Visitors to the Vineyard

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They are us.

They are also visitors to our vineyards.

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

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

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

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

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!

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

Day 16 - My Ways Are Not Your Ways

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

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

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

God is still working on me…

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

How could we?!

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

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

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

Human torture and sacrifice?

Racial and religious genocide?

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

Endless cycles of war, oppression and poverty?

Hatred and refusal to forgive leading to more violence?

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

No, His ways aren’t like our ways.

Thanks be to Him!

Teach me oh Lord to follow Your Way!

Day 14 - Jesus Irritates Me!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anger into gratitude. It works!

Day 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!”

Trust in God

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My favorite parts from Psalm 4:

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

Two 'Daughters of the Month'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mental Prayer, Part 3

‘We congratulate you sincerely upon having brought out so clearly the absolute necessity of the interior life for those engaged in good works, a life so necessary for the success of their ministry.’ ~~ Pope Benedict XV to Dom Chautard, author of The Soul of the Apostolate

Why mental prayer? If I'm going to spend at least thirty minutes every morning doing something, I want to be very, very sure I'm engaged in a worthwhile endeavor. So, why mental prayer?

‘So many enterprises in our time, and yet so often fruitless: why is it that they have not put society back on its feet? … Why? Because they are not firmly enough based on the interior life, the Eucharistic life, the liturgical life, fully and properly understood. Leaders of Catholic Action, at the head of these enterprises, have been full of logic, talent, and even of a certain piety. They have poured forth floods of light, and have managed to introduce some devotional practices: and that, of course, is already something. But because they have not gone back nearly enough to the Source of life, they have not been able to pass on to others that fervor which tempers wills to their great task.’ ~~ Dom Chautard, The Soul of the Apostolate, pp. 186-7

Once again, I can attest to the truth of the good father’s words—as if he needed my endorsement! But for what it’s worth, I remember so many past efforts where I attempted to do what I thought were “good works”, even going so far as to pray to do “God’s Will”. And yet, in retrospect – looking back – the reason my efforts bore so little fruit may have been because I neglected my interior life.

Jesus is the only source of Life. In and through Him we receive all power to do whatever it is He has given us to do.

‘I came so that they might have life and have it more abundantly.’ John 10:10 The development of the interior life – through regular mental prayer – is the recognition that Christ dwells within us and wants to aid His apostles in performing His Father’s Will.

Father Chautard teaches Eleven Truths regarding the Interior Life: (I will list the first three today, continuing on with the others in future posts.)

1. ‘The supernatural life is the life of Jesus Christ Himself in my soul, by Faith, Hope and Charity; for Jesus is the meritorious, exemplary, and final cause for sanctifying grace, and as Word, with the Father and the Holy Ghost, He is the efficient cause in our souls.’ This, isn’t to be confused with the Real Presence proper to Holy Communion, but a presence of vital action which lies deep within us and God ordinarily hides from the soul so as to increase the merit of faith. Our text contains more on this…

2. ‘By this life, Jesus Christ imparts to me His Spirit. … And thus I tend to realize the ideal of the INTERIOR LIFE that was formulated by St. Paul when he said: “I live, now not I, but Christ, liveth in me.”’

3. ‘When Jesus … becomes my light, my ideal, my counsel, my support, my refuge, my strength, my healer, my consolation, my joy, my love, in a word, my life, I shall acquire all virtues.’

One other thing Fr. Chautard stresses is holy reading in the evening, reading which will awaken in the apostle the desire to begin the following day with mental prayer. It is also useful to make many loving ejaculations throughout the day. Just as the modern person calls, texts, e-mails or talks to friends, family, loved ones, Our Lord Jesus should be “called” very often throughout the day:

“Hello Jesus! This is your dearest child! I am here! How are You right now my sweet Jesus? For once I don’t want anything, except to worship and adore You! I lift my little heart to you. Join it with Your Sacred One! Stay close to me tonight dearest Savior and thank You so so much for all of the many ways You have blessed me today. Kiss Your Mother for me! Good night!”




The Food Which Endures: Living a Eucharistic Life: Devotion to the Sacred Heart

Prisoner of Love

Hello my dear Prisoner of Love!

You are here! As always when I come to visit you, I find you locked up and waiting … patiently.

You just wait for me to come and pour out my sorrows or joys, my joys and sorrows, or whatever I want to tell you.

You WILL listen, truly listen and hear me, ME … all my cries, all my words, thoughts, everything … anything.

You simply wait … in love. You are a prisoner for love. It is Your love for me which holds You here.

And whatever I say, You will understand. Your love will sort through my rambling words, sifting out needs from confusion, making sense from so much doubt, worry and fear, because You love me so much, though I deserve it so little.

You are ALL Love, a Prisoner of, and by, Your own choice.

Some would call you a fool.

I call You, “My Lord and My God!”

Thank You, my dear Prisoner of Love!

Happy Mother's Day!

I used to evaluate, rank or rate my holidays, i.e., try to determine if they were better than previous ones. As I’ve gotten older, for better or worse – and it really doesn’t matter which – I don’t do that anymore. Now instead I’ve learned to use special days as opportunities to count my blessings. Today I had so many I lost track.

