in vain ... Has not this kind of fidelity, sustained neither by dispositions nor success, an altogether special value—provided it really is fidelity to an inner voice and is not merely the result of pride or obstinacy? . . . Once more God reminds us that he knows infinitely more than we do … that he knows better than we do the way by which each one of us can find peace.” (pp.224-227)

A thoughtful and thought-provoking read—Cosmas or the Love of God is a quiet afternoon’s meditation on life and how to live well. A good gift for a young person discerning vocation!

The Edge of Sadness

2010-04-08T17:06:00.000-07:00

My second installment in this trilogy devoted to Books About Priests, is Edwin O'Connor's, The Edge of Sadness. Even the title should warn you that this book is not for everyone. But if you are the type of reader who enjoys psychological mysteries, then I think you will find this study of the priesthood fascinating.

The Edge of Sadness is 646 pages of mostly thought and dialogue which spans the relatively brief time span of six months, occasionally taking retrospective forays back into the lifetime friendship of two middle-aged priests who grew up together.

The main character, Father Hugh Kennedy, a recovering alcoholic, is the pastor of the down-and-out—and going nowhere—Old St. Paul's, a conglomerate parish which has seen better days and probably won't see them again. Father John Carmody, son of the infamous Charlie Carmody, one of the most hated Irish business shysters of his generation is the type-A pastor of a type-A parish, St. Raymond's, a place which functioned much like a hospital emergency room—as did many a big Eastern city Catholic parish of the 1960's era—that is, always running, often at top speed, and never closing its doors.

But the parishes only provide a backdrop for the story which really centers on Father Hugh and his relationship with the Carmody family: Charlie, the formidable patriarch; Hugh's best friend, John; Helen, his married sister and her family; Dan, the other brother who never could get his act together and Mary, Charlie’s caretaker and housekeeper.

The overarching mystery of the novel is why does Charlie—who never does anything to no avail—suddenly decide to start calling on Father Hugh, reminiscing about his so-called friendship with Hugh's long-dead father, who in fact knew Charlie for exactly what he was, a shrewd and self-motivated businessman who never did an unselfish act in his life? What is Charlie's game now? Even his own children are at a loss to explain his seemingly motiveless nostalgia. But as the story unfolds and we go deeper and deeper into the Carmody family, we sense the damage old Charlie has been wreaking, not only on his four adult children but on ‘friends’, clients, business associates and the city as a whole.

Not that I did it, but if you’re one of those who do, even reading the last page and/or chapter won’t ‘solve’ the mystery, although it is solved, I promise. For all its length and leisurely pace, The Edge of Sadness is one of the most satisfying books I have read in a long time, also one of the most insightful and thought-provoking. The vocation of the priesthood is viewed from the inside, without glamour or sentiment but as Real Life, sometimes happy and enjoyable, other times as living on ‘the edge of sadness’. But then what life isn’t?

Here are some additional links to book reviews I've written during this Year For Priests: The Diary of a Country Priest, Silence, Priestblock 25487: A Memoir of Dachau, and Love In A Fearful Land. They are all books about priests; the first two are fiction and the last two are biographies.

Three Books About Priests

2010-04-05T18:49:00.001-07:00

With the Catholic priesthood under attack—yet again—I am going to devote my next three posts to three classic stories about priests. The first two deal with priests living in the world, so to speak. The last will address the monastic life and the whole issue/question of ‘vocation’, i.e., whether or not a person is called to a life of celibacy, poverty and obedience.

In the canonization process of the Roman Catholic Church, the ‘Promoter of the Faith’ popularly known as the ‘Devil’s Advocate’ is the priest whose job it is to argue against whoever has been proposed for sainthood. Morris West’s The Devil's Advocate takes place in late 1950’s or pre-Vatican II era, Calabria, Italy, the ‘toe of the boot’ for those not so familiar with Italian geography. During this time of apparent calm in Church history—the uneasy quiet before the storm unleashed by the many misunderstandings which grew out of the Second Vatican Council—the tiny hamlet town of Gemello Minore a-top a twin peaked mountain in one of the poorest areas of Southern Italy seems an unlikely place for a saint or miracles, but then God has a habit of using the most ordinary people and places to do the most extraordinary things.

Our devil’s advocate is dying and has been summoned by Rome for one last assignment. In the 1977 West German film version of the book—which I’ve only been able to read about but haven’t been able to obtain—the British actor, John Mills plays the terminal padre. In fact, Monsignor Blaise Meredith is a British Roman Catholic priest living in Rome and working as auditor to the Sacred Congregation of Rites, personal assistant to the prefect himself. Here West describes very poignantly how his protagonist, Meredith learns and reacts, in true stoic Anglo fashion, the news of his impending death: ‘He had been twenty years a priest, vowed to the affirmation that life was transient imperfection, the earth a pale symbol of the maker, the soul an immortal in mortal clay beating itself weary for release into the ambient arms of the Almighty. Now that his own release was promised, the date of deliverance set, why could he not accept it—if not with joy, at least with confidence?’ (pp.7-8)

From the Monsignor, we move to the village of Gemello Minore and its cast of characters: the dead martyr himself, the bishop who has proposed his ‘cause’, the local priest and his ‘housekeeper’, the Jewish doctor who has struggled for acceptance and understanding, the “saint’s” mistress and bastard teenage son, the aging heiress and her uneasy alliance with a rogue artist.

As Meredith proceeds with his investigation, each person must come to terms with secrets or disclosures which he or she might rather not—some like wounds long in need of dressing, others more like being led from darkness into bright sunshine—initially painful, but ultimately healing.

An engrossing read from start to finish both in terms of characterizations as well as a snapshot in time. I wouldn’t classify this as an exciting book, but rather as a thoughtful one; the plot is negligible and yet almost non-essential. However, what The Devil’s Advocate lacks in speed, it more than compensates for in depth and beauty.

Highly recommended as a fitting tribute to the priesthood for this Year For Priests.

misshapen cup

2010-03-27T09:38:00.001-07:00

Sometimes God grants me extraordinary graces. Well maybe He does it all the time and I just miss them. Today I noticed.

I am home alone today—a rare event for me these days—and I was listening to Brother Andre’s series on Mental Prayer. In it he was reading from Dom Eugene Boylan’s Difficulties in Mental Prayer which got me thinking deeply about my utter dependence on God, even for my own ability to pray to Him. What? I can’t even worship Him, love Him, tell Him I love Him without His help? No, no and no. I do know this. On a certain level, but in another way, how often do I really let that thought settle in, take hold of me and permeate everything I do, think and feel?

I saw myself—maybe for the first time, certainly for the first time in a long time—for what I am, a piece of clay, a lump of mud, a pile of dust. And yet God loves me?

