Lassie Come Home

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!

For Rose

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.

First Reconciliation

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.

Now That You've Gone Home

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.

Persistence + Patience = Progress

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!

“Can you drink the cup?”

‘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.

And God Created the World...

“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?

We Are The Catholic Vote

Make yours count for LIFE!

Day 13 - How Do I Read?

‘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

‘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 1 - Walking By Faith

‘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.

forgetting what lies behind

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!’

unworthy

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!

Viper's Tangle

“. . . 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.’

Waiting for God

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!

Am I Good?

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!”

Sisters-in-Faith

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.

Enough Crosses

Tonight my husband and I were discussing our daughters and their boyfriends. As is usually the case when this subject comes up, we marvel over how different things are today—compared with how they were when the two of us were in high school light years ago. Then we review the current relationships situation and finally we move on to possible outcomes. This evening my husband took the doom-and-gloom perspective; usually that’s my role.

Listening to him, it suddenly occurred to me, “What do I want for my daughters?” Not just in these teenage romances, nor even their education objectives or career goals, but what are my dreams for my children for the rest of their lives? Do I even have any? Have I envisioned their future? How do I love and pray for them?

I thought about parents who want or expect their offspring to become doctors, lawyers, priests, mothers, musicians—without taking into account God’s plan for those children. Do I do that? I don’t think so; I hope not.

I started seeing this ‘letting go and letting God’ philosophy from a much broader and bigger vantage point. So what do I want for the girls?

I don’t know.

Some days I don’t know how to work out my own life, what I should do next, if I need to change this or get rid of that—how can I possibly be qualified for this huge responsibility of parental authority figure? In one sense I’m not qualified and never will be. But in another, I’m qualified by virtue of the fact that these children have been given to me by God.

After some thought I told my husband, “It all comes down to this: I want them to go to Heaven. I don’t know how they’re going to get there. It may be that like their silly old mom, they have to go down some dead-end streets, over a few waterfalls, even a cliff or two, take plenty of detours and always always always carry a cross ... or two.” So in the end, the ‘how’ doesn’t matter. It’s the getting there that matters.

I’m a mom who loves her children. Very much. But even so, I don’t love my children anymore than the Lady of Sorrows. Without Her Son’s Cross none of us could ever reach Heaven.

My oldest daughter collects crosses and crucifixes of all sorts. She has quite a collection as you can see. She started her collection at her First Communion when she received several crosses as gifts. Since then, we’ve continued to give her unusual crosses as gifts for other special occasions. It has made me more aware of the Cross as sacred symbol.

On this the Feast of the Exaltation of Holy Cross, I pray my children, husband and I have enough crosses to get us to Heaven.

New Regulations on Indulgences

Let’s be up-front about things: when you say the word, ‘indulgence’ or ‘indulgences’ to most people—including most Catholics—some grotesque system of medieval fraud and abuses is often the first thing to come to mind. Sadly, this misconception persists in spite of the deep-seated psychological need within most human beings to do something to ‘put things right’ after becoming aware of lingering guilt from past sins and transgressions, never mind the Biblical basis for this most ancient of Church traditions.

This little gem of a book defines¹ clearly and simply what an indulgence – with a small “I” – is and then gives the two types: partial and plenary. There is no more ‘determination of days or years as regards partial indulgences, only the words “partial indulgence” are used. This does away with the need of trying to explain what is meant by so many days or years. How much (temporal punishment) will be remitted depends upon the “the degree to which the charity of the one performing the act is greater, and in proportion to the degree to which the act itself is performed in a more perfect way.”’ (page 22)

What I found most enlightening about this book was when I recognized the three general ‘concessions’ under which partial indulgences are given. The first I learned is prayer or, raising the mind and heart to God in frequent invocation. After that, the text of the book gives reference after reference from Holy Writ reminding us of the importance of constantly calling on – and out to – the Almighty: Matthew 7:7-8, Matthew 26:41, Luke 21:34-36, Acts 2:42, Romans 12:12, 1 Corinthians 10:31, Ephesians 6-18, Colossians 4:2, and 1 Thessalonians 5:17-18, “Pray without ceasing. In all things give thanks.”

And what is the second general concession? Have you guessed it? It’s the giving of oneself or one’s goods in the service of those who are in need, i.e., in more quaint terms, almsgiving. So I don’t have to tell you, do I, what the third concession is … it’s fasting, or when one (in a penitential spirit) of one's own accord abstains from something permitted and pleasing.

According to St. Peter Chrysologus, 5th century bishop of Ravenna, Italy, and Doctor of the Church,

“There are three things, my brethren, by which faith stands firm, devotion remains constant, and virtue endures. They are prayer, fasting and mercy. Prayer knocks at the door, fasting obtains, mercy receives. Prayer, mercy and fasting: these three are one, and they give life to each other.”