For starters there are my own dear mothers: the dear lady who gave birth to and raised me in the Catholic faith and the other special lady who bore and lovingly brought up my husband. I call them both, “Mom” and I love them beyond words. I am twice blessed in their love and in the wonderful men they've been married to for over fifty years each, my two “Dad”s.

Then there’s the man who made me it possible for me to become a mother, the most profound vocation and life-changing event which has ever happened to me. Thank you Bear, for our two beautiful daughters, and for the gift of your love, fidelity, and friendship through these many years.

Which brings me to our own dear children, the two most beautiful young ladies—inside and out—I know. This week they were both inducted in the National Honor Society (NHS). Our older daughter, Meg, will be President of the Carl Albert High School NHS next year. Michelle performed in her Spring Concert this past week; she amazed me with her talent! And Meg attended her own school’s prom with her friends; she enjoyed herself very much.

If all these blessings were enough, I got to spend the day with my entire family and talk to all four parents as well. Last night I went to Mass with my husband and Michelle and today I went again with Meg. In front of us today at Mass there was a young family with three children, the youngest of which was the most delightful blonde-haired little boy with Down’s syndrome. He was affectionate, sweet, well-behaved and so cute it almost hurt to look at him. It was also obvious he was the delight of his family. As I watched the little boy hugging and kissing his bigger brother, I couldn’t help but think of this video I’d recently watched called, What Do These People Have In Common?

It’s been a lovely overcast misty day spent quietly doing nothing in particular. I am most abundantly blessed. Thank You God for everything! May this little branch forever be attached to Your True Vine!

May all the mothers everywhere have a very happy and blessed Mother's Day!

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First Prom

My oldest daughter, Meg attended her first prom this past week-end. She went to the Del City prom with her friend, Alec. Here she is all decked out in her lovely dress compliments of my dear friend, Lyn. Thanks so much Lyn! As you can see, she looks so grown up. Where have the years gone?!

Thank You God for watching over her and please continue to do so!

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Love Is God

Today as I was watching the Inauguration and listening to the various talking heads I couldn't help but think how grateful I am that I am a Catholic and that my faith is in God, the God Who is Love, described in brief by Our Holy Father in the Encyclical, Deus Caritas Est.

So many people across our country are putting all their hopes today in a man, a man who has just taken on a very powerful position at the head of the largest free republic on earth. Nevertheless, he is just a man, a human being, and not God. His position merits our respect and we certainly want and need to pray for him as our president, but he is not God. And if he fails or makes a mistake, our world will not end. Our faith is in the One Who will never disappoint, hurt or abandon us.

I was also thinking about BEGINNINGS. Not only do we have a new president but Benedict's Book Club is beginning a new year with a new book, or rather, an Encyclical, a Papal Letter.

Our Pope chose to lead off his papacy with this Encyclical on Love. Love. God is Love . . . Even though he knew that love is an overused, misused, misunderstood word, still he braved the potential risk, the ridicule, and the certain misinterpretations to bring us a basic truth about God which we need to hear: God is Love. PBXVI's was another 'voice crying in the wilderness', only this time 'the wilderness' is our own modern culture of media, Internet, i-pods, cell phones, instant communication and gratification.

And what about love? Do we know what that is? If we don't understand what "love" is, then we're a little like the blind person being told the sky is blue. He can't fathom "sky" and has never seen a color; the description is worthless.

Many of us can't define "love" but we know it when we give it or receive it. The Holy Father identifies the different types of "love" in Section 2 and then goes on to say: 'Amid this multiplicity of meanings, however, one in particular stands out: love between man and woman, where body and soul are inseparably joined and human beings glimpse an apparently irresistible promise of happiness. This would seem to be the very epitome of love; all other kinds of love immediately seem to fade in comparison. So we need to ask: are all these forms of love basically one, so that love, in its many and varied manifestations, is ultimately a single reality, or are we merely using the same word to designate totally different realities?

That last question is one worth pondering!

Also, I don't know if anyone noticed the mention that "love" got in the "Praise Song", the Inaugural Poem today?

Here's the link for the entire poem, but here are the verses just about love:

"Some live by "Love thy neighbor as thy self."

Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.

What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance."

It sounds to me as if the poet is in search of the same path that our Encyclical already clearly lights.

God bless our new president and America!

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different point of view

Her eyes met mine as she walked down the corridor peering apprehensively into the kennels. I felt her need instantly and knew I had to help her. I wagged my tail, not too exuberantly, so she wouldn't be afraid. As she stopped at my kennel I blocked her view from a little accident I had in the back of my cage. I didn't want her to know that I hadn't been walked today.

Sometimes the shelter keepers get too busy and I didn't want her to think poorly of them. As she read my kennel card I hoped that she wouldn't feel sad about my past. I only have the future to look forward to and want to make a difference in someone's life. She got down on her knees and made little kissy sounds at me. I shoved my shoulder and side of my head up against the bars to comfort her.