The clay analogy made me think of my daughter who is taking a clay art class this semester in school. She recently gave me one of her rejected items, a cup. She was going to throw it away. She gives her nice pieces as gifts or keeps them herself, but this poor, misshapen cup she was going to toss. I rescued it from oblivion. After all, she made it. Its value lay in its creator, not in the creation itself—which brings me full circle back to my own soul.

My value lies not in the odd look my soul manifests due my own sinful nature, but in the fact that my Creator made me and KEPT ME! He didn’t choose to throw me away, though He certainly could have and based on the mess I’ve made of my cup (at times) He probably should have!

Instead, He keeps me and keeps on investing graces in me, whenever I ask ... and many times even when I forget to ask.

Today Lord, if possible, rewet and rework the original clay into something better. And yet, if it is for Your Greater Glory that I continue to be a misshapen cup, let me serve you as I am.

forgetting what lies behind

2010-03-21T13:05:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had a conversation with someone which was so good you were torn between hanging on every word and wanting to grab a pen or a tape recorder so that you could capture every word?

I just had such a conversation. I don’t want to forget it, but already so much of it is slipping away from memory. It was more than the meeting of minds or hearts—although it certainly was that—it was the communion of two souls. After Mass today I very much wanted to tell a lady from our parish who I know and like, but don’t know as well as I’d like to know, that I really appreciated her rendering of the Second Reading from Philippians. It’s a difficult selection and she is a superb lector, but today I could hear the Holy Spirit speaking through St. Paul’s words and her voice. It was a God moment.

Before I had a chance to tell her what I thought about her lectoring, we started talking about women, our need to give, the importance and gift of being able to receive, and special women we both know. Then in a very natural way, the conversation turned to the loss of her husband four years ago and her subsequent walk with grief.

This was not one of those conversations with a woman looking for sympathy. Rather it was the shared insight from a truly Wise Woman.

The husband she described sounded very much like my own husband—a wonderful man, loving, considerate, generous, hard-working, always thinking of others before himself. He used to take care of everything around the house, from doing the grocery shopping to scrubbing the bathroom floors. After he died, she would find herself on her knees scrubbing the floors crying ... thinking ... remembering. There are some things in the past which shouldn’t be forgotten.

But when he died she found her real spiritual work began. She needed to learn to develop in areas which she didn’t even know existed, where he’d been strong for her. It was this inner strength, this holy wisdom, this deep spirituality which I heard when she lectored. I drank it in.

I thought too about my own dear husband and felt a moment of panic, sheer terror actually, as I thought of my own potentially impending future, a time to come without him. What would I do? How could I go on?

She spoke of kind people—dear friends—wanting so desperately to help her in her bereavement and how she helped them in allowing them to help her. We both had tears in our eyes and few spilled over as well. She apologized to me! I felt privileged and honored that she would share her story with me.

We talked about judgments and she said how we are all taught to judge everything, from the weather, to people, to situations. But what a different perspective if instead of judging we choose to look at everything as an opportunity from God to grow. “What do you want me to gain from this O LORD?” And she said oh so much more…

Finally I did get to tell her how much I enjoyed and benefited from hearing her lector today, but by the time I did, I had already gained so much more, well … anyway, it made her happy. And for that LORD, I am truly grateful!

‘Remember not the events of the past,
the things of long ago consider not;
see, I am doing something new!’

Constant Contact

2010-03-01T18:15:00.001-08:00

Remember what it was like to wait for something? Or someone? To savor the anticipation of seeing that special person? Talking to him? Hearing from her? Receiving a letter from them? Ah yes, those long ago days when we actually used to write each other letters, real letters. Remember?

Do you remember what it was like to wait and want very much to hear from someone? It could be a family member serving in the military overseas, or friends who’d move away, or that special someone you’d met and thought you couldn’t live without ... but found you could. Still the letters you wrote helped you feel connected despite the distance.

And then the day was here—that long-cherished missive from your special person arrived! You pulled it from the mailbox and looked at the return address, at your own name as the addressee, or the family name perhaps, written in long-hand on the envelope. Did you bring the paper near your nose and breathe in the scent of faraway places? Or perhaps touch it briefly to your lips? The touch and smell of someone dear sending shivers of joy and sadness through you, your eyes warm and full of moisture, close to tears...

You felt the thickness of the packet trying to judge the worthiness of the writings; the heavier it was the better. A fat letter meant many pages and more words to feast on. Maybe you wondered what he was doing now? Or if she was eagerly awaiting a reply. Now the question became, where to read the cherished epistle? In a private room? Around the kitchen table with the family? Under or up in a tree? Or for the very impatient among us, before we even got back in the house!

But what am I writing about? Does anyone even know? For more than three fourths of the population in America today, what I’m describing probably sounds like an ancient Japanese tea ceremony or a medieval courting ritual, if young people even know what those things are.

No one today knows how to wait for anything. We expect—we demand—instant communication, constant contact. Everywhere you go, everyone is on his or her cell phone, as the saying goes, 24/7. Wait to hear from someone?! Send a “letter”?! What’s a letter”? My daughters had to teach their boyfriends—and most of their friends for that matter—how to even address an envelope.

My response to all this: I refuse. I answer my phone when I feel like it. When I don’t, I don’t. When I’m with someone, I turn off my cell phone. I don't consider this anymore than common courtesy. If my husband was dying of cancer or my mother was having heart surgery that morning, I would make an exception. Otherwise, I think it’s rude to keep interrupting a lunch you’re having with someone to answer your phone. There aren’t as many emergencies as we like to think there are.

The people who love and truly need me know where I am and how to find me within a fairly short period of time. But truthfully we don’t need to talk to each other all the time. As for the rest, they don’t matter. If I could, I’d get rid of my cell phone altogether, but I can’t ... yet. I'm still working on it...

However, if I don’t blog as much as I used to ... you know why. Constant contact isn’t necessary, nor is it even enjoyable.

Savor the spaces and the opportunities to be quiet. Life is the real luxury. Letters and taking things more slowly are among the best ways to cherish it.

unworthy

2010-02-07T15:30:00.000-08:00

Three quarters of the way into infamous “Pie Fight” from the 1965 classic comedy “The Great Race” the clown, I mean, crown prince comes into his own and utters a line my family enjoys very much and quotes very often: “You’re banished! I’m getting a new tucker-inner! Banished! Banished! Banished!”

We all enjoy laughing at this hilarious scene, the flying pies, the immaculate Leslie, the fate of the fired royal “tucker-inner” . . . or are we really amused by the antics of the pot-bellied prince in firing his staff? That someone can actually have—and lose—such a-hem (!) a prestigious position!

Or . . . could it be we can relate to that sense of being ‘banished’? Isn’t all humor pathos turned inside out?

Perhaps—without even realizing it—we are touched at a primordial level by that thrice spoken curse.

