Adoro te Devote

Catholics and the Press

2012-01-20T23:42:00.003-06:00

It's no secret that the Media hates us but if we are to be honest...it's partially our fault.

Recently I happened to witness an exchange between a reporter and a Catholic spokesman and was dismayed by the image given to the Reporter about an important Catholic devotion, one that is quite central to our Faith. I also saw others try to explain things to a reporter who had no qualms in asking for details and clarification, citing that this was entirely new to him and he truly wanted to understand.

I believed him.Truth and sincerity were in his expression and body language, conveying slight embarrassment. I also knew that the people speaking to him had their minds elsewhere and let's face it: it's really hard to explain our beliefs about things we take for granted because they have always been our practice and belief.

It must be terribly confusing for "an outsider", e.g. the secular press, to come into any religious organization or something associated with a religious organization, and obtain details of an event, people, or person involved in whatever story they happen to be covering.

We bloggers are often the first to condemn the Media (yup, I'm right there in that crowd!) and harp at them for interviewing this or that dissident or mis-informed individual. We're always rolling our eyes and cringing when we hear or read a reporter's summary of our beliefs and practices or how it applies to a situation, and then, if the spokesperson of a particular place is quoted, we either tend to condemn that person as a "dissident" or, more likely, the reporter with some other defamatory label usually lumped in with "The Liberal Media."

I don't think that's really fair.

Now, don't go off on me in the combox about the general fact that the Media as a whole is, in fact, actually quite liberal. Even most liberals agree with that! And they've got plenty to say about the "conservative" media, too, and I'll stand in line to condemn the "conservative" end, also without qualms.

So let's move past that and actually shine the light on ourselves as Catholics for a moment. It's necessary and we do need to take a good, hard look.

Like it or not, if something is happening involving a Catholic parish, reporters and big trucks with huge antennae are going to show up and stick microphones in people's faces. We don't have to like that fact; few people do, even those who are trying to get a story into the News in some way. It simply isn't comfortable to be a bug under glass. The only people who are comfortable with it are veteran reporters and news anchors in cozy studios.

Let's look at things from a different perspective

First let's consider the Catholic psyche.

We Catholics often grow up in our faith and we are accustomed to our liturgical worship; it is quiet, it is contained, and it is constant. We don't just have the Mass which is infinite and contains everything in heaven and earth, but we have the Liturgy of the Hours (LOH) seven times per day, or for busy people, the Magnificat magazine (which is often a bridge to the LOH). We have Eucharistic Adoration, Processions (a bit more public than our typical form of prayer!), Rosary, various prayer groups and just a general culture of prayer that is inherent in our religion.

The world does not understand this intense form of prayer because it is not available for public viewing. While it may be emotional, it is hidden and is not open to reveal to observers who expect us to react in a different way. In the world of religion, Catholicism is very introverted for our relationship with Christ is so intense that we have no need to announce to others what we are doing and when.

But the world does not understand this and if we are in crisis or if a group experiences a great event that is somehow related to the Catholic Church, the general public is confused. They confuse our regular prayer cycles and think if it appears we do nothing, we in fact, are doing nothing when the opposite is true.

They are, quite understandably, a bit stymied by the fact that Catholics pray so quietly and in a crisis, we don't "rally" like many do, but we bow our heads and bend our knees and do this privately or in the silence of the Eucharistic Adoration chapel. If we don't have such a chapel, we to to the Sanctuary and we do the same thing with Jesus hidden in the tabernacle.

Then enter the Press, in some form, mostly secular or participants in a different non-Catholic or non-Christian religion...or no religion at all.

The Press is supposed to be conditioned to be "unbiased" (Journalism 101) but the reality is they are human beings and as such, they are biased. However, let us, for the sake of the virtue of charity, assume the best of these professionals and hope they really ARE trying to be unbiased, especially when it comes to religion.

Yet, the largely-secular Press, by practice at least, comes into a Catholic parish and is suddenly confronted with all sorts of theological terms: Liturgy, Eucharistic Adoration, Transubstantiation, etc.

Now, think of who is called upon to respond to the Press at a given event: often it's the Priest, and really, dear Father has his mind on many things. Perhaps his explanation to the media is harried and clipped because while he knows he must give this interview, his heart is with his flock and all that needs to be done to serve them in this given event or crisis. The parish business administrator may be called upon to become the Spokesman and you know what? That person may not even be Catholic as his job calls for knowledge of business, not theology. He may give an explanation of a Catholic practice of which he has rudimentary knowledge and may even admire, but if he doesn't share the Faith or have direct knowledge through shared participation in a given devotion, he may get the explanation wrong.

It's also quite possible that the person giving the interview to the Press has his or her mind on the larger community, and out of lack of faith, fears our beliefs are not palatable to the general public, and further, may not have a succinct explanation of it. The reporters need word bites, not long theological treatises. So the spokesman bungle the explanation, or, more likely, hedges the explanation to make it seem like something other than what it is...maybe something more Protestant or more "generic" to the allegedly larger non-believing crowd.

Inherent Catholic Culture

As it is, what I'll call "orthodox Catholics" who tend to prefer the quiet, unobtrusive liturgical prayer that characterizes our culture are not very likely to step up to the mike and speak for us. It's just not part of our collective Catholic personality to want to be in the spotlight. Those Catholics who do, though, unfortunately tend to be overwhelmingly blustery and condemning. Or perhaps they step up out of a sense of duty or parish role and do the best they can with what they have and just pray it all goes away quickly.

Now, when it comes to the blustery types, common to what the world wants to call we "conservative Catholics", if I were a Reporter, I'd run far away, quickly, and never darken the door of that parish ever again. I'd certainly never call up such people for an interview. Who wants to be lectured-to and condemned as "liberal media"? Why even risk that?

We so often see that some of the more "socially-active" parishes have much of the media spotlight, and we know that those same parishes for some reason tend to be missing the proper theology to back up their explanations, too. But because the personality of those parishes is more extroverted, they are also more press-oriented and so the Media, as a whole, will naturally gravitate towards them. If you were a member of the Press, wouldn't you look for comment on a Catholic topic at a place where you were more likely to be well-received?

Heck, I would! And, having worked with difficult people in many places, yeah, I'd call the nice witness before I'd call the one I knew was going to be a problem to me personally in the fulfillment of my job!

Here's the thing, my dear friends...we need to do a serious examination of conscience in our relationship with the Press and we need to see where we are at fault...and what we can do to change it. And really, it has to start with we bloggers because, at least online, we are the face of the Church. And we're scaring the secular Media away. That's not going to help our cause.

Here are my suggestions for good Catholic PR:

* If you are called upon to be a spokesperson for you parish or our Catholic-related event and need to use terms like "Eucharistic Adoration" or "Liturgy of the Hours" or "Vespers", for example, you need to have a concise definition fresh at hand, use the actual terms for our practices, and understand that our terms may be new to the reporter who visits us.

* Don't shy away from theological terms - such terms invite questions and questions invite answers which tend to develop friendly relationships. (Keep an eye on evangelization y'all. Maybe not that reporter, but if he or she gets it right because you took the time, it can go a LONG way!)

* Be open to the reporter's requests for definition - have it handy! Write it down on a card you can hand out, even! (Hey! Media-ready flash cards! I get dibs on the copyright and patent on that idea!)

* Don't try to evangelize the reporter. *cough* They're used to that and expecting it because of the fact they're visiting a church. If you don't do it, it will throw them off and you're more likely to help them get your comments right because they'll relax and stop worrying about how to politely turn down your invitation to their Bible study! ;-)

* Be patient with the reporter. They're just trying to get a job done, they were sent to you by someone over their head and may not even want to be there. Give them the benefit of the doubt, be gracious, and know that this is part of your job, too, even if you're "just a volunteer". Or "just a random guy".

* Stop painting the Media as a whole with a broad brush condemning all. "The Media" is made up of human beings and they have editors who make certain demands. It isn't the reporters who are "in your face" who have the final word on a story: it's their editors. And probably other people, too, like investors. I don't know. I'm not a journalist. Thank God! (No offense to Journalists!)

UNCONCLUDED CONCLUSION

I guess, ultimately, what I'm trying to say is that if we want to change the state of the Media in the United States, we need to learn to be more friendly TO the Media and stop expecting them to acquiesce to us. We complain they seem to have this or that dissident theologian who has long been discredited, but really, if we don't throw out a welcome mat, they're not going to come pounding down our doors and asking us to comment or explain this or that detail.

We don't have to compromise our Faith; we just need to do better at explaining our beliefs.

What I witnessed recently renewed my hope in the Press, and I think there are many who would really appreciate a good definition of terms, would be happy to have a knowledgeable Catholic on hand for questions and research, and truly, want to do a good, ethical job of getting the story right.

Maybe, for once, we should give them a chance and recognize that we are our own worst enemy and only we have the power to turn the tide in that regard.

Fallen Heroes

2012-01-01T09:29:00.000-06:00

Over the last few months, when my brother and I have gotten together we've been renting the "Twilight" movies and syncing them with RiffTraxx, which is a humorous voice-over commentary ripping on a given movie. Having heard the "Twilight" riffs were hilarious, we decided it was the ONLY way to watch the series of movies, and of course, we split our sides doing so.

Understand that the viewer controls the volume of the actual movie, and it's important to be able to hear the lines as often the commentary references them. So it was that yes, I watched the Twilight movies (well, through "Eclipse" and observed a few patterns that sadden me.

Initially, I wondered what the draw was on this particular series. While I don't mind the fictional premise, the way it plays out is surprisingly overly-emo and totally...depressing. Yes, really. We got to the end of the second movie and thought it both went on for WAY too long and quite honestly, if I'd been watching it without RiffTraxx I might well have hung myself by the end. (Yes, this is hyperbole!)

