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.

Letting go means finding

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

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.

“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.

challenges to prayer

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.

Ten "Things" Mom Wants For Christmas

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

“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

Make yours count for LIFE!

Best Job in the World

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

‘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!

Day 15 - Don’t Be Late for Dinner

‘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 9 - The Long and Wending Road

‘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

‘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 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.

A 30 Day Retreat

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!

Atticus

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

“. . . 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.’