Do I go too far? Maybe.

Today’s three readings all hammer home the same message: man’s unworthiness, especially when seen with respect to God.

In the first reading, Isaiah is overwhelmed by the wretchedness of humanity when he cries out, “Woe is me, I am doomed! For I am a man of unclean lips, living among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts!” (Is 6:5)

In the second reading, St. Paul calls himself, ‘one born abnormally’ and, ‘the least of the apostles . . . not fit to be called an apostle.’ (1 Cor 15:9)

And finally, in the Gospel, when St. Peter sees the incredible catch of fish which filled both boats to the point of sinking—after a night of fruitless fishing—he falls at the knees of Jesus and says, “Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.” (Lk 5:8)

Unworthy. Unworthy. Unworthy.

Yes, we are.

Indeed we are. But it's in the coming to see our very unworthiness, our deserved banishment that we can be rescued from it.

Jesus tells Peter it doesn’t matter, to be not afraid. There is work to be done—a new kind of ‘fishing’ to do. In effect, get to it.

Words I needed to hear today. How often do I look at myself and focus on my shortcomings?! They are numerous. They are equally pointless. However I look at it, I am unworthy, but I am still called.

CALLED.

Called from the banishment and unworthiness of my sins and my fallen state, by the One True God who made me, loves me and has a job for me to do.

Unworthy ... but called anyway! Here I am LORD!

Atticus

2010-02-05T16:53:00.000-08:00

Atticus is both the book’s title and the name of the main character. Given the name’s connection to a famous novel, we are supposed to associate the ideal father in To Kill a Mockingbird with this father of two grown sons. Atticus is the modern day retelling of one of Jesus’ most beloved parables, The Prodigal Son, or as it is known in some circles today, The Loving Father. The focus of the first title being on the sins of younger son, whereas by changing the title the locus of the story shifts to that of the mercy shown by the all-compassionate father.

Without giving too much of the story away, Atticus is a widower with two sons. The older son, Frank, has obligingly remained close to his father, married, and produced grandchildren. The younger son, Scott, is a rebel. He comes home for a brief – but happy – visit at Christmas and then returns to Mexico where he lives his dissolute life. The next thing Atticus learns, Scott has committed suicide. Atticus flies south of the border to attend to his son’s personal affects and arrange to have his body returned to the United States. What he finds is nothing like what he expected.

I first encountered the author, Ron Hansen, in Mariette in Ecstasy and I was amazed by his insight and story-telling ability. Once again, he has produced a fine work of modern Christian fiction. Unfortunately it will fail to make many Christian book-of-the-month club selections due to some of the more unsavory aspects of human life which Mr. Hansen has chosen to portray. This is a loss, but only for those who refuse to read books because they are easily offended. I can assure sensitive readers that Mr. Hansen never goes out of his way to shock through excess, which is what I take exception to in so much of what masquerades as literature these days.

Although it could just be the locale, Atticus occasionally reminded me of Graham Greene’s 1940 novel, The Power and the Glory. I think it was a bit more than the sun-baked Mexican landscape that had me thinking of Greene’s whiskey priest, however. No doubt the younger son, Scott and his unsavory lifestyle, especially his unwillingness to give up his mistress, was reminiscent of Greene's character. Hansen’s writing, although not yet on par with Greene’s, is exquisite. His book goes down like a cool drink on a hot day.

I’ve always loved the Parable of the Prodigal Son, but then I expect most people do. It’s easy to see oneself and God in it, which is the purpose of all of Scripture. We are called to locate our sinful selves in the place of every sinner in the Bible. This parable has the redeeming quality of a visible, tangible, all-forgiving God who rushes out to meet us—despite what we actually deserve. In Hansen’s book, the father persists in loving his son despite circumstances and actions which seem to render him all but impossible to love. Oh but for such a father when we are similarly unlovable!

Here is a passage from Atticus which says it all:

‘She told him, "When I was in college I read a folktale about a father pursuing a son who'd run far away, from one world to the next. The father called to him, 'Please come back!' But his son looked across the great gulf between them and shouted to him, 'I can't go that far!' So his father yelled to his son, 'Then just come back halfway!' But his boy replied, I can't go back halfway!' And finally his father shouted, 'Walk back as far as you can! I'll go the rest of the way!'"’

Yes Lord, I’m walking … and looking for You! Please come the rest of the way!

Check out my books on Goodreads!

Viper's Tangle

2010-01-18T18:24:00.000-08:00

“. . . Consider, O God, that we are without understanding of ourselves; that we do not know what we would have and set ourselves at an infinite distance from our desires.” ~St. Teresa of Avila

It isn’t often anymore I finish a book in a couple of days but today I was sick and the sickbed does have one advantage: you can’t do very much but sleep and lay around. In between sleeping, I read François Mauriac’s masterpiece, Viper’s Tangle. This is the fourth novel I’ve read from the Loyola Classics series, each one excellent, but this The Best by far. It opens with the quote by St. Teresa above.

Written in 1932, Viper’s Tangle is timeless and as relevant today as ever. It begins with a bitter, but wealthy, old man’s recriminating letter to his wife of forty years. His family is waiting on him to die; he wants to let them know a few things first. M. Louis has been writing this last ‘confession’ in his mind for much of his married life, almost from the beginning when his young bride told him of an indiscretion. In many ways, Mauriac is painting an Everyman who takes a wrong turn and then continues to compound his error with more bad choices all the while lost and estranged in the drama and tragedies of family life and allowing hate and greed to motivate him. As misunderstood by himself as by everyone else, he withdraws further, increasingly cynical, exacerbated by the pious practices of his Catholic wife and children whose religiosity doesn’t transcend and transform their lives.

The title of the book refers to M. Louis’s heart which he admits was a knot of vipers. Whether or not you ‘get’ Viper’s Tangle will depend on whether or not you believe in salvation and the power of God’s Grace to transform souls. Fortunately for us readers, Louis’s diatribe gets interrupted. Things happen which bring the plot of the story from past accusations to present actions.

It wouldn’t be a believable story if everyone just “lived happily ever after” and if this novel is anything (in my heart) it’s believable. So, no things don’t just get happy-happy all of sudden. But there is an awakening, transformation and redemption, for those willing to accept it.

There was so much insight in this book, I’d love to quote you all the beautiful passages I highlighted—especially those which made me cry—but that would make this post far too long. Instead I’ll just close with this:

‘Most men ape greatness or nobility. Though they do not know it, they conform to certain fixed types, literary or other. This the saints know, and they hate and despise themselves because they see themselves with unclouded eyes.’

The Story of a Soul

2010-01-14T19:21:00.000-08:00

As I’m writing this the State of Oklahoma could be executing Julius Young.