Having watched three of them now, though, I considered the patterns. What is the draw of these angst-filled, dark, depressing, overly-emo movies?

The answer came to me at Adoration yesterday and perhaps more fully this morning at Mass, on the Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God. It seems odd, doesn't it, to have such a weird Epiphany on such a Holy day in such a Holy season, doesn't it? At the same time, that is how Christ comes to us; in the darkness, in our struggles, as we ponder the profoundly wounded part of our human nature; the nature Jesus took on to restore and glorify.

Bella, the protagonist of the Twilight series, is a teenage girl who happens to be "in love with" an animated corpse and his corpse family (Yeah, they're vampires, but they are non-living ergo, they are corpses and not human any longer), and this corpse is "in love" with her, while at the same time, so is a Werewolf. And "poor Bella" is for some inexplicable reason at the center of everything and constantly being rescued by the Vampire and Werewolf families who are always having to protect her...even dying to do so. And they won't let her participate much in her own salvation. She's supposed to just go along for the ride, and while she's unconscious or bleeding again or sleeping because she nearly died of hypothermia out of pure stupidity (as portrayed by the movie), we are subject to long monologues and dialogues and much pontificating over who loves her the most and who is best for her...etc etc etc. It goes on and on and gets to be quite tiresome.

Now..I get it. There's a wounded heroine in Bella that calls to the wounded depths in many of us, which makes sense; we as humanity are wounded. Bella is young, vulnerable, and for some reason, an object of desire. She yearns for eternal love, and this is true of all of us. We were all created to love and to be loved by God for eternity.

Yet as usual, "love" is misunderstood. Too often "love" is shown to be so one-dimensional, something for self-fulfillment, perhaps something that calls for a little sacrifice...but only a little. Nothing too painful but then again, that's ok when there's a weird hero there to save the day.

And what weird heroes start to appear in fiction and even real life when "love" is so badly warped as it is in our society. A vampire as one's true love and hero? A Werewolf to carry and comfort one? How does that work?

Objective Salvation - the Truest Hero

This morning at Mass I pondered the Crucifix and the humility of Christ, who entered the world in the same way He left it: through a cave. He came humbly, born into the filth of animal dung and laid in a container marked with the saliva of camels, sheep, and oxen. He came quietly for no one wanted Him then, He came to die even for those who did not believe and did not care or know that He ever existed, and He left the world as a criminal, accursed.

And yet, Jesus entered human history "in the fullness of time", entered into our suffering in all ways except sin, for it was our sins He came to redeem. It was our suffering He dignified and called us to unite with His own, which He suffered entirely on our behalf. Jesus comes to us silently and does not "rescue" us in Hollywood Drama, but lifts us up to the supernatural level that does not render us dead or mutated, but rather, makes us fully human and fully alive - for eternity.

The world desires heroes with great film presence and lofty lists of triumphs against dubious enemies. The world desires heroes that transform us but - into something non-human. The world demeans humanity while it pretends to elevate it. The world wants a hero that will save the "victims" and not require the victim to lift a finger to save herself. And the victim only wants to be saved from a life of mediocrity and elevated to the mere trophy of a hero who really isn't that heroic. And in the case of Twilight, the hero is, respectively, a blood-sucking corpse living eternal death, and an apparently-stinky guy who turns into a large canine at will. The heroes in such fiction are fallen and yes, perhaps there is a draw there, as well, for we have been conditioned to believe man cannot be perfected and cannot be saved.

In so many ways, every day I look around me, observing our culture through our entertainment, world events, daily interactions, and I fear that we, as a culture, throughout the world, have lost hope. It's not just in popular fiction, but in what our culture clearly values. Our "heroes" are actors with addictions and political agendas, and athletes making obnoxious amounts of money while running dog-fighting rings on the side and maybe running over cops just because they can afford the lawyers to get them off the hook for stuff for which a normal citizen would be penalized to the extent of the law and maybe beyond.

Our cultural heroes are all fallen images of the darkest side of human nature. They have no objective morality, nothing that is consistent, nothing that can be measured and nothing anyone would really want to follow...yet they do. The moral relativism of our society reveals a lack of hope.

This morning I gazed upon the crucifix and pondered how it rose out of the wood of the manger, for as the Church Fathers observed and theologians continue to observe, the wood of the manger and wood of the cross are one and the same. They cannot be separated, and our hero has not fallen...He is risen! And when He rose, He descended to the depths of Hell and ascended to open the gates of Heaven, having restored the dignity of human nature, having, freely paid the ransom for we who choose to be victims of sin.

We do not merit so great a Redeemer!

Jesus does not strut or preen before us, seeking our popular adulation. He simply IS, and He comes to us, truly, substantially, His very Presence, through the Sacraments. He reaches all of our senses and waits for our response. He is a gentleman who, although created us without our permission, will not save us without our cooperation.

In the eyes of Christ, we are no longer victims, but Children of the Father, brothers and sisters, and subject to His Mother who intercedes on our behalf so that we may cooperate with God's grace more completely. That is not to say Jesus did not accomplish all, but rather, that He is more greatly glorified when we reach out to Him and CHOOSE the path of righteousness and holiness. He is glorified more perfectly when we CHOOSE to turn from sin and fight our temptations, growing, deliberately, in virtue. God is glorified when we embrace the virtues He gives us instead of giving into the temptations that seek to destroy us.

God's Grace is freely given, but it's not cheap; it requires our own participation, our own sacrifices, because becoming fully human wasn't one moment in history; it is constant, for all of us. We are pilgrims on this earth, also born into filth and we will never be fully free and fully redeemed until we move from this world and into eternal glory, should we choose to love God with all our hearts, all our souls, and all our strength.

A real hero doesn't leave a wake of victims but elevates and transforms them, making them ever more human and ever more divine, as God always intended.

Thank you, Jesus.

** *** **

[AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is not intended to be a review of Twilight or exploration of all themes within the books or movie. The use of Twilight characters is incidental and used to illustrate a far more important point.]

Divine Pedagogy

2011-12-18T18:16:00.000-06:00

Well, the end of my Advent is shaping up to be...not at all what I planned or expected.

Remember the puppy from last week? Well, on Monday he went to a new foster home with children, more space - everything he could need! I've seen pictures and can say confidently that it was the right decision and even though I loved the little rug rat, he needed far more than I could offer, and my own dog needed far less than that pup was offering her!

After that experience, of course, my week was pretty calm and I finally got most of my Christmas cards out.

Then yesterday (Saturday), I received an email - could I emergency-foster a 1.7 month old Rottweiler who needed to be moved from his current foster home ASAP? I looked up his info on the rescue's web page, called the rep back and obtained a little more info on him. It seemed appropriate to take the risk.I said Yes.

We introduced my dog and the newcomer on neutral ground and walked them back to my house where they actually began to play. The young Rottweiler, however, was not quite really understanding play-time. He first didn't seem to understand my dog's play-bow in his direction, then started "copying" her moves - it was quite hilarious! My favorite, though, took place much later in the evening after he'd had his dinner. While my dog finished checking his bowl for crumbs, he began inviting her to play. He pounced and pounced and wheeled around and play-bowed - to my dog's butt! She was totally oblivious to the desperate drama taking place behind her.

Unfortunately, though, although all of this was hilarious, it again quickly got very old for my dog and she began seeking solace from me just to get away from the young dog's playful advances. I also ran into a great deal of frustration as the dog is still "intact" (ahem!) and as such, has a hobby of "marking". It doesn't matter how often I have taken him in and out throughout the evening and day. The moment we come back in he's alternating between trying to chew on me (OW!) and lifting his leg on something. I have to watch him very closely and the moment he even SEEMS to be sniffing I yell a warning to him so that he will desist.

The best, though, was this morning. We must have walked for about 45 minutes or an hour and he absolutely REFUSED to "poo". We got inside, I took his leash off thinking perhaps he'd go next time I took him out. As long as it took to turn my back, he had peed and pooped all over the floor!

I cleaned it up, took him out and threw the "refuse" in an area of the yard so that he would associate that with the business that belongs OUTSIDE.

Somewhere in the middle of scrubbing the carpet...and the chair...and the carpet there....again...I realized it would behoove me to buy stock in "Nature's Miracle." As it was, I had to go back to the pet store today to get MORE of it!

Now, it is a consolation that this dog won't be with me for long. I know someone is already interested and I advised his rep that I can't take him with me for Christmas. He's far too rambunctious and out-of-control and I'm terrified he'll both pee all over my brother's house and potentially knock my mother down. Not a good risk.

Mind you, this dog is not mean or aggressive. He's just a very large puppy who doesn't understand manners. He's also cooped up right now in a small house with no way to run freely to get his energy (and other stuff - ahem) out.

So it was this morning that I mused and prayed and mused again on my way to Mass. I swore to myself I would NEVER take another puppy again because both my dog and my house are just not good for puppies. As it is, I'll have to kennel the creature so I can wrap Christmas gifts, and I can't actually get anything done unless it's something that can be completed in 5 minutes with a constant shift of attention to see where the dog is and what he might be sniffing. Or chewing, for that matter. (He really likes my cedar chest.)

I'm having to develop ADHD as a coping mechanism!

Then it struck me: NOW I know what's going on!

At the beginning of Advent I once again offered a little prayer and asked God to help me become more patient, more caring, to grow in virtue in these areas. I shuddered as I offered the prayer because those virtues, much like asking for humility, tend to be answered with a Divine bat upside the head!

This afternoon while I wrote a "bio" for the foster dog to help him be adopted, I still felt frustrated and found I had to dig to really look for this dog's great points. I know he's a good dog and deserves a good home. I know he's more rambunctious with me because he's free to move around, has another dog to play with (when she does play), has a person to walk him and pet him and give him awesome food. He's responsive, he is protective, he is playful and won't let me out of his sight. That means he bonds quickly. He is exactly what a healthy dog of his age should be, minus a bit of training for he has clearly been neglected in that area.