But going back even earlier in The Book of Matthew, Chapter 6, Our Lord also tied these three disciplines together, teaching us to fast cheerfully, give alms secretly and pray privately.

A very affirming quick read. Indulgences have gotten a bad name and one they don’t deserve. We need them, along with every other help God and His Church can offer us.



¹ "An indulgence is the remission before God of the temporal punishment due to sins whose guilt has already been forgiven, a remission which one of the faithful, properly disposed and under certain definite conditions, can acquire through the Church which as a minister of the redemption authoritatively dispenses and applies the treasure of the satisfactions of Christ and the saints."

Gold Star Religion

‘Religion that is pure and undefiled before God and the Father is this: to care for orphans and widows in their affliction and to keep oneself unstained by the world.’ ~~James 1:27


Have you ever noticed how life imitates Scripture? Or do I mean to say, have you ever noticed how when you hear – or read – something in the Bible, you are reminded of an example of it—either good or bad—in your own life?

Does that ever happen to you?

It happens to me all the time.

Usually, I am reminded of someone I love, or admire, who lives out the positive exhortation, the Gospel command. Most often, that ‘someone’ is my husband, the Godliest man I know.

Last night at Mass when we heard that lovely definition of pure and undefiled religion, I thought of my Bear the afternoon 21 years ago almost to the day when he came home to our little German apartment sweaty, dirty, and distraught beyond words, trying to communicate the horror he had just witnessed at the worst air show disaster ever.

He had done what he could for the injured, the dying, the terrified and their rescuers. It hadn’t been enough. It took him months before he could sleep again without nightmares—and he knew how blessed he was. We both did.

A little over a year ago, a B-52, Raider 21, went down just off Guam with all crew lost. The B-52 Stratofortress, the “Buff” – as it’s been affectionately nicknamed by those associated with it – has one of the safest flying records of all the airplanes in the United States Air Force. It was the last aircraft I was privileged to work with while I was still on active duty and it’s my favorite of all. It’s old, 40’s technology, brought into the inventory even before I was born in 1955, but reliable. So when we learned about Raider 21 going down on 21 July 2008, it felt like a family loss. Even though my husband is now retired from the Air Force, he still works on and with issues involving the B-52’s. He knows the history of most of the planes, the aircrew, missions and other bits of minutiae that would put an aviation trivia expert to shame. He’s been to the USAF Aircraft Accident Investigation School and he followed the investigation of this mishap with his usual micro precision. In tribute to the men who died and recognition of their sacrifice, Bear painted the above picture and had prints made.

Fast-forward a year. Last month, I overheard a colleague mention to our supervisor she was still trying to get out of jury duty so that she could fly to Guam for an Air Force ceremony in honor of her son. I kept eavesdropping. This sweet, reserved woman, some years senior to me doesn’t speak often. She's always there to lend a hand, has a ready smile but goes her own quiet way. I learned her son had been on Raider 21 and died last year—her only son.

I told Bear. I knew he’d want to help. He knows a lot of people. He started making some phone calls and pretty soon, she was off jury duty and on her way to Guam.

Last night, Bear and I had the distinct pleasure of taking that lovely Gold Star Mom out for dinner. We didn’t know a lot about her before the night began, but we learned that she’s been a widow for many years now. Up until his death, her son was her best friend, yet she didn’t whine, complain or bemoan her fate. She shared her pictures of the trip with us, told us how lovely everyone had treated her and her father, and all the other surviving family members from Raider 21. She was gracious, eager to tell us about her son and his children, but also wanted to hear all about our Air Force experiences. Even the restaurant we tentatively suggested, she said, was her favorite and one she’d go to her by herself just for the food, she liked it so much. Was she just being nice? Maybe, but I don’t think so. I think she’s just one of those genuinely good souls.

Later she showed us the home her son had bought her. She was very proud of it—and him. She still didn’t have a lot of things on her walls, but we saw the print of my husband’s Raider 21 painting and her Gold Star Mom banner.

I can say I have met a Gold Star Mom. She really is Gold Star all the way.

And so is my Bear. At one point, this bereaved mother asked about the body of her son, which the authorities had recommended her not view. My husband got a little choked up when he explained a few things to her, but she remained calm, and she said she appreciated his technical explanations.

As I reread St. James’ definition above, I see the world’s ‘staining’ not so much as sin—because we all sin while we walk this earth—but as becoming embittered by the horrors we encounter. My dear husband has seen things which make him cry, strong man though he is, yet he is able to rise above his own pain and help widows and orphans in their affliction. I am his witness. May God bless and preserve him in this life and reward him richly in the next.