Tonight I went to my first ever execution vigil. No, it wasn’t down at the state capital. It was in our little Daily Mass Chapel at my parish. The prayer vigil was scheduled to begin at 5:30 which would bring things to a conclusion at 6 p.m. – just around when the execution was supposed to take place.

Everyone took turns reading from Scripture: the story of Cain and Abel, an eye for an eye, how many times must I forgive my brother? The lone candle in the center of the room was extinguished; there was one less light of Christ in the world. We concluded by singing “Amazing Grace”. Although we were a small group, one man had the most incredible voice. His could have been the voice we silenced, I mused.

Afterwards our little group lingered ... as if we didn’t want to leave the comfort of each other’s companionship. We all complimented the man with the incredible voice. Another man spoke up about his experience as the spiritual director for someone on Death Row. He and his wife had literally lived there for the last few months of a man’s life. We listened and learned about that person’s final few minutes on this earth; he was praying.

As I left the chapel I recalled a gift I’d received earlier in the day from my Confirmation saint, St. Thérèse. It’s been awhile since I’ve asked her for a rose but I needed one today and she gave me one, a very special and beautiful rose. I wasn’t expecting two.

Our book club is currently reading her autobiography, The Story of a Soul. In Chapter 5 of Story, Thérèse relates an incident about an impenitent murderer who she prayed for, begging God’s mercy in response to Jesus’ cry from the Cross, “I thirst” for souls. In response, the man gave a sign at the last moment which allowed her to know he had repented his sins. This increased Thérèse’s desire to bring more souls to her Jesus.

I saw her hand in my being at the prayer vigil. Please St. Thérèse, continue to rain your shower of roses down on us. And beg God’s mercy on us all! We are so much in need of it.

cat cuddles

2010-01-08T10:28:00.000-08:00

He looks up at me and cries plaintively. It means, “Pick me up. I am lonely.” Or, perhaps, “I need some affection, a hug—some of your bodily warmth and reassurance. Please hold me and rub me ... until I don’t want it anymore.”

I may read it, “He loves me.” And in his little cat-way, I suppose he does, so far as he is able. But I don’t worry about that. I know what he means. I need ‘picking up’ too. So I pick him up and in the process, he picks me up.

I hold him close, rub his soft fur, feel his warmth and listen to his gentle purr. He’s not a young kitten anymore, but neither am I and so we are well-suited to one another. We sit together for awhile enjoying each other physical presence. It’s nice, very nice and there’s nothing ‘wrong’ with it. When he’s had enough of me, he wriggles free, stops to rub and bump up against my thigh. His sign of affection is to put his kitty forehead next to you and just hold it there ... almost in a position of submissive adoration. It’s so sweet and tender. I just love it. We calling it “bumping”.

While I watch him lick his ruffled coat back into pristine position, I muse: wouldn’t it be wonderful if we humans could do something like this?

Just look up at the person we care about—but don’t begin to understand—and meow, asking to be held? And just imagine if that loved one, a troubled teen or a disgruntled friend or even a struggling co-worker, could hold us in their lap for awhile and rub (or rock) us oh so tenderly and gently for just a little while without fear of ‘weirdness’ or sexual misunderstandings or gossip...

I know I’m being silly, but I think so many of our human problems could be solved if we could just do this.

But we can’t—for obvious reasons.

So we have pets.

Still, when my cat and I have our next cuddle (in about an hour or so) I’m going to think about the person I’m having the most trouble understanding – or loving – and imagine cradling her ... him, offering myself unconditionally and without fear like I do with my cat.

Then I’m going to see myself “bumping” that person: putting my own forehead up against my neighbor in an act of submission, trust and love.

Of course it would never work in “real” life, but oh, isn’t it nice to dream about?

And just think what cat cuddles and bumps – even just those we do in our imagination – could do for our relationships with others?

Where's the Line to See Jesus?

2010-01-05T15:09:00.001-08:00

Oh please LORD, I want to be in that line!

Trust in God

2010-01-04T18:00:00.000-08:00

The trouble with being a book lady is that you read – or have read – and/or heard so many truisms, good words, wise sayings and profound thoughts from so many wonderful sources at different times and places, in various formats, written and verbal, you just can’t remember the origins of everything. Google and other Internet search engines are a great help in tracking down many things, but they can’t locate everything. Often, some of my favorite quotes and stories linger in my memory and form my conscious decision-making basis and yet I am unable to remember who first promulgated the idea or how to locate the exact words in a saying or place it contextually. It’s very frustrating to say the least. One wants to give credit where credit is due, of course. But also, there is always the sense of only having a fraction of the whole, a poor reproduction or a sloppy translation. (sigh)

One such normative principal for me concerns prayer. In case anyone who followed my earlier series on Mental Prayer is wondering, yes, I am still continuing on with it. In fact, for the first time in my life, my prayer life has taken wings. I have no idea where it is going, nor can I attribute it to any one particular book, method or routine. In fact, it’s almost been since I stopped forcing myself into the rigidity of fixed parameters—beyond that of adherence to a daily prayer commitment—I began to experience contemplative prayer for the first time in my life. My spiritual director confirmed that indeed it is possible to enter into contemplative prayer when one is washing dishes or doing almost any ordinary household task, although not advisable to do so when one is driving or operating dangerous machinery. But I digress.

What I was leading up to in the first paragraph was that I have always understood prayer to be ‘talking to God’. Listening to Him and hearing His answers are other matters entirely. They require much more spiritual maturity. Indeed listening to another human being, even one we think we know and love well, is no easy thing for most of us. Listening requires quieting our own minds, setting aside our own agendas and entering into a space with the other person. And yet even when we do this, we still bring ourselves into that new space. Indeed, we can’t leave our ‘self’ behind—well to certain extent, what would be the point? Presumably the person talking to us must have his/her own desire to talk to us as well. So what do we bring and what do we leave behind? Hopefully, we bring our compassion and our openness to the other person. We bring our desire to learn and be moved by what the other person has to say to us.

Now, extend that scenario to a conversation with God. He is talking to us ... or trying to. How can we or do we listen to Him? Do we attempt to squeeze Him into a few odd minutes here and there? Or do we fully enter into the time we give Him, and after presenting Him with our needs and concerns, petitions, thankfulness, sorrows, sins and ultimately our overwhelming love, adoration and worship, do we then rest in Him as we would in a lover’s arms? Can we settle quietly as His lost lamb ... rescued and now secure?

Somewhere, sometime I heard – or read – that one of the ways God speaks to us is through Holy Scripture. Not that we can use the Bible like an Ann Lander’s answer book: ask God a question and presto, open the pages to reveal God’s hidden truth for you. No, nothing like that. In fact, be very careful of doing anything like that! What I’m talking about is during your prayer time, it is often very helpful to have Holy Scripture or another favorite devotional book handy. Through these means God can and will sometimes provide words or an uncannily appropriate phrase which will touch your heart so deeply, you know without a doubt He has spoken directly to you. This is the half-remembered wisdom I wish I could trace back to its origins. I know I read it somewhere. I know it is true and that it is a reliable means of hearing His Voice.