In other words, what does he need from me? Patience and understanding!

OK, God, I get it. Thank you for answering my prayer. *sigh*

My dear friends, do take care what you ask from God, because if you mean it (and He always knows if you do or not, even if it's only a little), He WILL answer. And seriously, I mean it, BE CAREFUL!

I'm just sayin'....if you ask for patience, humility, or a chance to sacrifice....God might answer your prayer just like He answered mine: by sending you a 65 lb unschooled young Rottweiler!

How to Foster a Puppy

2011-12-11T09:51:00.002-06:00

Well, it wasn't part of my Advent plan, but a last-minute thing came up, and as it turns out, I'm fostering a puppy.

Yup. A puppy.

Yesterday afternoon when I was asked to do this, and told it was a "six-month old shepherd mix" I pictured the first dog I adopted as an adult: a 60 lb nearly-grown puppy. Well, much to my surprise, last night when the bundle of joy was introduced to me I found about a 25 lb small puppy who could properly be named "Jaws."

So! For all you dog lovers out there, I thought I'd provide a helpful "how-to" in case you, too, are interested in fostering a puppy!

Without further ado....

HOW TO FOSTER A PUPPY

1. Pick up the puppy, get dog food, make sure you have a crate of some type, some squeaky toys, and treats.

2. Drive home. Pull over on the way and remove the seat belt from the puppy's mouth. Carefully re-enter traffic and continue driving home. When you arrive, be sure to introduce your dog to the puppy on as "neutral ground" as you can manage.

3. If safe to do so, leave the puppy in the car while you run to get your dog, let her go potty, and then go to the car to get the puppy.

4. Open the car door while holding your dog's leash firmly. Scramble to half-catch the puppy as he tries to explode from the car, barely manage to grab the leash while gritting your teeth against the pain of rope-burn.

5. Untangle the leashes.

6. Watch the dogs as they are introduced - does the resident dog seem too intense? Hackles up? Baring teeth? Or just sniffing cautiously.

7. Remove the puppy from the astonished resident dog's head.

8. Untangle the leashes again.

9. Go for a walk. Make sure the male puppy doesn't pee on the resident dog. Ensure the puppy doesn't consume resident dog's poo. (Sorry, necessary warning!) Try not to step in said poo while untangling leashes again, and try not to fall in said poo when leashes are tangled around one's legs.

10. Return home. As resident dog is "in charge", make sure to support the alpha by removing her leash first no matter how annoying the puppy is in inhibiting you from doing this. Once resident dog is free and no longer entangled in either leash, drop the puppy's leash and let it drag for awhile just in case you need to snatch him back outside or away from something. Give him freedom to sniff around to get to know his new surroundings. Just watch him like a hawk.

11. Take the shoe away from the puppy. Hand him his squeaky toy.

12. Introduce the puppy (gently!) to the kennel. Go outside to bring the car in and get the rest of the puppy's toys from the car.

13. Let the puppy out of the kennel. Let the dogs "romp" a bit if it seems to be going well.

14. Take the piece of paper away from the puppy and replace it with a chew toy.

15. Remove the puppy from the couch.

16. Go into the kitchen to get the dog food ready.

17. Return to the livingroom at the sound of a very loud YIPE! followed by the resident dog slinking into the kitchen with her ears back. Ask who bit whom?

18. Take the blanket throw from the couch away from the puppy. Replace it with one of his chew toys. Watch him squeak away happily at it. Praise him enthusiastically.

19. Go back into the kitchen. Kick the dogs out of the kitchen. Realize the resident dog is trying desperately to get away from the puppy. Allow the resident dog into the kitchen and put the baby gate up. Watch the puppy sitting outside the gate wagging his tail hopefully and looking up at you with big puppy eyes.

20. Feed the dogs their dinner, return to the livingroom with a movie to watch. Sit on the couch with the resident dog who is still trying to get away from the puppy. Watch the puppy invite the resident dog to play. Watch the resident dog bare her teeth in warning because she does not want to play. Watch the puppy persist. When ignored, watch the puppy first bite the resident dog's tail and then her paws. Watch that not be a very popular course of action from the perspective of the resident dog.

21. Remove the puppy from the resident dog's presence and place yourself in between them so as to run interference.

22. Rewind the movie several times as you have not been able to actually watch this scene yet.

23. Realize sitting on the couch is not helpful so sit on the floor on the dog bed against the couch with a squeaky toy and try to contain the puppy. Rewind the movie again.

24. Watch the puppy as he roams and seems to be "sniffing" for a spot. Take the puppy out. Remove the leash from his mouth. Realize he doesn't want to go "out". Return inside.

25. Rewind the movie again. Sit back down with a toy and the puppy. Try to give the resident dog a lot of praise and attention too.

26. Watch the puppy sniff around on a rug and squat. Yell "NO!" and grab the puppy's leash. Throw a paper towel over the soiled spot and take the puppy out, praise him when he finishes going potty outside. Bring him back in. Remove the leash from his mouth. Try not to play tug-of-war in doing so.

27. Go get "Nature's Miracle", soak up as much of the mess out of the berber carpet as you can, spray the spot with the cleaner, soak it up, repeat. Take a shoe away from the puppy. Return to cleaning the rug. Put the cleaning implements away. Take the soiled paper towel away from the puppy and deposit it in the garbage. (The paper towels, not the puppy!)

28. Return to the movie. Rewind it again. Play "fetch" several times with the puppy.

29. Accidentally get into a "tug-of-war" game with the puppy. Make sure you win!

30. YIPE loudly when puppy accidentally bites you while you are winning the tug-of-war game you didn't intend to play.

31. Sit down at the computer to write about "how to foster a puppy".

32. Find it endearing that he is sitting on your feet while chewing on a proper toy. Hear a crunch and remove the teddy bear's eye from the puppy's mouth. Return to typing.

33. Realize the puppy is investigating computer wires. Push the puppy away and block the area with another object. Give the puppy a toy. Return to typing.

34. Hear another crunch. Remove the other teddy-bear's eye from the puppy's mouth.

35. Pet the puppy because he is really really cute! Remove your shirt sleeve from the puppy's mouth. Tell the puppy to get a toy. Remove your pant leg hem from the puppy's mouth. Tell him again to get a toy.

36. Realize you ARE what the puppy considers to be a "toy". Stand up and get a proper chew toy. As the puppy comes at you with a a wide open mouth ready to bite you again, stuff the toy in his mouth and watch him squeak away happily. Go sit down and rewind the movie.

37. Realize it is late. Take the puppy and resident dog outside to go potty, put the puppy in his kennel and go to bed.

38. Get up in the morning, immediately get on the cold-weather gear and get the resident dog's leash on. Approach the kennel, leash in hand. Catch the puppy as he explodes out. Entirely miss him. Chase him off the couch. Take the couch pillow away. Try to catch him to put the leash on. Intervene when puppy pounces on resident dog who does NOT like being pounced upon. Try to catch the puppy. Take the couch pillow away again. Put it out of reach. Finally get the leash on. Untangle the leashes. Open the inner door. Untangle the leashes again. Praise resident dog for being so patient and quiet. Go outside with the dogs. Try not to slip on the ice when being pulled in several directions at once. Untangle the leashes again...

40. Welcome to life with a puppy! (Don't worry, they grow out of it.....!) ;-)

{ADDENDUM}

41. Notice how resident dog is getting snippier and snippier alternated with trying desperately to get away from puppy in active mode. Realize how this is not a good thing for either dog.

42. Contact dog's adoption representative to update and request he be moved to a more appropriate home.

43. Pray and wait for some hapless foster to take said adoption rep up on the offer to bring home the cutest puppy EVER!

44. Continuing working on maintaining peace in current home while scrambling to keep the puppy busy....

Communion

2011-11-01T22:43:00.000-05:00

We live in crazy times. Everywhere, faithful Catholics lament the long Communion lines and short Confession lines - this is true everywhere. We are either a Church filled with Saints or a Church filled with sinners pretending to be Saints. I am one of the latter on the best of days.

Every day, every Sunday, every Holy Day - whenever we as Catholics attend Mass and have an opportunity to receive Holy Communion, we should be aware of our spiritual condition and act accordingly. Yet some people wonder if they can or should attend Mass at all if they are aware of mortal sin. They have been quite literally taught that receiving Holy Communion is the highest form of "participation" and therefore they MUST do this.

Perhaps that wasn't what was truly being taught, but that is what they heard and the impression they continue to hold. Why attend Mass if one cannot go forward for Holy Communion? Few people remain in the pew in an average Catholic Church (I hear the Latino parishes tell a different story - most DON'T receive).

Our society in general is one of entitlement; if I attend this I must receive that.

It is OWED to me. I have a RIGHT to it. Very quickly that owing and "right" become a "requirement" or the entire event is meaningless. We are a society of "I must receive something or it's not worth my time."

The problem is this: Grace is conferred in ways that are hidden. One can receive Holy Communion in a state of grace but not benefit at all if one is not really open to the Grace available. Grace is received according to the disposition of the recipient. Not my rules; those are God's own observations and the reality of the spiritual life. If we aren't open, we may receive Our Lord, but He will dissipate with no effect if we refuse to receive what He has to offer.

If we receive Holy Communion in a state of mortal sin, we kill ourselves, spiritually. We become dead to the effects of Grace because we have committed the sin of Sacrilege.

