misshapen cup

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Catholic Youth Witness

Sometimes our kids surprise us in good ways.

Saturday when my younger daughter, Michelle, returned from Falls Creek she was so tired she could barely keep awake during Mass. However, after Mass, she hopped in my car, opting to ride home with me rather than her Dad. We arrive at our parish for Vigil Mass in different cars out of expediency, because I get off from work just before I need to be at church which is very close to my place of employment, and not because we don't like each other or particularly like traveling separately. Usually dear daughter (DD) chooses to go home with Dad so she can get in some extra practice driving time; she’s hoping to test for her license next month. I was just flattered she wanted to see me more than she wanted to drive! And after a week’s separation, I confess, my mother’s eyes and ears were hungry for her face and voice.

Last year when she went to Falls Creek, I awaited Michelle's return with trepidation. I hadn’t wanted her to go. She was only fifteen. It had been a difficult year followed by an even more stressful summer. Although I stayed home with and homeschooled our children since infancy, they began attending public school that year—for many reasons. Michelle was in 9th grade; she began wearing make-up, cut and started straightening her hair. She began to look very different … from the outside. But what I wondered – and constantly worried about – was, what was going on, on the inside?

She’d wanted to go to this camp and it threatened to be the big issue of the summer. I asked around. People assured me Falls Creek was lots of prayer, music, preaching, fun and fellowship, but not much sleep. The Baptist counselors would ensure her physical and moral safety. I still had doubts about the spiritual environment. How would she weather that? Was she strong enough to withstand the pressure from 7000 non-Catholic Christians, some of whom would be bent on convincing her that much—if not all—she’d been brought up to believe was wrong? And yet, when was I going to ‘let her go’? When was I going to begin to trust her? She was a good girl, smart, honest, polite (mostly) and worthy of the opportunity. And, she wanted to go so very much…

After much soul searching, prayer, discussion and yes, some anguish, we agreed.

I waited and prayed.

Before Michelle left, I would have described her as an average Catholic, not especially devout perhaps but I knew she received the Sacraments regularly and read her Bible every night before bed. Like many young teens, although she’d been baptized and raised in the Faith from the cradle, she sometimes seemed to take her Faith for granted—or at least that’s how it appeared on the outside. However, that’s also how I’d describe her outward attitude toward family … and yet everyone (including Michelle!) tells me I’m wrong. She cares very deeply; it’s just not “cool” to show such things.

In any event, she returned … not only Catholic, but almost militantly so! The pressure to ‘give her life to Jesus’ offended my DD who was thoroughly convinced she had already given her life over to Jesus Christ. She stood firm—or perhaps stubborn…? Who am I to say? I wasn’t there.

She loved the music, endured the non-stop praying, and spoke of being exhausted. She joked about some of the things she saw and heard there, but took umbrage at others. Her overall assessment, “I’m glad I’m Catholic!”

In April of this year she received the Sacrament of Confirmation.

A few weeks ago when Michelle expressed a desire to return to Falls Creek, I was a little surprised. “I thought you said they prayed too much? And didn’t they try really hard to get you to ‘give your life to Jesus’?” Yes, yes, all that, she agreed, but she still wanted to go. Her friends were going. It was fun. They had a great ropes course!

Also, I knew this could be the last summer before she’d have a regular job which would probably preclude youthful things like camps. So… she went back.


“You know what one of the counselors said to me?” she began recounting her experiences from this year. “We were all dancing to the music and it was so great and everyone was having a wonderful time. And he leans over and says, ‘I bet you don’t have this at St. Philip Neri, do you?’”

Michelle apparently didn’t answer, but she did get angry. The man’s attempt to make a point backfired on him. Instead, she was offended and put off. “You know, Mom, I went there and listened to all that they told me all week long – even though I didn’t agree with a lot of it – and I didn’t tell any of them they were wrong to believe like they do. Why did he have to say that?”

Later she did have a one-on-one with two of the more receptive adult counselors and she told them that although she appreciated her time there, she still couldn’t accept some of their ideas.

For example, Michelle asked, “You mean if I was to kill someone after I ‘accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior’, I’d still go to Heaven?” ‘Yes’ said the lady. “Well, I can’t believe that,” my daughter answered her. “I believe in sin and forgiveness and going to Confession. And I do believe there is Purgatory.” She told me that she went on to explain things to these adults such as Apostolic Succession, the Sacraments and the Real Presence.

“They didn’t have much to say except that I could always tell Jesus I was sorry anytime I wanted. I know that. But I explained why confessing your sins to a priest is the same as telling them to Jesus.” I wanted to stop the car, pull over to the side of the road and hug her. I kept on driving.

She told me she watched her peers – all of them but her – go up for the ‘altar call’ and still she didn’t go. Why? “When those other kids went up there this week, the adults asked them all these questions and they just kind of went along with whatever they said,” she told me. “But I accepted Jesus a long time ago. I just knew one day, I wanted to do what Jesus wants me to. I don’t remember exactly what day it was, but I know I came and told you.”

I’m sure she did too. I wish I had a better memory. I wish I could recall that wonderful day all those years ago. Sadly, I probably wasn’t paying attention. That’s why I’m writing all this down now … before I forget this incredible testimony. God bless you my dear daughter. I am so very proud of you!

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wondering and wandering...

Usually when I sit down to blog I know what I want to write about. I'm either going to review a book or recommend a film clip or on rare occasions write a little vignette about something blog-worthy which has happened to me recently.

Right now I have over a dozen books I've read and drafted book reviews for, but I'm not ready to publish any of them. I found this new (to me) wonderful artist who I'd love to write about, but I haven't had the time to do the necessary research on him yet.

Lent is over and so is my journey with Father Neuhaus and Death on a Friday Afternoon: Meditations on the Last Words of Jesus from the Cross, the book Benedict's Book Club has been reading for the past six weeks. I finished it Easter Sunday evening, which was perfect timing.

I thought about writing about our evacuation Holy Thursday night when our neighborhood was on fire. Winds gusting in excess of fifty miles per hour turned a teenage prank into a nightmare for a huge section of Midwest City, Oklahoma. For us, the fires were as close as two blocks, but we were among the blessed. Not so our neighbors, some friends and members of our parish. But it seems wrong to blog about someone else's losses. The worst I had to endure was a night of wondering if I had a home. Considering I asked St. Michael to watch over it for me, all I truly was was tired.

So in the end, this is just an update, to say I'm still blogging, even though I haven't been. I wonder if I should blog. I wonder if I have anything worthwhile to say or if I'm not just wasting my time. Sometimes--and more than just occasionally--I think I don't have anything worthwhile to say. Sure, I read and review books, but I can do that just as well on goodreads. Do I need to maintain a blog too? Is it worth the effort?

