Visitors to the Vineyard, pt. 3

LESSON THIRTEENTH: On the Sacraments in General

Q. 574. What is a Sacrament?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks be to God!

What I Want to Be When I Grow Up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you God and please bless our family.

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

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

Best Job in the World

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

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

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

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

What’s different now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day 18 - Tending the Vineyard

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day 15 - Don’t Be Late for Dinner

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

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

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

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

‘Everything is ready’, He says.

But the question remains, are we? Am I?

Day 9 - The Long and Wending Road

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

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

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

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

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

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

R's reply:

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

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

Tootles,
R

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

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

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

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

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

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



¹ Author of The Return Of The Prodigal Son

² Her husband of three years

Day 4 - Whose Child Is This?

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

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

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

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

Jesus is also the only Son of God the Father.

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

Names are so important and so tricky.

Whose child is this?

He is mine.

I pray He is yours as well!



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

Atticus

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

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

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

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

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

Here is a passage from Atticus which says it all:

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

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

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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.

Enough Crosses

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

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

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

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

I don’t know.

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

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

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

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

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

Gold Star Religion

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


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

Does that ever happen to you?

It happens to me all the time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What is that?