Today I attended Mass, the Feast of All Saints, and admit it was a temptation to not attend even though it is a Holy Day of Obligation. I "felt" unworthy. I "wondered" deep within if I should enter the presence of the Almighty if I could not receive Him. Scandalized by my own interior wanderings, the thought barely crossed my mind and I banished it back to Hell from whence it had come. I was not able to make it to Confession and knew I should not receive Our Lord. I also knew that it was even MORE important that I attend Mass, where I could make a Spiritual Communion while remaining in my pew, praying heartily for my own conversion to a life of holiness, to overcome my sin by leaning even more heavily upon God.

There have been several occasions in which I have had had to abstain from Holy Communion, whether because of mortal sin or simply my disposition at that moment. Always, I meditate on what it is like to be out of communion with the Church, to be separated from God. It is just as important to recognize what we may suffer eternally as it is to reflect upon and hope for eternal beatitude - both contain deep spiritual messages we need to ponder intensely.

Always, though, it seems that God reaches out to me, no matter what my state. It seems that whenever I abstain from Holy Communion, there is a friend in the pew in front or behind me, or even in my same pew. At some point, God shines through them, reminding me that although perhaps my sin has cut me off from Holy Communion, I am not abandoned. A friend passes by and where they would normally do so without a word or signal, on those days I abstain, even if they don't know that I am doing so, they reach out to squeeze my hand.

This evening was no exception. Tonight, I learned during the Sign of Peace that a few friends were seated behind me and one actually asked me quickly, "How have you been?" as we exchanged the Sign. Another couple friends, as they skirted past me to go forward, tapped me on the shoulder; a sign of encouragement.

Tonight, instead of a sense of dejection, of separation, I made my Spiritual Communion with a sense of profound joy. I have been claimed by Christ, and even though I separated myself through sin, I have truly repented of that sin and attended Mass to worship God with my Catholic family. As a Catholic, I am not exiled because I am weak. I am simply aware of my own impurity at the Wedding Feast of Our Lord.

As I've pondered before and did so again tonight, simply remaining in the pew during Holy Communion is a sign, too - of Faith. Of Hope. Of Love.

It sends a signal to others that I truly BELIEVE that this is the Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of Christ. Even we who cannot receive due to sin, disposition, irregular canonical issues, or even being non-Catholic, reveal Truth. Today, with my body and soul I still gave Glory to God by refusing to partake, for I know that He is Truly Present and my reception would have profaned what is Most Holy.

There are times where I have stepped over others while going forward to receive and I always stop myself from wondering; are they not Catholic? Have they not been to Confession? Are they angry with me for tripping over their children while I tried to get to "my" pew?

The answers to the questions I suppress in my mind are not important. The strongest message I receive from those in the pew during Communion is this: they remain there because Jesus Christ is Truly and Substantially Present in the Holy Eucharist. Their place reveals more than the lines going forward. I see more reverence in those who abstain than in those who receive.

I do not mean to say that my own abstinence today is something to be glorified; it's not. I am a sinner and I COULD NOT receive, and for that, I am ashamed. I am sorry, Jesus, for my sin. I am sorry that I lacked the proper disposition to receive You.

That said, it is only that a lesson came home to me today; about the volumes spoken in silence and mystery, about the witness of Faith given by the weakest members of the Church on any given day, who testify not by going forward, but by taking the last place.

It is they who give me the courage and instill in me the virtue to honor Christ more perfectly, especially when I have sinned.

May the entire Communion of Saints pray for us all so that we may always honor Christ and grow to be more like Him every day of our lives.

Foreclosure Fiasco

2011-10-26T22:45:00.000-05:00

It ain't over 'till the fat lady sings and I ain't singin' yet.

Truly, I don't even know where to start and I have no intention of recapping (here, anyway), every conversation I've had in the last couple weeks with my mortgage company. Suffice to say I am outraged. Never in my life have I ever dealt with such unethical business practices. If I had, I would have switched companies immediately. But herein lies much of the problem; we consumers do not have that ability when it comes to mortgages.

Oh, sure I could refinance under a different lender. Right. With $85,000 in negative equity in a house now worth even less than the negative equity? Right. Sure. That'll happen.

Let me hit a few high points for you:

1. First the mortgage company wouldn't work with me because I called them BEFORE I had missed a payment. I called IN ADVANCE knowing that I was hitting financial trouble and asked for a solution in good faith.

2. They gave me only one option: a 3 month forbearance. I wanted to make payments or partial payments. They told me no, then when I pressed the issue, I got a reluctant "OK but you have to call this number and do it over the phone." Me: "But won't there be an additional fee for that?" "No, not while you're in a forbearance." OK, fine, I made some partial payments, again, in good faith, and EVERY TIME I CALLED I had to reassert why I was making a payment, what I had been told and that there shouldn't be a fee. It was a battle EVERY TIME.

3. At no point was I ever informed that my payments, which were being withdrawn from my bank account, were not being applied to my mortgage.

4. At the end of my forbearance period I received a letter stating that my monthly payment had not changed and then asserted I was nearly $3k in arrears. I was not told not to make my October payment with the payment coupon they sent to my house with the admonition to "remit $920 to this address." I did what a reasonable person would do and made my regular payment. No, wait..I actually made a bit more than my regular monthly payment. Again in good faith.

5. I spoke with the company to advise of the payment being sent and they told me they would apply it to what was in arrears and any future payments would be taken in order. That's when I got the foreclosure notice. And the letter said I had until November 5, but on the phone, they told me November 4.

6. My family member sent me a check to help and I called the bank to make that payment. I had to go through the entire re-hashment of the entire mess. I called informing them immediately that I would like to make a payment to bring my account current and gave them the amount. They tried to tell me I only paid $750. Um...WHAT?!

7. Then they informed me about the "holding account" and asked why I hadn't made my October payment. WHAT!?

8. Then they informed me that they'd received my payment and sent it back and that I would be responsible for October late fees even though the payment had been received on time. WHAT!? They said it was my fault. WHAT!?

9. Then they forced me to pay $17.00 in fees to pay the amount to make my account current. I could not make my October payment at the same time because the money had already been taken from my account. (yes, really)

10. Today I called to make my October payment and rehashed the same dang thing AGAIN. Several times, in fact. Because my account is current but October's is merely "late", I tried to pay online, then through the "SpeedPay" option which has a fee but a lesser fee. No. I had to call the collections department and my only option was to pay them via phone with another $17.00 fee.

11. And that's when I was informed of the "Appraisal Charge". Um...what appraisal might this be? I was informed that was done in August without my knowledge but I was responsible for the cost. No, I said, that is part of the company's overhead, cost of doing business. Why is this being passed on to the customer? No choice..I have to pay it anyway or my account would not be brought to bear. Oh, and what does this appraisal consist in? She tried not to answer my question but I forced the issue in no uncertain terms. They talk to neighbors and look at my house to see if I'm living there. How can they tell if they don't talk to me? What neighbors did they talk to. Really? How do they know anything by doing an "appraisal" like that?

12. So I pay the extortioner just so I can stay in my home and finally get them to concede to not charge me the "late fee" for October.

13. We finish the call with me paid up fully on my home, and in fact, beyond fully to date since they've now deprived me of a few utility bill payments I'll have to delay to December now. So much for Christmas gifts, family. And then she says to me, "Why were you behind on your October payment?"

14. That was it. I went off, and right through the roof and I let that woman hear ever bit of my very directed rage (without profanity, mind you. I'm quite proud of myself for that particular restraint.) I informed her that I had, in fact, as I told her, made my payment which they SENT BACK. I informed her that her company needs to communicate better, that they need to provide better payment options and in fact, if they are limiting options, need to inform the customer of the same. I informed her that had I not been sent that coupon that a reasonable person would believe indicated regular payments should resume on paper, I would not have made a payment that would be rejected. I informed her that it is THEIR FAULT ENTIRELY that I was behind on my October payment and in general, their entire process is incomprehensible and clearly deceptive.

And then she told me the company would take "my feedback" into account.

15. I hung up and immediately began making inquiries as to which department in the State of MN I needed to contact in order to lodge a formal complaint against this mortgage company for deceptive, manipulative, and predatory business practices. A friend put a call into someone he knows at the Attorney General's Office to see if it's there, or if there is another department to contact. Or even multiple.

Here's the thing, y'all. I've worked in the business world. Many people hate auto insurance, and yeah, I get it and I've had bad experiences there, too, both as a customer and as a rep. But one thing I knew on the job: I was there to serve the customer and often had to bend over backward to help them out of some jam, even if the jam was their fault. Our different departments communicated easily and if I couldn't see some information, I could obtain it with a quick phone call and help the customer that way. Or if need be, directly transfer the customer to the person who could help them.

The mortgage company? No. Not interested in helping. In fact, clearly drooling over the idea of flipping my home in a neighborhood that already stands quite empty. Folks, if I move out, NO ONE is moving into this place. It'll remain just as empty as the others surrounding me. They did everything they could to make it impossible to pay my loan, and in the end, I actually had to pay them in order get them to accept my payment to them!

This is not ethical! And it wouldn't be happening if consumers had more rights and could hold these companies accountable as we do other businesses. Don't like your auto insurance - switch companies. Don't like your bank where your checking account is held, cancel the account and open one in a different bank.

Don't like your mortgage company - oh, well, sucks to be you. Even if you can refinance under a different company, there is NOTHING to prevent them from selling your loan right back into the black hole you left. As a consumer, you have NO rights which is why these companies don't help their customers: they get paid the same whether the customer stays in their home or lands on the street. There is no competition and every single customer is over a barrel. How is this NOT racketeering?

Now, I won't be quitting my job and becoming a hippie in order to hang out downtown any time soon. I'll continue going to work and trying to pay my bills, as I always have. I'm glad to have a roof over my head. But I will stand up and be counted to any department that will hear and register this complaint, and I will sign my name to it and hope to God every other person out there having to deal with this crap does the same thing.