In the end, I'm not sure. But then I'm not sure about a lot of things, so maybe that is the point of this blog. In this world where everyone seems so sure about everything, maybe it is worthwhile to have one lone voice crying out, "I wonder...?!"

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Encountering Christ

When I reminded my dear husband a few weeks ago he had promised to chaperon for our younger daughter's Confirmation retreat to Camp Our Lady of Guadalupe, known affectionately as Camp OLOG by many here in the Oklahoma City diocese, he wasn't especially thrilled at the prospect of spending a week-end with forty to fifty teenagers.

Knowing his joyful anticipation, I wondered what our daughter, Michelle, was going to say when I told her, that her dad was tagging along. After Bear's offer was gratefully accepted, much to his chagrin, our Youth Minister called back and wanted to know if my oldest daughter and I also wanted to come along as chaperons. We begged off, pleading prior plans. But I couldn't help wondering how Michelle would react to her entire family at the retreat. Having her dad wouldn't be too bad, I reasoned. He's pretty cool most of the time and after all, unlike 'Mom', he would be in the boy's cabin and therefore not within hovering distance.

A couple of days before the retreat Michelle learned her Dad was going along...and two adults she knows from our regular week-end Mass, friends of her Mom. She wasn't too happy. We had a family pow-wow. It seems she was looking forward to this week-end because it was a chance to 'get away from her family' for awhile. As her mom, it's sometimes hard for me to understand why she needs and wants 'to get away' from us but then my wise husband asked me, "Didn't you ever want to get away from your family at that age?"

As a matter of fact, I did...

When they returned, Michelle came in carrying this crucifix made out of Play-Doh. My husband and daughter only spoke twice during the retreat and once gave each other a hug. Mostly Bear spent his time explaining teenagers to the other adults chaperoning the kids. He's pretty good at that. He has a lot of experience helping me. I was very tuned into my children when they were little, but since they've become teenagers, I've had to get to know them all over again. It's a day by day process; some days I 'get' it and many days I don't. Or maybe I should say, some days I let them be who they are and other days I expect them to be who I think they should be, or who I think they are, I'm really not sure which. Bear is much better at letting people be who they are, at accepting. I'm better at learning. He's teaching me to accept and fortunately, for our children's sake, I'm (usually) a pretty good student.

Bear said the retreat was good for the kids. They all got away from cell phones, I-pods, non-stop music, TV, and distractions. Many had incredible experiences of Confession; a lot were crying, probably for the first time as a result of receiving a sacrament. They got to spend hours just talking to each other, really talking, not texting. They walked in the woods, explored nature, discovered silence and who knows, just maybe, they even encountered Christ?

When my daughter saw the crucifix, she asked who made it. Upon learning her Dad made it, she picked it up and brought it home.


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We're going to miss him . . .

He was classy.

Magnanimous.

A gentleman.

Ripped for being out of touch, he chose just the right touch.

A man who critics say only mangled his words.

Conjured just the right ones.

I'm not talking about John McCain yesterday...

I'm talking about President Bush today.

McCain gave a classy speech.

The president made a classy gesture.

Offering only good words for the man who repudiated his run of the White House.

But going one better -- inviting Barack and Michelle Obama to the White House.

To see the place, and talk about the place, and the pressures of the place, in private.

These were not empty words.

The president took care months ago to put a transition team in place, so that a smooth transfer of power could take place.

President Bush wasn't so lucky when he was coming in.

Maybe things were different then.

A lot of ill will then.

Lots of hurtful words since then.

He wasn't even running this year but it seemed everyone, including his own party's nominee, was running against him all year.

If he minded, he didn't show it.

I remember even talking to the president on the White House south lawn about it.

"Does it all bug you?," I asked.

"Nah," he said, shrugging his shoulders and adding simply, "I understand."

A man at peace with a nation seemingly at war… with him.

Some for good reason, others apparently lacking reason.

He took nothing personally, always handling himself with dignity.

Not by what he said, but precisely what he did not.

I've read that the president is as kind to the elevator operator at the White House as he is a visiting head of state to the White House.

I've seen it myself.

Every time I've interviewed him, he sticks around and personally shakes the hands of each member of my crew, and then hangs out for pictures.

Lots of pictures.

I know, little things.

But to me, big things.

That bespeaks of a man far bigger than the petty things I see in the press.

Or hear in a harsh campaign year.

That ended today, with a quiet gesture today.

From a president who'd be in his right to wag a finger.

But instead, simply offered his hand.

by Neil Cavuto, Fox news


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A Vet's Reflections

When they ask the veterans to stand in church – and other public places – I never like to. My children give me a hard time about this. “You’re a vet too, Mom. Why don’t you stand up? You aren’t ashamed of it, are you?” On the contrary, I think serving our country is one of the finest things a person can do, but like James Bradley in Flags of Our Fathers, I don’t think I did anything special. Except of course that he really did do something special and I, on the other hand, know that I didn’t. I just did my job and for that I received a paycheck. It was a simple economic exchange, just like any other job.

But is that true?

Do I really know that? And is any job, just ‘a job’? Isn’t everything we do, how we do it, far more than what we do?

One of the first things I learned as a young lieutenant is that I rarely got recognized, much less noticed, the times I went all out, but I sometimes received awards and notice when I hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary. I suppose that knowledge could have made me cynical, but I decided to look at it pragmatically, figuring there is some sort of rough justice in it all and we don’t work for awards anyway. We work for the certain knowledge it’s the right thing to do. We work for God . . . and country. In other words, we follow the first and second commandments.

I had the distinct pleasure of serving my country from 1979 through 1991, through the Cold War, Desert Shield and Desert Storm. I spent nine of my thirteen years of active service overseas and while it was far from glamorous or glorious, I never dreamed how much I would miss it when it was all over. The camaraderie is like nothing you will ever find elsewhere, the opportunities to learn –and fail—are endless, as are the chances to try new things, go all over the world and yet truly find what you are made of inside. The military was the best choice I could have made right out of college and I have no regrets, except that I didn’t do more for my country. I was – am – far too selfish. I was told that I needed to “watch out for myself”, to protect myself from ‘the system’. Perhaps I did. But, God save us from an entire unit, squadron or more of individuals with that attitude.

Today my daughters’ school had a nice tribute to Veterans. The Junior R.O.T.C. stood in formation, the colors were brought in, some decorated Vets were given special honors and the choir sang a medley of the military service songs. And when the familiar words were sung, “Off we go, into the wild blue yonder…” I stood up. I can’t tell you how proud I am—of my country, and how blessed I know myself to be—to have served her in this small way. But mostly, I am grateful to all who have worn and continue to wear the United States military uniform.

God bless the men and women serving on active duty, their families and the country we are all blessed to live in!