Last night, I settled down in my bed, pulled the quilts up, propped my Bible on my knees and opened to Psalm 4. I have many, many favorite Psalms but I don’t think I ever appreciated this beautiful little song before or even paid it much attention.

A beautiful motto for the New Year, for the Epiphany and the rest of life: Trust in God. He is manifest!

My favorite parts from Psalm 4:

Answer when I call, my saving God.
In my troubles, you cleared a way;
Show me favor; hear my prayer.
Know that the LORD works wonders for the faithful;
The LORD hears when I call out.
Tremble and do not sin;
Upon your beds ponder in silence.
Offer fitting sacrifice and trust in the LORD.
Many say, "May we see better times!
LORD, show us the light of your face!"
But you have given my heart more Joy
than they have when grain and wine abound.
In peace I shall both lie down and sleep,
For you alone, LORD, make me secure.

phase book

2009-12-28T19:25:00.000-08:00

“Hi, I’m booklady and I have an addictive personality,” she drawls, standing up, addressing the circular group.

“Hi booklady,” the group choruses back at her.

Okay. It could be a joke. We certainly use it as a joke around our house whenever we want to laugh at one of our weaknesses.

Or it could be for real.

For many throughout the world, addictions are no laughing matter. They are real and they destroy lives ... homes, marriages, families, schools, and even entire towns.

If we laugh at them it is only because we need to keep from crying—because once we start, we may not be able to stop.

I do have an addictive personality.

Twenty-four years ago I quit smoking. I called it a Christmas gift for my husband the first year we were married. It was the hardest thing I’d ever done up until then.

I continue to struggle with addictions—and addictive-like behavior—in other areas of my life including eating, spending money, relationships, even exercise.

Recently however, I decided to give up facebook. Why? Because I liked it too much. It was wonderful, mindless escapism: collecting “friends”; “visiting” them; building cute little farms; setting up aquariums and towns; playing games; trading Christmas decorations and buddy hugs; sending cards and “hearts”, smiles and saints, chattering, chattering, on and on and and . . .

Woa! Wait a minute! I found myself slipping deeper and deeper into the delightful and colorful little world of iconography that is the spell of facebook … and I suppose other similar computer and technical other-worlds for those of us who find it hard to separate fantasy from reality.

I remembered the old-fashioned method for losing weight: doing push-outs. Push yourself out and away from the table. I’m sure there are many less drastic ways to remain ‘faced-in’ –even for addictive-types like me—but I decided I could live without facebook. What I didn’t know was how I could go on living with it.

One dear friend called me fifteen minutes after I closed my account to discover what had happened. I assured her that I hadn’t been phished or received a virus. Nothing bad had happened to me or my computer; I’d just decided to quit. She understood immediately; she’s that kind of friend.

A week later, my own family hadn’t even noticed I’d quit, nor that I was hardly ever on my computer anymore. (sigh) But then my dear husband didn’t notice when I gave up smoking either.

Well never mind.

We don’t do the right thing for the recognition. We do the right thing because it is the right thing.

That’s my story ... my phase book. Now I'll sit down.

changing pictures, passing time

2009-12-23T13:34:00.000-08:00

One of the hardest things in the world for me to do is change out my children’s pictures. You know what I mean? When you receive the new photos which undeniably reveal they’ve grown another foot, or moved from one stage into another, you can no longer pretend time isn’t passing. Our children – and especially their annual pictures – present us with regular reminders that life is moving in one direction … and it isn’t backwards.

We’re getting ready today to leave for a Christmas trip to visit my family in St. Louis. There’s laundry, packing and a million things to prepare. The cat sleeping in my lap doesn’t know he’s about to be left behind again. Among the many things we’re bringing with us are photos of our daughters. So it seemed as good a time as any to change out some very old 8x10 pictures of the girls – dating back from when they were still in grade school – which have sat atop our living room wall unit all these years. My sister constantly teases me for leaving up old pictures of the kids. Good mother that she is, she faithfully and promptly trades out the new for old pictures of her children every year. She’s even one of those super moms who does scrapbooking and has books from present all the way back to when her oldest was born!

Not me. I started out with the best intentions, but Air Force moves, health problems, homeschooling and probably (mostly!) my own distracted, lazy personality redirected my efforts down other avenues. Or maybe it’s just that I can take the pictures of my girls but then I can’t bring myself to look at them again later. Even the ones hanging on my walls are just there. It isn’t often I really look at them.

Maybe that’s why I procrastinate updating old pictures – I don’t like to be reminded that my babies are growing up.

Today, however, it was different.

Recently I had the opportunity to visit a single person’s home. And this wasn’t just a nice place, it was a really, really nice house. It was in fact lovely: gorgeously decorated, everything new and in pristine order, like a house out of magazine. Every room was a work of art; overall, an exquisite creation of beauty and perfection, a joy to behold.

I felt sad when I left there. When I thought about my own house, I confess to more than a twinge of envy.

Well for one thing, ours is a home and it’s very lived-in. The other night my husband was working hard to get bright pink (fuchsia!) nail polish out of the living room carpet. Our daughters know they are supposed to paint their toes in the bathroom but . . . well, when you live with teenagers, you cohabit with chaos. Does that tell you anything for starters?

Moving on... most of our carpets are at least sixteen years old and they look it. The furniture is that old too, or older. Books spill off the bookshelves and there are baskets of craft projects all over the house; the girls and I love to crochet, weave, bead, draw, etc. Right now my daughter’s miniature origami nativity sets line the kitchen counter. Folded clothes cover table tops and the ironing board is set up in the living room in front of the Christmas tree. My husband and I are giving each other a new hot water heater this year for Christmas . . . and considering ourselves very blessed to be able to afford to do so. It’s certainly a lived-in home. We have many happy memories shared under the roof of this messy, old, lived-in home.

As I mentioned above, I didn’t mind so much changing out the girls’ pictures today. Yes, they are older and so am I. Yes, our home is shabbier and so am I. But I wouldn’t trade my well-worn home or self or my life with Bear and our daughters for the plushest mansion anywhere.

The girls' new pictures look very nice by the way.

From our not-so-fancy home to yours, have a very Blessed Christmas and New Year!

As we are created to be

2009-12-19T10:48:00.001-08:00

From service dog to SURFice dog, Ricochet's wise trainer, let her be who she was created to be.