For now, I have a home. Thank God for my family scraping the bottom of their own barrels to help me; one of them actually skipped a few bills this month on my account. I didn't know that until the check was cashed and signed over. I didn't know.

This is ridiculous. I just have no more words.

/rant

PS: God bless my family!

We Are All Called to Death

2011-10-25T23:06:00.000-05:00

Recently I learned that the father of a dear friend had finally passed from this world into eternity after a long battle with cancer.

It wasn't unexpected and when I was asked if I could take time off work to attend the Wake, I asked for the date and time of the funeral, immediately pledging I'd attend both. I did this without reserve, even though mentally I was already rearranging my work schedule. What would I have to give up? What would I have to change? I had a catalog in my head with regard to my personal life: what would I have to give up? What arrangements had to be made before I could go?

Let me be honest:

I didn't want to go at all. I didn't want to make those arrangements, I didn't want to take vacation days from work especially for something I didn't want to do, and really...I just didn't want to go.

My friends, I don't enjoy funerals. They are awful, they are terrible, they are sad, and I say this because every funeral I attend reminds me of the night I saw my Dad for the last time...in the casket. I remember the weirdness of the Protestant-with-secret-Masonic-ritual-afterburner rites, the cheapness of it as he had no money nor did we, so couldn't even afford a funeral in a Lutheran chapel. With every funeral I attend, I remember the grief, of the discomfort of the folding chairs, my mother staring at me constantly with her cat's eyes ready-to-pounce expression as I cried very natural grief. Then we were called forward from some odd reason to come to the casket for one last time to stand there and publicly grieve and then turn and FACE the audience while the Pastor or random person presiding over this show (whoever he was...I still have no idea) said some words and then we were finally allowed to go back to our seats so that we could stop being a public freak show of sad people.

But that was my weird experience. Had my Dad been Catholic, it probably wouldn't have been so bad. Part of what I experienced in his death was the absolute trauma of the alien-ness of the service, devoid of anything I'd ever understood a funeral to be, and the fact that after the funeral he was cremated but not buried until spring. I believe his remains were brought to a mausoleum but I have no idea if he was just tossed unceremoniously into the ground come spring or if someone was there to prayerfully lay him to rest. I have no idea.

Every funeral since then has reminded me of that; we tend to be marked by the funerals of those we love the most.

So you see, even though I have a Theology degree and understand the theology of redemptive suffering, and I believe in the Resurrection and look forward to it myself, that doesn't make funerals any easier.

It took me aback, therefore, when my brother and I were asked by the grieving family to bring up the Gifts of bread and wine. I wanted to refuse, but remembered as a child when our family was asked to do this at a Sunday Mass. Mom was very excited and said to us with shining eyes, "This is a great honor!"

I didn't understand that, but we did what we were told (or invited, rather), and returned to our pew. I've never forgotten those words, though, or the action, even though the import was totally beyond me at the time:: to bring up the gifts at Mass is a GREAT HONOR.

So it was that when my brother had asked me if we could/should do so at today's funeral Mass, I said "Yes."

No hesitation. Not outwardly.

Interiorly, I didn't want to go to the funeral.

My dear friend had confessed that she wasn't at all sure what condition she or her brothers would be in during the funeral, and the moment I heard that, I knew she was asking for very real help. I couldn't forget standing before people at my Dad's funeral....I knew that I could do this for her, and in her and her brother's names. And, in the theology of the Liturgy, I knew I could bring the gifts forward in the name of all, the symbol of the offering of all. I could to at least that out of love for my friend and her family, and her dear, dear father.

Still, something struck me during the Mass, and I pray I never forget it.

In the last few days, New Advent has run many articles about funerals and death and dying. I've clicked on every one. Even though I did not know the deceased very well (for my friend is the fiance' of my brother, so my brother is their considered family member, not me), the words in every article seemed to speak to our situation.

I was convicted when I read one article citing funerals as an "inconvenience" and in the end, the author was blown away by all the people "inconvenienced" to come...and how much that meant to her when she saw those mourners paying respects to her own loved one.

Today, during the funeral Mass, I pondered both my experience as well as those I've attended as a mourner, as a friend, and I realized that indeed, one of the reasons I dislike funerals is because of their utter inconvenience.

They always happen mid-week, at odd hours, and one must take either a half or full day from work, if not more. One must often travel out of town, and make arrangements that go beyond those required for daily tasks.

I didn't want to go to the funeral today, or the wake last night, but I went, and it hadn't been in my mind to refuse; I went because I love my friend and her family, even though I hadn't seen her father for years. That didn't matter: I went because she is my friend and I know what it's like to lose my father. She's a new member of a horrible club and needed the support of fellow club members.

During the Mass, I pondered this reality. I was ashamed, to the depths of my soul, for not wanting to be there. I was ashamed, for I knew how important it was, for it means a great deal to a grieving family that others love their loved ones...and them. One of the best ways to show love it just to BE there. Presence says far more than words will ever express. Presence is eternal. Ink on paper, words on the wind...those are easily lost.

It was Divine Providence that my brother and I had been asked to bring the gifts, for I could not help but ponder the significance of this liturgical action. Usually during the Offertory, I bow my head and pray, trying to offer myself, my intentions, prayers for those I love...everything...in union with the Sacrifice of Christ. Today I was called upon to do something more physical and as my brother is not a practicing Catholic I had to help him also, to know where to go, when, and what to bring up. As it was I still flubbed it a little (I started to offer what I had before what my brother had as I'd forgotten to think about the order of reception! But the priest was gracious and is used to distracted mourners.) I felt bad...I could have better directed my brother, I could have been more aware...I could have reminded him to walk with me and not behind, etc.

Today, I was reminded that I don't have all the answers, and even when I am in "my element", I am still lost, I am still confused, and I am still but a sheep in need of a shepherd. I am a soul in need of a savior. I'm glad my brother got to offer his first, for it was so proper on so many levels.

Often God's lessons in humility are gentle, and hidden, but always so loving that we cannot miss the point.

Our Lord reminded me today that we are all called to death.

While indeed, yes, we do all face death, it is our little deaths in life that matter the most. We are all called to walk where we do not want to walk, to bow our heads in deference when we want to lead, to be silent when we want to speak, to suffer confusion when we most do not want to be confused. We are all called to mourn not when we would prefer, but when God calls our loved ones home. We are called then also to the service of those who mourn the greatest, and offer ourselves to them in their simplest needs. In practical ways, in friendship, in service, in representation, and in presence.

We are all called to that. We are all called to lay down our lives upon the altar and live there in the shadow of the Cross, knowing that it is only there that we can understand the resurrection and eternal glory of Christ.

Simply to attend to a death, we must die to ourselves. We must put our own lives aside to give comfort to the lives of others, and pray for the eternal life for the one who has been called into eternity.

Yes...this is our call. In life we are indeed in death, for we cannot live eternal life unless we are willing to die, over and over again, every day and every minute, all for the sake of Christ our Lord.

Please pray with me for the father of my friend:

Eternal rest grant unto him O Lord, may your countenance shine upon him, and may he and all the Holy Souls in Purgatory rest in peace. Amen.

A Moment of Eternity

2011-10-20T19:59:00.000-05:00

Today I had to run some errands that took me into a suburb in which I worked for five years. As I passed the familiar exits and mused on new construction since I had last driven that route, one particular sign gave me pause.

I knew where it led and suddenly, I knew that I had to go there before I continued on. There was time and, well...I couldn't say "no" to this particular clarion call.

When I worked in that city, I had a very stressful, demanding job, and one awful summer I had to do the work of three people as the others on my team had either been promoted or had left the company. Instead of taking lunch, I had begun going to Adoration.

Starving for Home

The first chapel I found near my work was still quite a drive and it was so comfortable and I was so emotionally exhausted that when I arrived there I'd almost immediately fall asleep, only to have to rush back, addled, to work. "Something" goaded me to look further, and indeed, I'd found a chapel closer to work. Each day, perhaps nearly every day that terrible summer, I looked forward to my break so that I could steal away to the chapel.

I didn't each lunch at all. I knew what I needed: My Lord.

I remember the first time I arrived and crept up the stairs to the chapel, careful not to disturb any of those who were there praying. I didn't like the fact that I had to enter the chapel from the front, but just the same, I was grateful to be able to go and sank down in a pew like an exhausted swimmer collapsing upon the sand.

The chapel was like one from an old convent (which may be what that building once was); the altar is in the front surrounded by stained glass windows set into an arched outer wall. the pews line up precisely with heavy wooden kneelers and the scent of the old building is so permeated with ancient incense and...well...that indescribably sweet but nostalgic pungence one often finds in old buildings.

I was always comforted from the moment I entered the chapel and it became an oasis of peace that kept me sane in a very difficult time of my life.

Today, although I was happy to be able leave the office to run my work errands on a nice fall afternoon, and I was thrilled with what I was going to pick up, I knew that I had to take this detour and visit Jesus as a perfect balm for my harried soul.

I could not disobey the invitation that came to me today on the freeway and it was like stepping back in time as I parked my car and once again approached the chapel door, climbed the steps, and entered into the presence of the King.

As I knelt before Our Lord, deeply taking in the familiar aromas, I was taken back in time, thanking Jesus over and over again for this refuge He so freely offers us. Thanking Him for allowing me to come into His Presence.

Although I've fallen away some from praying the Liturgy of the Hours, it continues to go with me everywhere I go and today I was not surprised to open it and find us amidst the story of Esther. Her prayer is never far from my lips: "Help me Lord, for I am all alone and I have no one but Thee."

The Psalms spoke to me so deeply today that I nearly wept in gratitude as well as sorrow.