Here are the first verses (and refrains where applicable) of each of the military services’ songs:

U.S. Air Force
Off we go, into the wild blue yonder,
Climbing high into the sun.
Here they come zooming to meet our thunder,
At 'em boys, give 'er the gun.
Down we dive, spouting our flame from under,
Off with one hell-uv-a roar!
We live in fame or go down in flame,
Nothing'll stop the U.S. Air Force.


U.S. Army
First to fight for the right,
And to build the nation's might.
And the Army goes rolling along.
Proud of all we have done,
Fighting until the battle's won.
And the Army goes rolling along.

Then it's Hi! Hi! Hey!
The Army is on its way,
Count off the cadence loud and strong
For where'er we go,
You will always know,
That the Army goes rolling along.


U.S. Coast Guard
From Aztec shore to Arctic zone,
To Europe and Far East.
The flag is carried by our ships,
In times of war and peace.
And never have we struck it yet,
In spite of foe-men's might,
Who cheered our crews and cheered again,
For showing how to fight.


U.S. Marine Corps
From the halls of Montezuma
To the shores of Tripoli
We will fight our country's battles
In the air, on land and sea.
First to fight for right and freedom,
And to keep our honor clean.
We are proud to claim the title of,
United States Marines.


U.S. Navy
Stand, Navy, out to sea, fight our battle cry;
We'll never change our course,
So vicious foe steer shy-y-y-y
Roll out the TNT, Anchors Aweigh. Sail on to victory
And sink their bones to Davy Jones, hooray!

Anchors Aweigh, my boys, Anchors Aweigh.
Farewell to college joys, we sail at break of day-ay-ay-ay.
Through our last night on shore, drink to the foam,
Until we meet once more. Here's wishing you a happy voyage home.

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Inspiration . . . never give up

God bless you Elisabetta!

Returning the Call

Nothing happens by accident with God. In fact, you can go so far as to say that everything which happens in our life is part of His plan—if not to lead us home to Him, then to bring another of His lambs safely back to the fold. If you believe that, and I do with my whole heart, then Life suddenly takes on a lustrous quality; it truly becomes a lode of luminosity.

When I visited Our Lady in Fátima, one of her favored homes, last year I was so focused on that marvelous opportunity I didn’t look ahead—or I temporarily forgot—that all with God is purpose. It would have been enough to me just to have seen Fátima, but no I was favored with a pilgrimage on the 90th Anniversary of the Final Apparition of Our Lady to the three Visionaries on October 13th 1917.*

Since then I have reflected on the times when I taught about Our Lady of Fátima to my own children as well as to my religious education classes. How many times did I show and watch movies about Marian apparitions with deep longing in my heart? A Marian Conference in Spokane in 1995 was the scene of mini-reconversion experience for me. I remember watching Gospa on a big screen with tears rolling down my cheeks.

Did Our Lord, through Our Lady, reward my devotion with that trip? Maybe. But I prefer to believe she begged her Son to fulfill a heart-felt prayer; she worked through the kindness and generosity of another of her beloved daughters, the dear friend I traveled with, Linda. In any event, I went, I saw and I was conquered.

That I thought was that. Silly me! Nothing has been the same in my life since. My dearest Heavenly Mother has been continuing to Grace my life as if the trip to see her wasn’t enough! Nor is there time or space to list – much less explain – the graces she has showered on me since. And all because I visited her?! When it was my dream fulfilled? Is this just a tiny foretaste of how Good God is? How He showers His favors on those He loves? I pray it be so!

Yesterday, the traveling statue of Our Lady of Fátima visited a local parish of the same name. It occurred to me when I first heard about Our Lady’s visit to Oklahoma that it was so wonderful–and even more special—because of my recent visit to see her.

Then I recalled the quaint old custom of ladies whereby one would visit the home of another in bygone days. This was known as ‘paying a call’. All true ladies paid and received calls. But even more importantly, when a lady received a call, she made sure to ‘return the call’.

When I saw Our Lady of the Rosary born aloft and carried into the sanctuary yesterday, my heart did a flip. I wanted to hug her. I was overjoyed. Instead I spent a quiet, loving day visiting with her. She did me a great honor in returning my call. Never mind that she made my trip overseas to see her possible in the first place or that God gives all good things. To me, it was a very special social call from one Lady to another. Indeed, the Lady of all ladies!

In Christ through Mary, booklady

* I wrote about that original visit here.

Dedicated to the lady who made my trip to Fátima so enjoyable and memorable, my traveling companion and friend, Linda.

Better even than a “Reading Mother” is a “Praying Mother”

I've always loved the poem, “The Reading Mother”. Although I don’t have any little boys, I’ve shared it with several mothers who do. As a booklady, obviously, I think reading is very important. But there are a few things more important than reading to our children and one of them is praying for and with our children.

Today my oldest daughter got her driver’s license. From my perspective, getting a license is a rite of passage; a momentous occasion. It means changes, such as: my daughter no longer needs me to get her places. I also won’t be there to ensure her safety.

But really, how often have I had to let her go already in her short sixteen year life? Plenty of times. From her birth, her life has been a constant process of letting go and moving on. It’s natural and right. I know it in my mind and heart. I’ve watched her crawl away, walk away, run away, ride her bike away and now drive away. Motherhood is constant surrender. We surrender our children back to Him and trust to His loving care.

While she was out on her first solo drive—after I said my rosary—I reread “The Reading Mother” and then I wrote this little poem which I call, “The Praying Mother”. It’s not as good as the original by Gillilan but it comes full from the heart and I dedicate with all my love to Meggie and to my own dear mother.

Here’s . . .

“THE READING MOTHER” by Strickland Gillilan

I had a mother who read to me
Sagas of pirates who scoured the sea,
Cutlasses clenched in their yellow teeth,
"Blackbirds" stowed in the hold beneath

I had a Mother who read me lays
Of ancient and gallant and golden days;
Stories of Marmion and Ivanhoe,
Which every boy has a right to know.

I had a Mother who read me tales
Of Celert the hound of the hills of Wales,
True to his trust till his tragic death,
Faithfulness blent with his final breath.

I had a Mother who read me the things

That wholesome life to the boy heart brings-
Stories that stir with an upward touch,
Oh, that each mother of boys were such.

You may have tangible wealth untold;
Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.
Richer than I you can never be --
I had a Mother who read to me.

And here’s . . .

“THE PRAYING MOTHER” by booklady

You have a mother who’s prayed for you

Since long before she laid eyes on you;

Prayed for your health and happiness too;

Prayed she’d know what a mother’s to do.

You had a mother who prayed for your birth

And welcomed the gift of your life on this earth.

Swaddled in blankets so helpless and dear,

She resolved to pray, rather than fear.

You had a mother who prayed most days;

Struggling to learn to ‘pray always’.