"The beginning of love is to let those we love be perfectly themselves, and not twist them to fit our own image. Otherwise we love only the reflection of ourselves we find in them."
— Thomas Merton

Max and Benedict

2009-12-17T18:51:00.000-08:00

Shhh! Don't anyone tell but I got this book for my pastor for Christmas.

Today I read and really enjoyed it. Personally I think it's better than Joseph and Chico, Ms. Perego's first children's book about Pope Benedict XVI. I'm not sure exactly why but I think because it doesn't read like a biography forced into a children's story. For me, Max and Benedict seemed to flow. It sounded like what it was, 'a bird's eye view of the Pope's daily life', a story told by a little bird about a gentle, quiet, scholarly man of the cloth.

My pastor (who doesn't want anyone to know what a nice guy he is) leaves bird seed just outside my office window most mornings. I know it's him because I've 'caught' him doing it a few times. A little bird must have told him I like to watch the birds ... or did he just catch me staring out the window so often he figured it out on his own? The secretaries tell me he'd planned to cut down the tree and bushes in our little shared courtyard sanctum and turn the area into office space. Now he's putting out birdseed?

Yes, we do need the office space, but we need that little bit of private nature even more.

I hope that Max in Jeanne Perego's charming little tale wins his heart and convinces him to keep the birds. Perhaps among all the birds feeding outside our windows, there is a little Max observing, singing and telling a story of our parish and the kind pastor who pretends to be so gruff ... but really isn't.

Read and share this sweet story. Thanks to my friend and the parish 'Cookie Monster' for the recommendation! And may you have a very Happy Birthday dear Lyn!

Check out my books on Goodreads!

Pink Glove Dance

2009-12-02T21:46:00.001-08:00

Linda Van Nelson's daughter-in-law, created, directed and choreographed this in Portland last week for her Medline glove division as a fundraiser for breast cancer awareness. This was all her idea to help promote their new pink gloves. I don't know how she got so many employees, doctors and patients to participate, but it started to really catch on and they all had a lot of fun doing it.

When the video gets 1 million hits, Medline will be making a huge contribution to the hospital, as well as offering free mammograms for the community. Please check it out. It's an easy and great way to donate to a wonderful cause, and who hasn't been touched by breast cancer?

God bless all those affected by this difficult disease!

Waiting for God

2009-11-29T10:58:00.000-08:00

Samuel Beckett wrote a book called Waiting for Godot. It’s one of the many modern ‘classic’s I’ve yet to read. I wonder if I ever will read it. As a general rule I don’t like modern classics because their very modernity seems to be at odds with the true definition of a classic and the former wins out over the latter. I happen to prefer classic classics—classics which have stood the test of time. And yet, since we can see, ‘waiting for God’ in the title of Beckett’s book, I am intrigued by the potential connection.*

I know I am waiting for God. I’ve been waiting for Him for a very long time—not as long as some, but longer than others: fifty-something years if you must know. When I hit fifty I went through an aging crisis, the first and only time in my life getting older ever bothered me. Looking back I see now it was because I’d lost my way. If one has both eyes on God, then being fifteen or fifty is pretty much the same. Both ages can be a moment from His presence or thirty years.

Most of us don’t like waiting. That was the theme of our pastor’s homily last night. And yet he rightly reminded us about all the benefits God can draw from our waiting experiences: the savoring of anticipation, building of character, and growth in patience, to name but a few. So much good can come from waiting on God, doing things according to His Will, in His Time. If we but wait, when the harvest comes in, how wonderful is the feast! Many of us in America just experienced that as we sat down to our groaning tables Thanksgiving Day . . . and got up an hour or so later, groaning ourselves, from having feasted on His Bounty.

That’s fine for us, but what about those who are still waiting? Still hungry?

And of course that’s just the tip of the iceberg, as we all know. There are many, many other things—issues if you will—still unresolved, which seem to be on-hold, waiting: the poor, immigrants, the unborn, the lost, minorities, the lonely, homeless, the elderly, abused children, the dying, victims of crime, our planet, etc. The list goes on. Who or what are they waiting for? Does God hear their cry? Do we?

I don’t have answers, only questions and observations. I work for a church which pours Charity, not to mention hundreds of thousands of dollars every year, into the surrounding community and yet in recent years has had to install security lights, cameras (which have been repeatedly stolen) and locks everywhere for the protection of those who give so generously.

In our parish, we have those who bring food, clothing and emergency transportation to desperate people at all hours of the day and night, and have done so for years now. These veteran helpers are true Sons of St. Francis of Assisi and their stories are fascinating. In spite of many instances of personal danger, flagrant abuse, and hostility, they remain devoted and untiring ministers to those in need.

Our St. Vincent DePaul hotline receives threatening calls when the disgruntled ‘poor’ feel the service provided isn’t sufficient or prompt enough. “I think Channel XVZ needs to hear your church is doing false advertising! You say you’re there to help us but no one called me back tonight!”

Police vehicles camp in our parish parking lot every evening we have a function. I see them with gratitude but also with more than a trace of sadness, that their presence is necessary.

God we are waiting. We are still waiting. Advent is a time of waiting. We are your children, Lord, and we still await Your Coming.

Lord, come to our assistance. Make haste to help us!

*However, if you read the linked NY Times review of the play, you will learn that Beckett doesn't expect God to ever come to save mankind. Poor man!

Blood Money

2009-11-12T16:12:00.001-08:00

Promote this film. See this film. Tell the truth.

Am I Good?

2009-11-06T12:48:00.000-08:00

Am I? Is anyone? Are you?

And what is “good” anyway?

In Mark 10:18 and Luke 18:19 Jesus answers the greeting of, ‘Good teacher’ with, “Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone.” In Mark’s account it is the Rich Young Man who calls Jesus ‘good’; in Luke’s, it is ‘an official’ who also goes unnamed. However, in both accounts, Jesus is very clear, only God is good.

Yesterday’s Gospel reading was a favorite—the sweet story of the Good Shepherd who risks His whole flock to go in search of that one lost lamb. Who doesn’t see him or herself in that story from time to time?

And yet, we are called to be those righteous sheep who do not stray, those who remain faithful to Our Lord, perhaps rubbing or bumping up against him as a herd of sheep are wont to do.

So I ask myself that question again, ‘Am I good?’

Am I one of the ninety-nine or am I the troublesome lamb which Our Lord has to keep going after?

Today was First Friday. I went to Mass and Confession, said my rosary, and prayed for the souls in Purgatory. I wish I could say I do this all the time. I wish I was always good and never had anything to confess. Rather, I imagine my poor confessor thinking, “Oh no her again! Same old tired sins. Can’t she at least think up some new ones?! But no, I am putting my own uncharitable thoughts in his mind. For all I know, he could be praying for me as I should and will pray for him.

So, no I am not good when left to my own devices.

But yes, I am good because He made me that way.

No, I’m not good when I refuse to cooperate with His plan.