Gentle fingertips caressed my neck; she was desperate for companionship. A tear fell down her cheek and I raised my paw to assure her that all would be well. Soon my kennel door opened and her smile was so bright that I instantly jumped into her arms. I would promise to keep her safe I would promise to always be by her side. I would promise to do everything I could to see that radiant smile and sparkle in her eyes.

I was so fortunate that she came down my corridor. So many more are out there who haven't walked the corridors. So many more to be saved. At least I could save one. I rescued a human today.


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Salt of the Earth

Yesterday I drove to Texas to see a friend I hadn't seen in ten years. It was like we'd only seen each other yesterday! It was the old Feast of the Nativity and we exchanged gifts. We had lunch at a French café and talked for hours, mostly about Him; His best friend, the white-haired gentleman, AKA, PBXVI and the book club. Although the picture on the left is a terrible picture of me, I love that we are in front of some very old books. Thanks lh for being such a great friend . . . and let's please try to get together before it's another ten years, okay?! ☺

And because this is a book blog, I must add that I listened to my favorite white-haired gentleman's interview on Salt of the Earth while I was driving there and back. It resulted in a few missed turns but it was worth it. I can't begin to say enough about how good it is. Well I can . . . and I think I just did. More to follow!

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Great Idea!

This is a GREAT IDEA! I hope you agree!!

When doing your Christmas cards this year, take just one card and send it to this address. If we pass this on and everyone sends just one card, think of how many cards these men and women would get.

These are wonderful special people who have sacrificed so much. What a nice surprise it would be.

When you are making out your Christmas card list this year, please include one card to the following:

A Recovering American Soldier
c/o Walter Reed Army Medical Center
6900 Georgia Avenue, NW
Washington, D.C. 20307-5001

God bless you for your generosity to our military heroes!

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Happy Birthday, Little Brother

Today my mind and heart run very much back in time...to those days I spent with you, Little Brother. I made my first cheesecake while I have been reflecting on those bittersweet memories. Wonder of wonders, it came out beautifully! Mostly, if I could visit with you today, I think I'd ask you a lot of questions--things I never thought to ask you while you were alive and I expected we'd have endless days together. Questions like: which do you prefer, sunset or sunrise? Do you remember your first kiss? Was it magic? What was your happiest memory? Your favorite food? Movie? Book? Just talking about any one of those would keep us busy for hours, wouldn't it? Remember how we could talk? I don't think I ever knew another man I could talk to as easily or as long as I could talk to you, Mike. I miss our talks! I'll never forget that last marathon talk we had--walking around a mall that June when I was pregnant with Meggie. I don't know how many times we went around before I begged you to sit down. And then we still sat and talked some more. I can still see you coming down the hall the next day to say "Good-bye" before you left on your float trip. I can see you 4 months later after Meggie was born. At least you saw her -- once -- before you died. And I saw you that one last time at Mom and Dad's house. You were very quiet that night. You always were quiet in groups; you only opened up when it was just the two of us.

You are a kindred spirit, Mike, and there aren't many of those.

Here are some of my collected memories of you....tiny baby...little boys are different...sunken chest...in the hospital for surgery...blood everywhere...bloody bandages...cutting proud flesh...watching Mom and Dad treat you made me sick...you never cried...wanting to touch you...to hold you...growing little boy...riding his tricycle...freckles on his nose...y-shaped scar on his chest...underweight...quiet little boy...sweet smile...shy...sandy hair...young boy...so skinny...Mom fed you shakes trying to make you gain weight...always wore a t-shirt to cover the scar...loved boats...and books...Daddy's helper...loved to make and build...built a boat...took it to the lake...it leaked but it still floated...learned your bad words from Dad...beginning to grow up...and experiment...mistakes...and changing...graduation from high school...Navy...Florida...visit your oldest sister in Homestead...Chicago and Idaho...Bremerton...a special truck...ships and submarines...Air Force verses Navy officers...Mom and Dad's 25th wedding anniversary...you were the big surprise...they didn't know you were coming...your joke about Rod being like Dad...your plans to come to England...letters...a special book gift...getting out of the Navy...going to college...new and old friends...Rolla...helping Mom and Dad move...and fix up their new house...computer guru, Mike...hospital job...new home...will you be the godfather for my new baby?...our last long walk and talk...float trip...telephone call...why does everyone try to tell you that you don't mean what you say?...last time I saw you...baptism...you weren't there...went looking for you...never found you...never found out where you were or why you didn't come...left for Louisiana the next day...2 days later I learned you were dead...

Happy Birthday, Little Brother! I do not know why your life had to end so soon, but I have accepted it. I rarely cry now when I think of you. Instead I get a sweet, happy feeling about a life transformed. I used to think you 'missed' out on so much--marriage, children, a career, travel, etc. Now, instead, I think that -- for whatever reason -- God just graduated you early. Whatever joys we know here are not denied in the next life, they are multiplied and magnified. You are happy--especially when we strive to be happy for you.

Today, I made my first cheesecake. It came out perfectly. Tonight I'll share it with your brother-in-law and your two nieces, who are also your goddaughter and your namesake. Happy Birthday, Little Brother!