Prayers for your safety, your sanctity too,

But mostly just praying God’s Will for you.

You had a mother who prayed as you grew,

Loving you more than she thought she could do.

Watching you blossom from year to year,

Slowly her prayers for you have grown clear.

You have a mother who is praying still;

Stubborn, selfish, and with a strong will,

Yet this mother’s heart and mother’s touch

The years of prayer have softened so much.

Dearest one, ahead may be joys or sorrow

Despite the prayers, we cannot know tomorrow.

Praying is the richest gift though it be free

I, too, have a mother who prays for me.

All my love and prayers, your bookmom

Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To

From The Desk of Marian Hammaren

Tomorrow is the National Day of Prayer.

This is such an important day for our country and for all of us who believe in God. But to be honest with you, this is really the first time I will be observing this event in a serious, faith-filled way. Last year, I didn't know much about it. And to tell the truth, I probably wouldn't have cared if I did. I was in too much of a grief-stricken daze to care about anything.

You see, my daughter, Caitlin Hammaren, was a much-loved 19-year-old sophomore at Virginia Tech. On April 16, 2007 – one year ago – a deranged young man shot and killed her ... along with 31 other innocent people.

When one of his bullets took my Caity's life, it might as well have taken mine, too.

I've sent you this email because I truly believe that what happened to me in the days and weeks after I lost my Caity can benefit you.

"How," you ask? Because our loving God always – and I mean ALWAYS – brings good out of evil. You have probably experienced troubles in your life. Troubles you couldn't explain. Troubles that tore at your heart. Troubles that rent you in two. Troubles that made you question whether or not there really is a God in heaven Who loves you as much as you've been told He does.

Well, I'm writing to you today to assure you that, not only does He love you as much as you've been told, but to promise you that He is with you at every moment of your life ... and most especially when you are hurting and feeling completely alone.

He was there for me. And I am now certain that He chose my little girl – my Caitlin – to be the instrument through which He will bring you and countless numbers of other just like you closer to Himself ... and nearer to your eternal home.

And here's how.

A moment ago I told you that when the gunman killed Caity, he all but killed me, too.

It's true. I wasn't suicidal. But my purpose for living had died with Caity. And I truly believe it would have remained dead and buried ... except for a book that gave me hope and a reason to live. That book is Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To by Anthony DeStefano.

Since reading his book, I've spoken with Anthony many times. We have become good friends. And when I told him I'd like to send you this email, he objected. He felt it would be exploiting my tragedy in the worst way and he wouldn't hear of it. He didn't want me to be "pitching" any products. But I told him, "Anthony, you're being selfish. Look at how your book changed my life! I wouldn't be the person I am today had it not been for you and 'Ten Prayers.' How many other hurting people are there in the world who God wants to heal using your book? Why do you think God inspired you to write it? So it could collect dust in a bookstore? Nonsense. People need to know about the treasure you've written. And there's no one better to tell them than me. I'm not 'pitching' your book. I'm trying to help people." Reluctantly, he agreed.

And thank goodness for you he did.

Because if you can only read one book in the next week, then read Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To I promise you it will change your life! Literally.

It changed mine. And to show you how, let me take you back to that terrible day a year ago.

My husband Chris and I live in Upstate New York. Caitlin was our only child. As you can imagine, our lives revolved around Caity ... but especially mine. When we drove her down to Virginia Tech for her freshman year and dropped her off at her dorm, I thought my heart was breaking. But she sent me a text message within an hour of our heading north ... and we texted each other every day thereafter.

So on that fateful day, as news began to filter out about the shootings ... and as no calming text messages were appearing on my phone ... I feared the worst. Chris and I got in the car around ten that morning and began the slow, 10-hour drive to Blacksburg. Every few minutes I tried texting my daughter. I was frantic. I clutched my phone in my hand desperately waiting for a text message back from Caity: "I'm OK." But nothing.

When we finally reached the campus, we were ushered to a large room filled with other anxious parents. And that's when it happened. Two men – a policeman and a minister – were walking toward Chris and me. I'll never forget that moment. I wanted to run out of that room. I didn't want to hear what I knew they were going to tell me. But I couldn't move.

With tremendous compassion and sympathy, the officer asked: "Mr. and Mrs. Hammaren?" When I nodded, he continued: "I'm sorry. Your daughter was pronounced dead at five minutes after ten this morning."

And with that, my world had ended. Or so I thought. The next week was a blur. And the days home in New York are fuzzy.

But one thing I remember very clearly is opening Caity's laptop after we were given her belongings. Just above the screen was taped a short message that read: "God, I know that today nothing can happen that you and I can't handle together." Unfortunately, it would be several months ...and a lot of tears ... not to mention some real angry shouts at God ... before my daughter's message penetrated my heart and soul.

And I'm writing to you today to tell you that the instrument God – and my Caity – used to break through and open the eyes of this stubborn, know-it-all, never-trusting, cynical woman was Anthony's book, Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To.

Looking back on it, it was a series of co-incidences – and by the way, I've learned that there are no "co-incidences" in life ... only God-incidences. Anyway, it was an incredible series of events that brought "Ten Prayers" into my life at precisely the moment I needed it.

Once Caity had died, I avoided shopping malls like the plague. Caity and I loved to shop together. But now, every store ... every item ... every sight ... every sound ... they all reminded me of her and re-opened wounds I was trying to heal. Of course, that was one of my problems. I was trying to play the role of spiritual physician when there is only one Person Who can handle those duties: GOD!!!

But when my husband needed me to pick him up at an auto repair shop while the car was being worked on, I said sure. Little did I know the service shop was at a mall. To make matters worse, when I got there, the car wasn't ready and I had to wait ... at the shopping mall. The only place that offered me any hope of solitude was a bookstore. So I ducked inside.

Nervously I walked around until I found myself in the religious books section. I glanced at titles and snickered at all the "self help" pop psychology. I knew there was nothing here that could help me. I'd read a title and think, "Give me a break." One book, however, intrigued me. It wasn't the title so much as the cover. There was something about its texture that caught my eye. When I pulled it off the shelf and read the title: Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To, the angry, cynical Marian kicked in and said: "Yeah. Right. Well, He didn't answer my prayer."

With my smug smile on my face, I flipped it open to see what was on the inside jacket cover. Well, I was taken aback when I realized that the very first sentence could have been written about me. Here's what Anthony wrote: "There have been thousands of books written about prayer and millions of sermons preached about it, yet people continue to wonder: Why doesn't God answer me when I cry out to him?"

"Exactly!" I said to myself. "And are you going to tell me, Mr. DeStefano?"

So I read through the contents and saw chapter titles that talked directly to me:

Chapter Four – "I Can't Take it Anymore"

Chapter Six – "This Stress Is Killing Me"

Chapter Nine – "Will I Ever Be Happy Again?"