I could not help but marvel at how far God has taken me with Him in these last several years. Even as I prayed the Psalms, the memories of the place played in the background of my intellect. I recalled that the last time I'd been there in that particular chapel, I barely knew my faith and was eagerly absorbing all I could. There were days I would go there and would just weep from stress and anxiety because of my job. There were days I would arrive and, in spite of the hardness of the pews, fall asleep out of pure exhaustion, unable to speak or absorb. All I could do was BE. And there, in that chapel, Our Lord allowed me to simply....be. I could do that in His company, where He, simply...IS.

My mother was always a very devoted Catholic and our homes always housed the Sacred Heart of Jesus and Immaculate Heart of Mary. Although I was familiar with and loved that image of Christ and His mother, it was there, in that particular chapel, that I re-discovered the devotion, learned about it, and made it my own. I absorbed into my very being the spirituality of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and began learning how to entrust myself and my prayers to the Immaculate Heart of Mary.

I sat there today, realizing that God has given me SO MUCH, and has and is taking me along with Him on a long walk to Calvary. It becomes so apparent, for the last time I was there, I was asking to know Him more deeply, praying about a religious Vocation, knowing that what I was doing was not what He intended to be my life's work.

I returned today, this time with a Masters in Theological Studies, with the Liturgy of the Hours, and with an entirely different type of burden.

But still...it was all the same. Jesus is the same, everywhere, every day, in every age, from today to tomorrow, from the past we can't fathom and into a future we'll not see with earthly eyes. HE IS, quite simply. He IS. Eternally.

There I knelt, and although I did not really pray in words today, I prayed wordlessly, staring at Jesus as He looked back at me. And in that passive activity, time stopped and there was nothing but eternity in the gaze of Christ.

Earthly life continues and I had to break that incredible gaze, so I invited Jesus to join me as I ran my errands. I knelt and left the silent endlessness of the blessed chapel and continued in silence to the next task.

Pondering my brief visit to the chapel, I realized that it was exactly what I needed. God knows us all so well and although we can encounter Him anywhere, at any Catholic parish, whether hidden in the tabernacle or exposed in the monstrance, He continues to use ALL of our senses when we seem to have lost our way in the darkness of this world. Jesus brought me into that suburb today not simply to complete an errand, but to visit HIM in a place special in my own memory of Him.

You see, I realized that it was in that very chapel that I fell in love with Jesus.

I needed to go there today. I needed it because I needed the sensory reminders of my passion for Him and His life-giving Passion for me. I NEEDED that.

Today, in that all-too-brief interlude, God did not speak to me of the Cross or of deep theological explanations. He spoke to me of eternity with Him. There, in that place where I first discovered the meaning of real, sacrificial love, He gave me a moment of loving eternity. And that description contains no paradox.

+Sacred Heart of Jesus, be my salvation!+

+Sacred Heart of Jesus, ThyKingdom come!+

+Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on me!+

Immaculate Heart of Mary...Pray for me!

Thanks Be To God!

2011-10-15T19:40:00.000-05:00

Thank you, my friends, for your prayers!

Today I received a call from a family member - a couple are pitching together to help me in this crisis, at least with regard to the house.

The foreclosure is going away!

I don't yet know how I'm going to keep from going into default on my student loan but on that front, there is a little more hope and I can probably "buy" a little more time. Please keep the prayers coming!

Many have suggested I place a Paypal button on my blog, and I may yet need to do that, but given the phone call today, I am thankful to be able to hold off. Thank you for your offered generosity - I am very touched by so many so willing to help. Whereas I may still need that kind of help one day, for now the hand of the bank is going to be stayed at least with regard to the most critical issue - the roof over my head.

This afternoon in the Adoration Chapel I prayed for all of you who have been praying for me and I hope you are all deeply blessed by God. I know many of you are undergoing other kinds of trials right now, so be assured of my prayers on your behalf.

Thank you, Jesus!

I Knew it Was Coming

2011-10-15T09:54:00.000-05:00

My friends, I need to request your prayers.

Yesterday evening as I settled in to watch Kitchen Nightmares, a nightmare of a whole different sort came to my door in the form of a ringing bell and certified letter. I didn't even need to look at the address; I knew what it was as I signed for it.

It was my foreclosure notice. I have until November 5 to come up with $1800.00 in addition to my regular monthly payment of about $930.00. I will also owe $200 on one of my student loans that was under a forbearance.

Right now I'm praying for a miracle. It's possible that I own something that can be sold, but probably not likely to happen in the time period I've been given.

I know that I can live in my house for a year under foreclosure, but my hope is that I can stop the proceedings by somehow coming up with the cash to pay the amount I'm behind. It seems like so little, doesn't it? Yet to me, it's a greater fortune than I've ever seen.

For those unfamiliar with my story, the reason I am behind is not for willfully skipping payments, but the fact that over the summer I was down to 25 hours per week and no other income. During that time my lender granted me a forbearance and I paid about half of my regular mortgage in that time period.

I am trying to work with the bank but they offer few options and the fact remains: I must pay this debt and I intend to pay it.

Please pray for me.

The Mystery of the Open Door

2011-10-13T19:43:00.035-05:00

For the last several days, it seems like every time I've come home from work, I've had a door open that wasn't supposed to be open. Or perhaps a makeshift "baby gate" that has been tipped over by a very guilty-looking German Shepherd.

I'm used to her antics in trying to access some baby-gated areas and usually, no harm done so it's not a huge deal (as long as it's not the kitchen!). Open doors, though, are a different matter entirely!

I had actually been attributing the recent open rooms to my own failure to properly close the doors, and again, neither the bedroom or bathroom had any damage or obvious disturbance, so I didn't worry. After all, my dog isn't a puppy anymore although she DOES on occasion get into things and make a mess simply because (GSD owners say it with me!) ...she's a GERMAN SHEPHERD!

Until last night, anyway, I'd been attributing open doors to my own failure to close them, and this is the cue that I need to give you a little back story.....

Once upon a time...

Once upon a time, little new homeowner Adoro adopted a German Shepherd, age 1.5 years, from the local Humane Society. The paperwork and the staffer there told Adoro that her new pet was very very smart and had a long history of an uncanny ability to open doors she was not supposed to open.

Adoro learned this very quickly the first time she tried to kennel her dear GSD, only to come home 45 minutes later to find the kennel door ajar and the dog standing outside of it with a happy waggy tail and a big happy doggie grin.

The next time Adoro left, she reinforced the kennel with flex ties at all points, even the door, thinking that as she would be gone for only about a half hour, this would be a good test of the new "security" system.

When Adoro came home, the kennel was completely intact! Yay! The door was still closed and tightly tied shut!

Unfortunately, the German Shepherd was AGAIN outside of the kennel, staring at her, doggie-grinning and happy-wagging.

Hmmm.....

Well, Adoro gave up on the kennel, at that point realizing that to continue might actually cause her dog to be strangled if she was trapped in an escape attempt and Adoro did not arrive home in time to stop the tragedy. So it was that she invested in a baby gate for the kitchen to prevent counter surfing (for some reason the dog did not desire to jump over the gate), and pseudo-gate the steps at the bottom to prevent the dog from going upstairs.

Over the years this worked, until the German Shepherd did begin leaping the stair gate. In place of that, Adoro closed upstairs doors, especially after an incident in which her dog had injured herself during the day and cost Adoro hundreds in veterinary bills to prevent her dog from bleeding to death when the clotting factors were thrown off by the injury.

That system worked very very well unless Adoro forgot to close the door or simply didn't latch it properly.

Until....now...

And that's where the story continues to the nearly present day.

Keep in mind that the doorknobs in my house are the round sort that tend to need to be GRIPPED in order to turn and unlatch.

Well, I had begun to wonder about the open doors, wondering if in fact, there was a "mechanical" problem with the mechanism - was it not latching properly even though I had pulled and heard the "click"?

Then last night, I came home to find that my bedroom door was open and a child-size scapular I bought at the Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Mexico City in 1994 was lying on the ground, the string in shreds and the miraculous medal lying neatly among the mess.

When I stopped to stare at it in confusion, my German Shepherd circled my feet, ears back, tail tucked with the tip wagging as she "apologized".

I picked up the pieces. None were wet so it happened hours ago. The string appeared to have broken through stress. There was no damage to the door or the knob. The dog was playing "guilty" all over the place, especially when I had the evidence in my hand.

Thankfully, only the string was damaged - the two main pieces seemed fine and perhaps can be used again.

You see, this scapular is one that maybe I had worn (I don't remember) but as it is so beautiful and comes from such a place, I put it on my doorknob as an act of devotion - both to preserve it and to remind myself of Our Lady's protection, her intercession, and of course, what it means to be devoted to Christ.

I guess my dog isn't really into sacramentals even though I've done my best to raise her as a Catholic and she seems to enjoy it when I pray the Liturgy of the Hours with her.

But still.- I couldn't figure out what the broken scapular had to do with the open door! And of course, WHY the scapular was broken!

Yesterday a storm had passed through, and as the years have gone on, I've noticed that my dog reacts more and strongly seeks my company when the thunder cracks. I wondered if perhaps she'd nudged the doorknob in hopes of finding me, or maybe to get as close to me (via my scent in my room) as possible during the storm, and the door just happened to be forced open at her insistence, the knob turned just enough.

Today changed that theory, but first a little more to the story:

You see, a couple years ago my dog wandered into the upstairs bathroom one evening and apparently closed the door on herself. She didn't make a peep, but because she was often in my room staring out the window doing her GSD-thing, it wasn't uncommon for her not to be with me in the main part of the house.

Well, having not seen her for a few hours and wanting to feed her, I called and she did not come. I knew she was not outside (no fenced yard so she was never outside alone). I went upstairs, saw the door to my room closed and recalled doing that. But I knew she wasn't in my room because I'd ushered her out before closing the door. But why was the bathroom door closed?