And yet I can be good when I say, “Yes!” to Him.

No, I’m not good when I think I act on my own.

Yes, I’m good when I allow His Holy Spirit to work through me.

Am I good?

Yes and No, depending on my choices.

Please dear Lord, help me choose, “YES!”

Child Abuse Awareness Video

2009-10-30T09:45:00.001-07:00

I am posting this in honor of all children everywhere and my catechists who are doing the difficult job of trying to tell their students they don't have to be abused.

I know all the protests from those who say we shouldn't tell happy and safe children about 'such things'--that we should allow them to remain innocent for as long as possible. For years, I said the same thing. As my own children have grown-up, however, they have gone to public school and met so many of these abused children. These same abused ones are now their classmates, co-workers and friends. Over and over, I hear stories of neglect, mistreatment and violence perpetrated on the young and innocent by parents, step-parents, family members, neighbors and others. Where and when will it stop if we don't speak out?

Jesus said, "Let the children come to me, and do not prevent them; for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these." Mt 19:14

Jesus said, "Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?" He called a child over, placed it in their midst, and said, "Amen, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven." Mt 18:1-3

"See that you do not despise one of these little ones, for I say to you that their angels in heaven always look upon the face of my heavenly Father." Mt 18:10

Our Lord is very clear about His love for His littlest and most defenseless ones. How is it we still have not figured it out?

Two 'Daughters of the Month'

2009-10-27T19:10:00.000-07:00

There’s no such thing as a ‘perfect’ family. There are however moments in the life of a family when things happen which make you realize how blessed you are to be a member in something larger than yourself. It’s humbling and exciting at the same time.

My husband and I have always been very proud of our daughters. They are both smart and talented, but more importantly, they have always been good kids—again not ‘perfect’ but dependable, honest, hard-working and nice girls.

We’ve been proud of their accomplishments, such as good grades, piano recitals, Tae Kwon Do belts and various sundry awards, but we’ve been even more impressed by those things they do which never gain them any recognition. For example, Bear can never forget how proud he was of Michelle in a race where she came in dead last—but she never quit running. And for me, one of Meg’s finest moments was when she kept going back to break a board time after time after time even though her hand was hurting, her knuckles were bruised and tears of frustration were streaming down her cheeks. Eventually the instructor–a black belt—discovered the wood was too hard even for him to break and he gave her a lighter piece of wood. She broke it, sore hand and all.

However, even these poignant memories pale when I think about the girls’ relationship, how they get along, continue to stick up for each other, love, and even like each other—most of the time anyway. So many siblings grow up with an intense dislike of one another; they fight constantly. Meg and Michelle have been best friends for most of their lives ... and still are.

Tonight was a good example. My younger daughter, Michelle, came in bringing the October issue of their high school newspaper, Titan Talk. “Here,” she said. “Meg is on the front page,” she showed me where her sister was pictured with her escort as the Cross Country Princess in the Carl Albert Homecoming Court. “And here she is again, ‘Female Athlete of the Month’. I figured I’d better tell you and get you a copy of the paper because Meg would never tell you. I’ll pick up some more copies for you tomorrow so you can send them to people. I can get them at the Library.”

Now I ask you, is that a generous sister or is that a generous sister? I didn’t know who I was more proud of at that moment: Meg for her athletic accomplishment or Michelle for her thoughtfulness. Truthfully, I was unspeakably proud of both girls—proud and humbled at the same time.

In September, Meg became a National Merit Semi-finalist and was recognized as an AP (Advanced Placement) Scholar with Honor, which means she received at least 3.25 on all AP exams taken and scores of 3 or higher on four or more of these exams. In fact, she got 5’s on three out of the four AP tests she has taken so far: AP European History—5; AP U.S. History (Independent Study)—5; AP English III—5; AP Chemistry—3. She is taking five more AP courses this year.

Besides her academics, Meg has won five medals in Cross Country so far this year and just placed, along with the entire Carl Albert girl’s team, to run at State this coming week-end.

As I write this, Meg is practicing her piano. Michelle just returned home. After she said hello to me, her first words were to her sister, “Did you know you were ‘Athlete of the Month’?”

Thank you God for letting me know, love and play a role in the lives of these wonderful young women. It is an honor and a privilege to be their mother. Please dear Lord continue to watch over and protect them.

Living Water . . . or . . .

2009-10-19T17:06:00.001-07:00

I can’t help it; I just like the places in Holy Scripture where Jesus interacts with women. As a child I hungered for stories about children. As a grown woman, I seek out books and other forms of inspirational media involving women. I suppose it is only natural.

One such event described only in the Gospel of St. John is the story of the Woman at the Well. Jesus and his disciples had just left Judea and returned to Galilee passing necessarily through Samaria, alien territory. In the little town of Sychar, near the plot of land that Jacob had given to his son Joseph was a well which still bore the patriarch’s name. John tells us that the disciples had gone into the town to buy food and Jesus, tired from his journey, sat down there at the well about noon. Along comes a woman to draw water.

What the evangelist doesn’t tell us—but most people of the time knew—was that most respectable women got their water in the cool of the morning or late in the evening. This was done as much for practical reasons as for social ones. Therefore, the Samaritan Woman was most likely an outcast. She was getting her water during the heat of the day when she was least likely to encounter her neighbors. Have you ever run errands at ‘safe’ times? To avoid people who didn’t like you? Bullies, maybe or popular groups? I find myself intrigued by this Samaritan Woman.

Jesus asks her for water and she replies, “How can you, a Jew, ask me, a Samaritan woman, for a drink?" She may be a social leper but she’s practical and knows the score; Jews use nothing in common with Samaritans.

But Jesus has something much bigger in mind than social mores. He is thinking, seeing and answering her as God does, "If you knew the gift of God and who is saying to you, 'Give me a drink,' you would have asked him and he would have given you living water."

Her reply is all too human and earthy: "Sir, you do not even have a bucket and the cistern is deep; where then can you get this living water?”

Here I see myself. Here I become the Woman at the Well. I am holding the bucket. He wants to give me Living Water. I persist in asking Jesus ‘bucket’ questions:

‘Where is the water? How do I get it? Are you going to give it to me? What's the 'catch'? The cost? How is this whole thing going to work? Can we get this all arranged so I can get out of here before my unfriendly neighbors come out and I have to deal with them?’

But the real question is, can I let go of my ‘bucket’ questions? My limited perspective?

When will I stop trying to fit God into my little bucket?

I went to the well today at this particular time to avoid meeting people I was afraid would embarrass or upset me—and what did I find?

Who did I meet? God Himself!

And He is offering me something which surpasses my wildest dreams!

His Living Water is more, better, bigger, tastier and more satisfying than anything I can imagine!

Now, can I set my bucket down?