Chapter Ten – "Why Am I Here Anyway?"

Needless to say, I bought the book ... and devoured it within a couple hours after I got home. I couldn't put it down. Anthony put things in a way that was easy for me to read ... and even easier to understand. His was a language I could appreciate.

And because of Anthony's book, I began to understand how God works through people and events – even gut-wrenching, heart-breaking, spirit-crushing events like my Caity's senseless death – to bring souls closer to Himself.

Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To opened my mind and my heart to God. What's more, it gave me HOPE when I was filled with despair! And that, my friend, is why I've sent you this email.

Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To is for you ... no matter how painful or joyful your current situation may be. If painful, "Ten Prayers" will help bring you comfort. If joyful, "Ten Prayers" will help you increase that joy.

After I finished the book, I immediately purchased a bunch of them to give away to other parents who had lost their children in the Virginia Tech shooting. I can't tell you how many grateful comments I've received as a result. One mom told me that she keeps Ten Prayers next to her bed, so that when she finds herself crying in the middle of the night—which happens a lot—she just turns on the light and reads one or two of the chapters.

Lately I've taken to giving the book to all kinds of people I know who are experiencing problems in their life.

I gave one to a young man with an alcohol problem. He needed to understand his addiction and what it was doing to his spirit as well as his body. Again, because the language of Anthony's book isn't threatening and overly theological- - it changed his life.

I gave a copy to a woman whose husband smokes and drinks excessively. His behavior really troubled her and it was rapidly destroying their marriage. After reading "Ten Prayers" she told me it literally saved her marriage.

Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To is for anybody who wants to get to know God better ... on a new level ... on an intimate level.

Each chapter will speak to you about some portion of your everyday life. I know you will learn valuable lessons from the book ... just like I did. Even if you only read the one chapter that pertains to you, you'll benefit from it. I know you will because I did.

In fact, you'll probably end up doing what I did. I read the one chapter I thought applied to me directly. That was Chapter Nine: "Will I Ever Be Happy Again?" After I read that, I read another chapter, Chapter Four: "I Can't Take it Anymore." After that, I went to the beginning and read it straight through. To this day I keep the "Yes" prayer that Anthony added at the end of the book pinned to the bulletin board in my office. All I have to do is look at it to find solace and comfort.

That's what I'm sure will happen to you, too, when you read Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To.

And that's why I've sent you this email. A year ago I thought my life had ended. But thanks to God and His orchestrating events so that I found myself in that bookstore with Anthony's Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To book in my hand, I now realize that my life was really only just beginning.

God gave Caitlin to Chris and me. She was His special gift to us. And for nineteen precious years, we enjoyed His gift.

Today, in a very real sense, I am giving her to you. Caitlin had absolute trust in God. She knew that He would take care of her ... no matter what. And Anthony DeStefano's book – Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To– will help you find that same level of trust. Thanks to "Ten Prayers", God was able to use Caity's tragic and unexpected death to bring me out of my old world and into His new one.

If God could use Anthony's book to do that for me, I know He can do it for you, too ... and He will if you trust Him like Caity did! Remember the note she kept on her laptop: "God, I know that today nothing can happen that you and I can't handle together." Let's all resolve once and for all to have that same kind of faith in the Lord! What a wonderful way for to celebrate and participate in this year's National Day of Prayer!

God bless you,

Marian Hammaren

PS: Just click here to find out more about ordering a copy of Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To It may well be the single greatest life-changing decision you will ever make. Not only that, but as God uses "Ten Prayers" to bring you closer to Himself – as He did with me – then your life will be one more way that He continues to bring good out of the terrible evil of the 2007 Virginia Tech massacre. And by the way, when you go to this link, you'll also see Anthony's first book, "A Travel Guide to Heaven." I could have spent this entire email telling you about this incredible book, but I wanted to stay focused on "Ten Prayers." Let me assure you, though, I have given Anthony's "Travel Guide" to dozens of grieving parents, too, and they have all commented to me on how much it has helped them. Both these books are truly wonderful.PPS: One more thing. Just in case you're a bit hesitant to take my word for the way "Ten Prayers" can change your life, here's what a few others have said about Anthony's book ... and these are some giants in the religious field:

"Anthony DeStefano has once again drawn his readers into the mystery of God's love and invited us to reflect more deeply on our relationship with Him. In a simple yet profound way, Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To offers insights, and indeed a practical wisdom, that will resonate with anyone who has ever struggled with personal prayer. I recommend this book to any and all who are searching for a fresh perspective on the meaning and value of a life of prayer, and, ultimately, for a more fulsome encounter w the Living God."- Cardinal Ranato Raffaele Martino, President, Pontifical Council for Justice and Peace

"Why are some of our prayers answered while some are not? How do we get God's attention? How do we get the divine 'Yes'? In a simple, straightforward style, Anthony DeStefano takes on the mysteries of prayer. He casts a wide net to appeal to all Christians everywhere without compromising the gospel one iota. The title alone, Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To, will attract even people who aren't believers but who cry out for help in the night. For them, the first prayer, 'God, show me that you exist,' can be a life-changer. But don't stop there. Read it all. It could revolutionize your prayer life."- Pastor Jack Hayford, President, International Church of the Foursquare Gospel and Founding Pastor, The Church on the Way

"Polls tell us that most Americans believe in prayer. However, most admit they don't spend much time praying, nor do they think it is very important. This remarkable book can make a difference for anyone who wants to pray with results. Anthony DeStefano shares insights on prayer that are practical, workable, and attainable. Everyone can profit from reading this book!" - Dr. Paul Cedar, Chairman and CEO, Mission America Coalition

"Do we really need another book on prayer? We certainly need this one! Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To is remarkably different and refreshingly direct. It takes the reader straight to the heart of the issue of answered prayer and leaves him or her there wanting more – of God, of course. This book will go on my shelf beside the great classics on prayer."- Dr. Dick Eastman, President, Every Home for Christ and President, America's National Prayer Committee

Pretty impressive, huh? And if those endorsements aren't enough to convince you, try this. The folks who organize and run the National Day of Prayer chose "Ten Prayers" to be one of its featured books this year ... and they only endorse a couple books each year.

If Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To received the National Day of Prayers good seal of approval, then surely it's a book that can help you ... no matter where you are in your walk with the Lord.-- Marian

*****

The Beauty and the Devastation

ICE STORM 2007 ~~ MIDWEST CITY, OKLAHOMA ~~ December 9th-11th (so far)

We've lost a good portion of every one of our trees . . . and we're the lucky ones.

Advent Blessings

As I looked out my window this morning at the iron-gray sky and our trees bent over with frozen branches, I thanked God that we went to Mass last night. Then I remembered a friend who used to list all her blessings as a way to create or increase happiness through awareness of all that God had given her. Today I honor my friend's idea, but even more, I give thanks to God for all that He has given me--He has been most generous with our family. Below are listed just some of the many things for which we are grateful today.