I opened it and she exited somewhat sheepishly as I greeted her. I remember being confused; the doggie Houdini-extraordinaire hadn't made a peep up there and hadn't torn the door apart in an attempt to get out!

I thought that perhaps she'd forgotten about her door-opening skill after nudging the door closed during routine sniffing and decided to just wait it out.

Well...no. I was wrong.

She just hadn't had the proper motivation at the time as she was quite content that evening, apparently, to lay down on the rug and take a nap until I'd opened the door.

Today when I came home, once again I found the bedroom door standing ajar and the dog acting guilty in her rush to pass me in hopes I wouldn't notice that, in fact, I didn't actually have to open the door myself.

I stopped, horrified, staring from the floor to the doorknob. Was my only other scapular from that shrine destroyed, too?

No, no...the ground was bare. I looked at the knob. No, there it hung, although it was a bit more tightly wound. I reached out to grasp the "tag" with the embroidered picture of Our Lady of Guadalupe, feeling the gold threads under my fingers. I tugged gently...and saw the knob turn. The string was just taught enough to rub and pull the knob to the side, releasing the latch!

As the door opened, I rose my eyes to my dog, perched at the window, staring outward, ears forward and twitching according to the sounds reverberating against those huge radars. She stood at the window I always left slightly open in fair weather to let the fresh air waft in, and there she could percept, as well, all the sounds of the neighborhood including the dog the neighbors always allow to roam off leash all day long....

Mystery Solved!

CASE CLOSED!

RESOLUTION:

* close window even while gone
* remove scapular from door and leave nothing to act as "doggie pull-chain"
* more interesting toys if actually affordable? (donations accepted!)
* ~~get a different breed~~ NEVER! GET BEHIND ME SATAN! German Shepherds are as close as a canine can get to being human - must continue to nurture in accordance with St. Thomas Aquinas's hierarchy of Creation as this is clearly an animal present with Adam in the Garden! Must learn to be more like the dog whose thought process is very logical!

OK then!

Blog Quotes of the Day

2011-10-06T09:33:00.000-05:00

It's been awhile since I posted some of these, so back by...uh...popular demand of the past, I bring you some silliness for today:

If bloggers stopped blogging about what happened to them, then there would be a lot of empty web pages.

~ inspired by Elaine Liner

The man who blogs about himself and his own time is the only man who blogs about all people and all time.

~ inspired by George Bernard Shaw

The role of a blogger is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say.

~ inspired by Anais Nin

Either blog something worth blogging or do something worth blogging.

~ inspired by Ben Franklin

And for the cherry of truth atop a cupcake of silliness:

The skill of blogging is to create a context in which anonymous commenters can flame without fear of reprisal.

~ loosely inspired by Edwin Schlossberg

The Short End of the Stick?

2011-09-25T16:05:00.000-05:00

A few days ago while flipping stations on my car radio, I came across a protestant preacher, and stopped to listen for awhile because what he was saying sounded interesting. He was talking about the story of Joseph in the book of Genesis, and how poor Joseph was "always getting the short end of the stick." Not having heard this particular angle taken before, I listened, giving consideration to his thought process. He explained that Joseph always had things going wrong and about telling his dream to his brothers (about the sheaves bowing to his sheaf), well, he just needed to learn wisdom and grow up a little. He explained Joseph was an arrow being polished for the Lord's quiver so that he would be ready to go on God's time.

Ever since I heard that particular interpretation of Joseph's story, I've wondered about it, most particularly the "short end of the stick" part. Although Joseph went through many trials, could it really be claimed that he got the "short end of the stick"?

I decided to read that story again during Adoration yesterday and try to do so with new eyes.

You all know the story: Joseph is a child of his father's old age, so is a favored and quite coddled son. One night Joseph has a dream that he and his brothers were binding sheaves, and the all arose and bowed to Joseph's sheaf. His next dream was of the sun, moon, and stars bowing down to him, and this second dream annoyed even Joseph's father.

As I read that, I could see, of course, how Joseph was taunting his brothers. While on the surface he seems only to be revealing a dream, it's easy to imagine the not-so-pure fallen human using the dream against his brothers instead of simply keeping it to himself. His father's own reaction, rebuking Joseph, seems to support the fact that he did indeed realize Joseph was being a pill and was not merely innocently recounting a dream.

Joseph's brothers then went off to move the flock and one day Israel ordered Joseph to find them to see if they are well, and to bring word back.

This next part is fascinating, for it seems out of place:

Gen 37:14-17
So he sent him from the valley of Hebron and he came to Shechem. And a man found wandering in the fields; and the man asked him, "what are you seeking?"
"I am seeking my brothers," he said, "tell me, I pray you, where they are pasturing the flock."
And the man said, "They have gone away, for I heard them say 'Let us go to Dothan'."
So Joseph went after his brothers and found them at Dothan.

Every time I read this story, I pause at this section. Who is this random unnamed man? Look again at the dialogue: "What are you seeking?" And Joseph doesn't answer with a "what", but a "who". "I am seeking my brothers."

Joseph is given direction by the unnamed man who clearly knew who his brothers are, and he goes, and finds them.

This passage is so loaded; it reveals a prefigurement of the Messaiah, and a subtle shift in power; it is not his brothers who seek him, but Joseph who seeks his brothers.

Of course, he finds them, they plot to kill him and at the behest of Reuben who wants no harm to come to his brother, convinces them to put him in a cistern instead (so Rueben can restore him to his father). Instead, Joseph is sold into Ismaelite slave traders, who take him to Egypt and sell him to Pharaoh's Captain of the Guard.

Genesis Chapter 39 tells us that the Lord was with Joseph and he became a very successful man as a slave in Potiphar's house, and finds favor; he was actually placed in charge of the household.

Then the woman of the house hit on him and when Joseph refused to submit, fleeing the woman's greedy embrace, she lied and accused him of attacking her, causing him to be thrown into prison.

Genesis 39:21-22 tells us the favor of the Lord was steadfast and he caused the prison keeper to have regard for Joseph, and all prisoners were placed into his care. It was in this context that Joseph met the butler and baker of the king of Egypt.

The two servants of the king had mysterious dreams, and Joseph found them downcast, and upon learning the dreams, stated, "Do not interpretations belong to God?" So they told Joseph the dreams and he interpreted them; both came to pass as Joseph said. The baker was executed and the butler restored to the King's service.

Two years later the Pharaoh had a dream, and the Butler remembered Joseph and told the King about him. Joseph was summoned from prison and brought before the King, where he interpreted the dream and gave advice on how to proceed with the prediction of the oncoming famine. Because of his gift and his wisdom, the Pharaoh set Joseph as his second in command and put him in charge of preparing for the famine.

Reality Check

As I re-read all of this, I kept pondering the protestant preacher's words: Joseph was getting the short end of the stick? Really?

Let's take a closer look:

Well, first we have a spoiled brat who taunts his brothers, and he brothers go overboard on the revenge. OK, granted, that was a pretty awful thing to do; to plot to kill one's own flesh and blood and then sell him into slavery. Very low. That does seem to be quite a detriment.

Well, Ishmaelite slave traders weren't exactly known for being gentle folk, and Joseph could have been sold anywhere - but no, he want to Pharoah's Captain of the Guard. Then he is placed in charge of the household. Oh, right, he was thrown into prison for a crime he did not commit, but then he still found favor. After all, as scripture tells us, the favor of the Lord was upon Joseph and everywhere he went, even prison, he was the favored son and experienced the best of conditions.

No matter how I read this, I simply can't see that Joseph EVER got the "short end of the stick."

Did he suffer trials? Indeed, and yes, they were harsh!

Still, Joseph was cared for by God, and I see those trials as a purification; he had misused his gift and had to be taught how to use it. Not to benefit himself, but, rather, to benefit others. He had to learn not to abuse his gift to grow in regard of others, but rather, to grow in humility and wisdom.

While Joseph, after he favorably interpreted the dream for the Butler, asked him to remember him when he was restored, and revealed he was unjustly imprisoned, we hear not a word of complaint from him for the two following years as he continued his prison work.

It was not until he was sufficiently purified in God's eyes that he was called upon to place his gift and himself at the service of the Pharaoh and all his kingdom, and ultimately, his own family.

What are you seeking?

Look again at the unnamed man in the field and his conversation with young spoiled Joseph.

He was seeking his brothers, and even when those who had sold him came to him, he sought until he had found them all. Joseph was not satisfied with only a few brothers; he ached for his family and his homeland and knew he could not reveal his identity until the time was right, and when all had been properly restored...and forgiven.

Food I Would Serve Jesus - Fall Edition: SOUP!

2011-09-24T10:28:00.000-05:00

Welcome to Fall! In honor of the changing of the seasons to my favorite time of year, and also celebrating the Feast of St. Padre Pio, I bring you....SOUP!

Yesterday I was craving Italian soup, and couldn't find a recipe for what I wanted...so I made it up as I went along, stopping at the store only to get the main ingredient: ground Italian sausage.

The soup was comprised otherwise of the items I already had on hand and needed to use, and so, with this monastery-like "spirit of poverty", I dedicate my new invention to my dear St. Padre Pio - I would serve it to him and to Jesus without reserve!

Italian Sausage-Tomato Soup:

1 package sweet ground Italian sausage - Johnsonville
Chicken broth - I used a box of Swanson's 1/3 less sodium
Vidalia onion
1 can diced tomatoes, garlic and basil flavor (I had DelMonte on hand)
1 fresh perfectly sweet tomato (from Aldi's)
thyme
fresh basil
oregano
garlic
celery salt
rosemary
tomato sauce (well, I didn't have any so substituted leftover pizza sauce)
red wine vinegar

Directions:

Start to heat the chicken broth in a soup pot while browning the sausage and chopped onion in a sauce pan. "Break" it up as you go so you don't have huge misshapen meatballs. Drain excess fat, then carefully add the meat/onion mixture to the broth. Open the can of Italian diced tomatoes, add to the pot, along with the other chopped fresh tomato - as many as you'd like. Add the tomato sauce and herbs according to taste. Cover the pot and simmer, but stir and taste-test occasionally for balance. I also added additional water to the broth, and salted with celery salt.