Can I drink fully from His Living Water?

Don't Be Fooled: Abortion is in Health Care

2009-10-17T13:56:00.001-07:00

Watch this new ad: Don’t Be Fooled: Abortion is in Health Care Reform, and tell your friends and family that their tax dollars could go to abortion in health care reform.

Sisters-in-Faith

2009-10-15T20:34:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time many years ago a little girl was trying to select a Confirmation saint from among the many famous ... and infamous ... Catholic saints. She finally lighted on St. Thérèse de Lisieux or Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus because of her ‘Little Way’. Fast forward many years and that little girl gives birth to her own first child, a girl, on the Feast Day of The Little Flower of Jesus, as Thérèse is also known. Eighteen more years pass quickly by. The first little girl is middle-aged; her daughter on the threshold of womanhood. The mother thinks she has outgrown her childhood patron saint, so she has adopted a saint she feels suits her age and maturity, Thérèse's senior Carmelite sister, Santa Teresa de Jesus. But saints aren't so fickle as we silly humans. They don't abandon their spiritual children so easily.

I know. I'm that silly little girl who thought she outgrew Thérèse, as if anyone, no matter how old, could ever outgrow the ‘Little Way’.

Two weeks ago I embarked on a new job, more of a career actually. It was a job I'd been offered several times but kept turning down, first because I was still homeschooling my daughters and later because I still wasn't ready for full-time employment. Finally, I was asked a third time to consider this job. I did. It started on the 1st of October, the Feast day of St. Thérèse. That was my first rose. Every day since has been another rose from her ... no not all happiness, but Beauty. To walk the ‘Little Way’ doesn't mean you will travel in peace or comfort or without trouble; it only means you walk with Truth in the Light.

Today is the Feast day of St. Teresa of Ávila or Santa Teresa de Jesus, a doctor of the Church, sixteenth century reformer, who along with St. John of the Cross, was co-founder of the Discalced Carmelites. This was also my first day on my own in my new job. And yet, I knew I wasn't on my own. My two senior sisters-in-faith were there, watching over me. As I've said many times, I believe in the Communion of Saints. We are not alone. Death is not the end.

Face the Truth (1 of 2)

2009-10-13T20:40:00.001-07:00

At the Abortion Clinic they told Dave and his girlfriend that their unborn child was "like a little ball." They lied. Dave and his girlfriend scheduled an abortion, and Dave agreed to pay for it.

Then he saw one of our signs in downtown Chicago, at Jackson Street and Lake Shore Drive. Dave saw the truth about abortion. And he couldn't go through with it.

Across the country, babies—and their parents—are being saved from abortion by Face the Truth—a bold and effective pro-life initiative that exposes the truth about abortion:

We Need Your Help To Save Babies
Throughout the year, pro-life activists all around the country are conducting Face the Truth tours. Holding pictures of beautiful unborn babies and huge graphic signs of aborted babies, we line the roads at major intersections, to show Americans the truth about abortion.

We need you to help show people that abortion is the deliberate taking of an unborn child's life. If you believe that abortion is murder, this is your chance to stand up and be counted. Join us this summer as we line the roads at major intersections to show our fellow Americans the ugly truth about abortion.

Go Forth and Teach
Jesus told His followers to "go forth and teach." Face the Truth responds to the Gospel call by teaching the truth about abortion. The truth is that abortion kills innocent human beings, made in the image and likeness of God. That is why we must take the pro-life message to the streets of our cities.

We are living in the midst of a national atrocity. Since the 1973 Supreme Court abortion decisions, over forty million children have been destroyed before they were born. Our signs depicting prenatal life and the aborted child reveal the hidden victims of this atrocity.

While the signs are displayed along the roadways, other volunteers distribute literature to passing motorists and pedestrians to help them understand the gravity of the Culture of Death.

Pictures Expose Lies
Photographs and films of human beings stacked like cordwood outside Nazi concentration camps exposed the murderous truth of Nazi genocide. Disturbing as these images are, we all recognize the value of squarely facing the truth of the Holocaust.

Similarly, our pictures of aborted children lay bare the blatant lies and hypocrisy used by the abortionists to conceal the wholesale slaughter of unborn babies. Photos of these aborted children rip off the mask of "choice." The truth hurts, but the lie hurts so much more. Once people have faced the truth, they are less likely to become involved in abortion.

A Graphic Reminder
When Christ died for us, it was in a very graphic way—a public crucifixion. His body, twisted, disfigured and covered with blood, hung on a cross for three hours in full public view. He said He had to be lifted up in order to show His love for us and to show us the seriousness of sin.

Likewise, our pictures graphically portray the reality of abortion in the public square, and show the seriousness of taking the life of an unborn child.

The Tragedy of the Culture of Death
One of the tragedies of abortion is that innocent children cannot be sheltered from the truth that one-third of their brothers and sisters, classmates and friends have been aborted. We use large warning signs to help parents shield their children from our pictures, but the only way to really protect our children is to stamp out the Culture of Death. We invite all concerned parents to join us in restoring a Culture of Life.

Awaken the Nation
Nationwide, Face the Truth Tours are showing Americans the hidden slaughter of its unborn children. If people are troubled by these graphic pictures, they should stand up against the killing the pictures expose.

This text from: http://prolifeaction.org/truth/

This Jesus Challenges Me

2009-09-28T11:38:00.000-07:00

I use force, and He says, Forgive.

I am afraid, and He says, Take heart.

I doubt, and He says, Trust.

I feel anxious, and He says, Be calm.

I desire to be left alone, and He says, Come, follow me.

I make my plans, and He says, Let's go this way.

I want security, and He says to me, You will be persecuted for my sake.

I want to live, and He says, Give your life.

I believe I am a good person, and He says, That's not enough.

I want to be in charge, to give the commands, and He says, Serve, obey.

I want to understand, and He says, Believe.

I want clarity, and He speaks to me in Parables.

I want poetry, and He speaks of Realities.

I want tranquility, and He wants me To be disturbed.

I think of revenge, and He says, Turn the other cheek.

I speak of peace, and He says, I have come to bring a sword.

I want to hide, and He says, Let your light shine.

I seek out the first place, and He says, Sit in the last place.

I want to be seen, and He says, Pray in secret.

I want to hang on, and He says, Let go.

I want to win, and He says, Surrender.

No, I don't understand this Jesus. He provokes me. He confounds me.

Like many of His disciples I, too, think I would like to follow a different teacher; one who would be more clear, and who would ask less of me.

But it is as true for me as it was for Peter. When Jesus asked the twelve, "Do you also wish to go away?" Simon Peter answered, "Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life.

I wish I could claim to have written this, but I didn't. I can only say that every word of it is as true for me as it was for the actual author, a Kenyan priest. My friend, MAM sent it to me and I love it!