'This is the day which the Lord has made, let us be glad and rejoice!' (Psalm 118:24)

• Being iced in our warm home with my favorite people


• Eating homemade cookies for breakfast


• Day dreaming . . . about the day


• No where we have to go; nothing we have to do!


• Debating fun things like the propulsion methods of fleas and cockroaches


• Watching the snow/sleet/rain from my front window


• Appreciating how much better the holidays are when you truly simplify


• Envisioning tentacled aqua humanoids


• Watching the cat's reaction to the cold when I open the door for him


• Remembering other recent winter ice and snow storms


• Lighting up dark places with candles


• My dear husband breaking up the frozen bird seed for the little junkos


• Practicing the Latin names – real and made up – for animals and other ‘creatures’


• Listening to Christmas music played by my daughters


• Letting the cold cat back in and having him warm himself on me in gratitude


• Deciding which delicious book will 'get' me today


• Feeling cozy, warm, loved and safe in a comfortable messy room


• Mentally rewriting a famous speech in modern terms


• Watching the snow/sleet/rain from my front window


• The rich scent of French Vanilla coffee with cream


• My 15 year-old daughter's squeals of delight at the dry sound of the falling frozen . . . stuff


• Thinking about everything and nothing


• Having the cat come back, nudge me and want to crawl in my lap


• Rubbing him as he curls up; listening to his deep, gentle purr


• Being happy, truly and supremely happy and knowing it is a choice


• Reading my daughters' school writing assignments


• Enjoying the annual tradition of unpacking the family Nativity set


• Laughing at my teens bundled up against the cold, 'playing' outside


• Writing friends and practicing new computer skills


• All of us in the front room together, each doing his/her own thing, just because it's cozy


• Having my daughter read funny T-shirt sayings (from a catalog) to me


• Imagining a whole day of this, and maybe even another


• Checking out our names @ http://howmanyofme.com/search/


• Putting up our tree while we listen to Christmas music


• Hoping school will be cancelled tomorrow


• Planning to watch It's a Wonderful Life tonight and drink German Gluvine


• Taking pictures of our winter wonderland outside


• Finding out our Grinch names @ http://www.yourgeekfriend.com/GrinchName/GrinchName.php


• Humbly realizing and being grateful for all I have learned this year


• Listening to thunder in the middle of an ice-storm


• Smelling the delicious dinner (paella) my husband is cooking for us


• Thinking of more and more and MORE things to be grateful for as the day unfolds!!!


• Praying for all those I love . . . that they are also safe, warm, and happy
  
  Blessings on this winter day in Advent!

seeing for the first time

Today I had my first surgery to remove a cataract from my left eye. I still have one on my right eye, which supposedly isn't very bad. These aren't the types of cataracts due to age, but are the fast-growing variety which sometimes occur in younger people usually as a result of steroid use--something I have never taken.

Looking through my left eye for the first time today--although painful--was really a treat. The world was bright and new-washed. Whites were white and everything shone with a glow I can't remember seeing in so long! It was so pretty! For contrast, I would close my left eye and compare the same view with what I could see with my right eye--the eye with the less-severe cataract. WOW! What a difference!

Although this picture example doesn't do it justice, it does give some idea of the change I am already seeing--only I'd add a yellowing/browning filter to the picture on the right as well. The lighthouse example is way more bright than what I am really seeing out of my right eye. And my left eye was the really bad one. I can't even imagine . . . now . . . how dark the world was that I have been seeing for so long! And how long I wonder? And how has that unnaturally darkened physical view of the world affected my overall view of the world? I will probably never know...

My next surgery is scheduled for the 26th of this month. Not really looking forward to the pain aspect . . . but to be able to see! To be able to see clearly this beautiful world! What a blessing!

P.S. Update on 13 November . . . seeing 20/20 out of my left eye for the first time since fourth grade!!!!! Wahoo!!!!!!

The Church of the Holy Trinity, Fátima, Portugal

. . . the 'rest of the story' . . .

Now that I've painted a picture of Heaven-on-earth and sweetness and light, let me turn you around and focus your attention on what lays in the other direction--just across the square from the lovely Basilica of Our Lady of the Rosary.

Please look at the attached photos before you read any further. Especially the first one on the right. You have to see this cross to believe it. The bent wrought iron is supposed to represent the crucified Christ--but I can't bring myself to call it a crucifix. It seems to make a mockery of a real crucifix. Although I did cut off the top portion of it in my photo; trust me, you aren't missing a thing. It is as hideous as it looks. It stands outside the Church of the Holy Trinity, which was dedicated on the morning of the 90th Anniversary celebrations.

I will keep this article blessedly short by letting my pictures of the modern structure speak for themselves. (I wanted to write modern 'monstrosity', but refrained.)

There are no kneelers, stained glass or Communion rail. More simply, there is no beauty in this church. There is one statue of Our Lady.

The church seats 9000, but the seats aren't even secured properly. Every time someone moves, the whole section of seats--the 'pew', I suppose you could call it--shifts. The workmanship is very shoddy. In fact, the church wasn't finished, but they went ahead with the dedication anyway.

We were more or less 'forced' to attend Mass there on Sunday, the 14th of October, because all Masses in the Basilica were cancelled. Linda and I were sitting in the Basilica waiting for 9 a.m. Mass to begin when they made the announcement (in Portuguese) and the people started getting up to leave. We, of course, didn't know what had been said, but we figured it out soon enough.

According to a dear friend who is much more knowledgeable about such things than me, the design of this church violates the Church's Book of Directives on architectural design. I wouldn't know about that--although I will be reading up on it in the near future.

What I do know is that it is ugly.

Here is an article which tries to give a fair and balanced assessment about the church, but even so has many errors. http://www.unitypublishing.com/Newsletter/FatimaBasilica.htm Still it was the only article I could find which provided this much factual information on the church. Everyone seems strangely silent on the whole subject of this church. Even our guide would only say that architectural tastes change over time.

I -- respectfully -- beg to disagree. They may change . . . but not that much!

Celebration of the 90th Anniversary of Our Lady's Final Appearance at Fátima -- 13 October 2007

I can still see the endless procession of priests dressed all in white; I had never seen so many priests together in one place. They were of every shape, size, height, color, age, demeanor and apparent piety. They wore every type of vestment from the most plain, to the most ornate. Most were bare-headed, a few bald; others wore protective head covering to shield their eyes, head and/or neck from the fierce sunshine that day. As they moved north in two lines toward the the Basilica of the Rosary, the sun on their right, many held books, their hands or other articles aloft in an attempt to provide some shade. Most were singing. For the life of me, I cannot remember the songs. I don't think I sang; I was too busy taking pictures and trying to see all could see. I'm not even sure if I offer this as an excuse, an apology, a confession or a simple statement. But I do know I was so supremely happy to be there, so excited in fact, I remember wondering if this is what Eternal Processions would be like...just a little...except that we wouldn't have to be bothered with photographic equipment and we could focus on the angelic choir.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Since my return, I have started -- and discarded or even saved to 'draft' -- numerous paragraphs on this day of days. My family tells me to just start writing...in the middle if necessary. It seems good advice. It isn't a question of not wanting to write about the pilgrimage so much as how to do so and wanting to get it right. I had a boss once when I explained a similar difficulty in writing our base disaster preparedness plan who answered me, "Just do it. Don't worry, I'll tell you everything you do wrong!" He did. I trust you will do me the same honor. It really is an honor, when our fellow pilgrims on this earthly journey give us gentle corrections.

Nevertheless, I do know that He qualifies the called rather than the other way around, so I beg His mercy and forbearance in this task. I also ask you my brothers and sisters in faith to be patient with me, but also honest. If I get my facts wrong, please speak up! I will consider it a great compliment if you notice and correct any errors you may detect in my writing. That way we will all learn and benefit. Our group was in Fátima for a very short time and already the memories begin to fade.

My second disclaimer has to do with a physical limitation which is becoming increasingly problematic--my eyesight. Before I left on my trip, I knew I needed new glasses and not just a little. However, I thought my eyes had changed really fast and my glasses' lenses were badly scratched; I never dreamed it could be anything else. But a trip to the eye doc the day after I got back showed I have cataracts on both eyes--a pretty severe one on the left eye too. Surgery is scheduled for the 12th of November. That said, I'm currently typing everything at 150% and still missing mistakes. Perhaps I should delay the writing of this...except then some of my other liabilities might kick in...like memory loss and procrastination! So best to press on while I still can. In any event, please bear these shortcomings in mind as you read this narrative.

The 13th of October 2007 dawned beautifully. Designer Weather is what I thought of calling it, if you'll forgive the pun: bright blue sky, sunny, light breeze, not too hot or too cold. Our guide, Gloria, told us that we were indeed blessed with the weather as it is usually cold and rainy on October the 13th in Fátima, as indeed it was on Mary's final appearance back in 1917.

Our group of pilgrims set out with our guide, just after breakfast, for the site of the procession and Mass -- a 5 minute walk from our hotel; a hotel, I might add, with rooms which did not include clocks, but did contain crucifixes.

You've probably all seen the pictures--at least I hope you have--(in videos or DVDs) of the statue of Our Lady being carried high on a bed of roses. A huge crowd of people gathered in front of a white cathedral with a single tall spire--with a broad sweep of numerous columns coming out from either side of the basilica, like welcoming arms, or so I've always thought. At night, the church is still radiant and the sight is especially beautiful with all the pilgrims' candles filling the colonnade with light.

When we arrived in the large open area (2) in front of the Basilica (3) it looked just like it does in pictures. (I have attached a map so as to be able to refer to specific places throughout my writing.) Sorry, perhaps, that sounds a bit naive, but important places and people--when you finally get to see them in real life--don't always live up to expectation; often they look differently than you thought they would, sometimes smaller or disappointingly disproportionate. All I can say is that the vast sweeping area in front of the Basilica where the crowd gathers, waits and hears Mass, looked exactly like I thought it would. I was not disappointed; I was enchanted--by the view in front of me. I shall save what I saw behind me for another time.

For reference sake, the Basilica faces south, and even though it was still early (Mass wasn't scheduled to begin until 10) the large "square" -- which was actually rectangular in shape -- was already filling up. We gathered round Gloria while she explained the basic story of Fátima. Where we were standing was the land known as the Cova de Iria, a spacious square twice as large as St. Peter's in Rome. The Basilica of the Rosary, as it is called, was begun in 1928 just after the apparitions were approved and received its title in 1954 from His Holiness, Pope Pius XII. It has fifteen altars corresponding to the fifteen decades of the Rosary in honor of Our Lady who here declared: "I am the Lady of the Rosary."

A side note. I asked our guide what title they gave to the special statue of Mary carried aloft through all the processions. I expected her to answer, 'Our Lady of Fátima', because that is how I -- as an outsider, a foreigner to Portugal -- had always thought of this particular statue of Mary. However, Gloria answered me, "We call her 'Our Lady of the Rosary' as she asked us to call her." That is not to be confused with another popular picture of Mary which many others more commonly associate with the title, 'Our Lady of the Rosary'. It is a picture of Mary with Jesus in her lap and Sts. Dominic and Catherine kneeling on either side of her. The same seems to be the case for the Basilica. Many people, travel brochures and other written documents refer to the holy church as the Basilica and/or Shrine of Our Lady of Fátima. No doubt this is for convenience' sake, but it is not, technically and spiritually speaking, correct. For the rest of this article, however, I shall simply refer to Our Lady as such, Our Lady. She goes by many titles, but she is His Mother and ours.

Since I don't want to assume anyone's knowledge or familiarity with the Fátima apparitions, here is a brief recapitulation of the history of the basic events from 1917 from the official website. A guided meditation to all the places we were able to visit -- and even a few we didn't get to -- can be found here.

After Gloria gave us a basic explanation of where we were standing, the day's events and the information we needed to proceed, we had our group photo taken. While these relatively brief events were taking place, the colonnade rapidly filled up. Whereas when we had arrived you could walk freely from one side to the other, now large blocks of people occupied areas on either side of two clearly marked lines which marked off a strip roughly wide enough for 3 or 4 cars.

I was still getting used to my under-the-clothes money carrier as this was my first real day of the trip. We had arrived in Lisbon airport yesterday and been whisked onto our bus, then to our hotel, where we had dinner, showered and dropped into bed exhausted after 2 days straight of traveling. So when I pulled the money carrier out to access something (an extra roll of film or lip balm) and I managed to spill part of the contents on the ground, I suppose it wasn't too surprising. I looked around quickly, found my room key, a credit card and a few coins. As I was about to leave, I felt a light touch on my arm. A young woman held out a fifty Euro note to me and gestured to the ground. She pointed to my waist and I understood immediately that I had also dropped the money, but because it was only paper, I hadn't heard it drop. It probably fluttered. She or her companions must have seen me drop the money when I spilled my waist purse.

It was a moment of Grace for me I can tell you. I only brought a little over 100 Euros on the entire trip. To have lost such a sum of money -- and on the first day -- would have put a serious damper on the rest of my trip. I was aghast. Here I was trying to be so careful--hiding my money under my clothes and what did I do, but throw it on the ground for trash?! I humbly and tearfully thanked her. I also said a prayer for her. Members of my group saw it and were all amazed at what happened. But when I thought about it some more, I wasn't so surprised--just deeply and profoundly grateful. God watches over fools and children and I am both. He touched me at that moment through the honesty and kindness of a stranger. It wouldn't be the last time on the trip. But the feeling that it was a grace-filled day seemed confirmed and I carried that sense with me the rest of the day.

At this point I realized I'd made a slight mistake in not getting myself some water; it was getting warm, crowded and my throat and mouth were already dry. And this wasn't the US of A with a vending machine around every corner, fast food or even water I could drink out of the faucet. I needed to find someplace that sold bottled water.

So I set off on my own in search of a place that sold water. I was swimming upstream at this point, as the crowds were all headed towards the Basilica and I was going back into Fátima village proper. I passed dozens of places that sold rosaries and other trinkets, but unlike American vendors, European stores are highly specialized. So a place that sells tourist items will not carry water. I needed to find a cafe, a grocery store or a kiosk. Unfortunately I didn't remember seeing any on the walk from out hotel. Time was running out. Could I find any water? Could I find my way back? Could I find my group again in this crowd? I felt panic begin inside me. Why had I set off on this fool's errand on my own? I found one cafe, but the lines stretched outside into the street. The outside tables were covered with uncleared dirty dishes. Not a good sign. I prayed, "Mary, I'm here! Help me find some water and make it back again to my group." Do not panic, cath. Remember where you are and who is watching over you. Think about the miraculous save you just had with your money.

On to another street. More rosary stores. Over to the street we had walked up from our hotel. Good! I wasn't lost! Aha! A kiosk! And! They had water! Success! I bought my water and nothing ever tasted so sweet! It wasn't even cold, but it was delicious.

I made it back in plenty of time. They were just beginning the rosary. The square was packed by now, yet the crowd had a gentle feel. Was it my imagination? No, I don't think it was. It was a quiet crowd, not silent by any means, but still soft and very different from any crowds I have ever experienced before or since. And it was a gentle crowd. I have had plenty of opportunities during subsequent days to experience crowds of a totally opposite manner and demeanor.

Later, the procession began. It began at the Chapel of Apparitions (1) -- at the very heart of the Sanctuary. This was the first edifice constructed in the Cova da Iria, at the place of Our Lady's Apparitions. The exact spot is marked by a marble pillar on which the Statue of Our Lady is placed. The procession proceeded south toward the other end of the 'square' and then made two left turns which brought the whole procession heading straight toward the Basilica. This also brings my story right back to where I began my article--with the parade of the priests.

Unfortunately, I was somewhat buried in the crowd and consequently do not have the best pictures--not that my camera or photographic abilities would have produced quality images even so. You will have to rely on my verbal descriptions, the poor photos I do have and your own spiritual imaginations to provide your mental pictures of the event--which may be for best anyway. There is at least one picture which I really like; the photo above shows the priests as they were arriving at the Basilica and also gives a perspective on the crowd. However, I was most blessed in getting a beautifully clear view of Our Lady as she passed by!

Since my return people have asked me about our Masses overseas. We went to Mass everyday and although almost 1/2 of our celebrations weren't in English, I did not find that to be the impediment I thought it might be. In fact, it was just the opposite. The Mass was all the more beautiful for experiencing its diversity as celebrated by different people in different countries. I loved hearing all the languages and trying to recognize the prayers. At Fátima, most of the Mass was in Portuguese with the Opening, Closing Prayers and the Gospel in multiple languages: French, Spanish, German, Polish, Russian and English at least. Those were just the languages I recognized. Some prayers, of course, were said and sung in Latin.

The distribution of Holy Communion had me puzzled and more than a little concerned. My husband, having a Logistics background, always talks about the difficulties inherent in getting an item, or a product, from Point A to Point B, so I've learned to look at big events with an eye to logistical problem-solving. It did seem well nigh impossible--despite the almost infinite number of priests--to distribute Communion to a crowd of these proportions. (Lest you think me a total heathen, I did not spend the entire Mass worrying about this problem.)

As I recall, most of my thoughts were thankful ones, simple gratitude to God for letting me be there! And I remembered to pull out my list of people who asked me to pray for them. There were also many private prayers of my own, especially of thanksgiving for all my many blessings. I kept coming back to that one cental thought, however, "I am here!" You cannot imagine how long I have wanted to come to Fátima--and to be there on this special day. It was a dream-come-true for me.

When it did come time for Holy Communion, a young priest seemed to appear out of nowhere almost right in front of us. People started to move en mass toward him. As this was my first experience of line-less Communion, I was horrified. (By the end of 2 weeks of this, I was more adept at milling forward.) How does one ever get there? And once there, how does one ever find ones way 'back'--wherever 'back' is? Since one doesn't have a pew or a seat nor can you leave anything you own to mark/designate your place on a piece of concrete, how does this work? It seemed a terribly muddled mess to me. You can probably tell by now that I like things to be organized and orderly. I spent 13 years in the military. This chaos seemed very...well...un-Catholic to me. I'm used to the way we do things at home. Everything has to be spelled out, written down, neat, orderly and precise. But of course, things don't have to be that way at all, do they? Not with God.

As it turned out, once I finally started to move forward, a man let me in and then when it came time to try to move back after receiving Our Lord, a lady held her hand out, in effect clearing a path for me. A lesson, I thought. Just get started, cath, and help will come!

After Mass was over, Linda and I went back to our room to wash our faces, eat a light lunch, put on more sunscreen (for me!) and head out for the rest of the day. I wanted to find the Confessionals to take advantage of the plenary indulgence which had been granted to pilgrims who also attended Mass and prayed the Rosary that day at Fátima. By the time we got there, the lines weren't very long. I got a very sweet Irish priest.

We walked around the Basilica, took pictures of the stations, observed the people throwing candles and other larger objects into the fire pit, which is just to the left of the capelinha (chapel) as you face it. Then we moved up the hill to visit the new church which I want write about in another reflection. We took many more pictures, saw as much as we possibly could, then raced back to do some quick shopping, have dinner and return for the evening's candlelight rosary and procession.

The evening rosary was conducted in a similiar format as was the daytime rosary with different languages being used for each 1/2 decade. Linda was prepared this time as she had purchased a chair during our shopping excursion. The hundreds, perhaps thousands, of candles lit up the entire square bright enough for pictures even with my camera. When Our Lady made her appearance the crowd cheered and everyone grabbed their camp stools and whatever and joined the more informal procession up the opposite side of the colonnade from the morning's; then again back down the center. It was an awesome sight!

Eventually Linda and I couldn't keep our eyes open and had to call it a day.

All in all, a most memorable and full day--a day I will never forget. Thanks be to God!