When you're satisfied with the flavor, add some kind of pasta. I had Orzo in the cupboard so used that, but any pasta would be fine - take care not to overwhelm with the pasta unless that's what you're going for. I wanted a very "brothy" soup, something perfect for dipping a hard roll into.

Serve with crackers or bread of your choice, garnish with Parmesan cheese and a fresh basil leaf.

Enjoy!

A few notes:

If you can, cook this in a slow-cooker so you can really give the flavors a chance to blend. I simmered on the stove for a couple hours, but I'm picky that way. You could simmer uncovered for a much shorter period of time and it would still be very tasty!

As this soup is very basic, you could turn it into a hearty stew by adding other garden vegetables, substitute the pork for ground turkey - the sky's the limit! (Not that turkeys fly or anything). :-)

Perhaps I'll re-post my French Onion Soup recipe soon, complete with a photo of the finished product. Anyone interested?

Restored to Innocence

2011-09-19T11:41:00.000-05:00

A couple days ago, I went to Confession, cringing once again at having the same laundry-list of sins. I'm the kind of person who could probably LIVE in a confessional and never run out of sins ot confess, but of course, if I were to never leave, I would never have a chance to try to overcome my numerous faults and weaknesses that lead me into sin.

Every now and then I long for the days of childhood innocence; back when I didn't understand real evil and even better, had never experienced it or had been the author of it. Yet even this frivolous longing carries within it God's grace, for it makes me even more grateful for the Sacrament of Confession.

All of this was on my mind when I entered the tiny room and knelt down behind the screen, the priest already intoning the beginning of this most sacred rite. I listed my sins...as always...knowing that God already knew what I had done and had only been waiting for me to come to Him to take full responsiblity and ask for the grace to overcome them, to start anew. Once again.

I listened to the advice of the priest and when prompted, began my Act of Contrition, the very same one I learned back in First Grade when I received the Sacraments.

"Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended you. I detest all my sins because I dread the loss of Heaven and the pains of Hell....

And then it happened. I can't properly explain it, but there, as I prayed the words, it was as if I was taken back in time to a confessional long long ago. I was again six years old, and, having confessed my little sins, things like fighting with my brother and disobeying my mother, was moving haltingly through the Act of Contrition. I could feel my page-boy style hair cut and in my mind's eye, see a little of the light of day peeking through the woven wicker-type screen, revealing the silhouette of Fr. W. as he waiting patiently for me to complete the prayer, his hand already raised in anticipation of absolution.

But most of all, because I offended You, O my God, who are all Good and deserving of all my love....

There I was, kneeling in the Confessional, an adult, having committed much greater sins, having now had a long life of having gravely, over and over again, severed my relationship with God in ways I couldn't even have imagined as a child. I knelt there and the tears came as I recalled that sweet, sweet innocence of childhood.

I firmly resolve, with the help of your grace, to confess my sins...

It truly was as though suddenly, I was a child again, kneeling humbly before my God, knowing His Mercy, and overwhelmed because I am also an adult, an adult who has been wounded by sin. As I said that ancient prayer, I knew without a doubt that in my sorrow, in my repentance, in my desire and will to lean on God in order to overcome my sin, in His Mercy He indeed restored me to that beautiful innocence of childhood.

...to do penance, and to amend my life. Amen.

Still experiencing the sense of timelessness, lost in the echoes of childhood, I bowed my head to receive Absolution, my tears turning to joy with the unmerited, undeserved gift of a greater knowledge of God's incredible love.

As I stood to go, renewed, restored, I had come fully to myself again but could still turn to look at memory's image of me as a six year old, skipping gaily out of the confessional when only moments before I'd trudged in shyly and a bit guiltily, sent in to expose to the light the sins that could only exist under the cover of darkness.

I wiped the tears away as I returned to the chapel where I knelt once again to pray, this time to offer my assigned penance, raising my eyes to Jesus in thanksgiving, knowing His mercy is eternal and that in His eyes, I am once again a child of God.

Through the Sacrament of Confession, Jesus gave me glimpse through His own eyes; now I know that I need not long for that innocence of childhood, for it is but a mirror image of holiness, and through the grace of the Sacraments, we each can be that reflection for eternity. That is our Call.

The Sacrament of Confession restores us; no matter what we have done, by humbly accusing ourselves before God, through contrition for our sins, we open ourselves to His Grace. While we may still suffer the effects of sin, God remembers no more what He has forgiven. It doesn't matter if we are six or seven or eighty-one; once we have come to Jesus, it is, in His eyes, as though those things have never happened. We are, once again, a mere child He delights to indulge in His great love.

Thank you, Jesus.

A New Stage

2011-09-17T08:32:00.000-05:00

It's no secret that I've been suffering from writer's block.

Part of it is the fact that because I work in a parish, sitting down on my off time to write about religious topics feels like work. And not work I really care to do, especially when I'm supposed to be getting away from work.

I've been seriously considering bringing this blog to a close simply because I don't think I have anything else to say. It's all been said or is perhaps being said better by someone else.

Still...this blog has been a wonderful outlet for me over the last several years, and I've met many friends, learned many things and I admit it's still a bit of an attachment. So, instead of hanging it up I'm switching gears for awhile.

That's right...I signed up for NaNoWriMo for the first time.

Perhaps, I thought, if I can put my focus into a non-religious topic, perhaps I'll find my Catholic muse again, and my motivation.

Or, perhaps, once November hits, because I'm supposed to be working on a novel, I may be struck once again by great topics for the blog.

Who knows? In any case, expect more erratic posts about random topics of interest to me (if not by anyone else) and, if you REALLY want me to post something, feel free to post your own random questions to spark my motivation.

After all, one of the things I love to do is answer sincere questions about our faith by people seeking to grow deeper in their relationship with Christ.

Until my next inspiration.....

Dear Old Friends

2011-09-13T00:06:00.002-05:00

Even before I could read, I have loved reading. I remember looking at picture books, listening to Mom help my brother with reading; he was sick for much of First Grade and got far behind the other students, so truly struggled with the foundation of reading and writing. I wasn't invited into those lessons because I was too little, and so I would ask Mom to read me books, and in so doing, would try to memorize them so I could perhaps make the connection between what I was hearing and the figures on the page.

I strongly recall picking up a book I was CERTAIN I remembered, and, bringing it to Mom and Dad, announced that I had learned to read and I was going to PROVE it!

Unfortunately, when I opened the book, to my chagrin, I could not understand those characters and was forced to make up a story which turned out to be very lame; after all, since I couldn't read, I didn't actually know what the book was about. Mom and Dad laughed, said that was cute, and left me to look at pictures.

Ultimately, learning to read was never a struggle with me...when it was finally time, I took to it like a fish to water. My particular problem was that I would pick up books, fall in love with them, and set that particular book as a "gold standard". I would have books read to me, such as the Laura Ingalls Wilder books, and because I wasn't quick enough on Library days to get that particular book, and I wasn't at the top of the elementary grade "A-list", to get the library's only copy of any given Little House book, I was forced to peruse the shelves, looking for something I actually wanted to read.

We had the most freedom in Fourth Grade, and it was that teacher who, frustrated with me always being the last to choose a book, quickly but carefully grabbed one for me and forced it into my hand. "Go check out. You're reading THIS."

I would go to the Librarian, pouting because it wasn't what I wanted to read. But because of that vigilant teacher, I read books that taught me something MORE, for the popular books with the other girls, the ones I could never obtain, were the ones our teacher had already read to us as a class. She didn't want me to stick with the status quo, but rather, to branch out to many genres and most importantly, discover new territory. She didn't object to students reading on their own the books she read us in class, but didn't want us to remain there; she wanted to use books to inspire us, to discover new adventures, new worlds, and of course, improve our reading and grammar because we WANTED to read.

She was successful but I must confess that my propensity to be loyal to favorite authors has never died, and even as an adult, I return to the literature of my youth.

The Best Friends a Girl Could Have

My family moved to Minnesota when I was in Fifth Grade, and sometime that year or perhaps between Fifth and Sixth Grade, I came home one cloudy, humid, rainy day to find a few large boxes on the floor of my room, all containing musty-smelling hardcover books.

"Where did these come from?" I demanded.

"Your Aunt Laurie. She read all of them and thought you would enjoy them. Take care of them; she wants them back when you're done reading."

One by one, I pulled the books out. The Bobbsey Twins, one about Barbie and the Florida Keys, and about thirty books about a girl named "Trixie Belden". A couple Nancy Drew.

I didn't want to read ANY of them, but at the time, I wasn't reading anything else, the weather prevented other activities so I began with the "single" books, putting off the lame-looking "Trixie Belden" series, certain I'd hate them.

To my surprise, I enjoyed the first few books I read, and began to see my aunt in a new light. Maybe she DID know what she was talking about in recommending these books. Even though I wasn't enthused about the Trixie books, I realized I should at least read one of them; that way I could give those boxes back to my aunt in good conscience, even if I didn't like them.

Much to my surprise, when I opened the cover of the first book, Trixie Belden and the Secret of the Mansion, I found I couldn't put it down. One by one, I absorbed each book voraciously, and if a one was missing in the sequence, I'd go to the public library with the desperation of an addict. Over one summer, I was at the library every other day, looking for the next book and placing orders for interlibrary loans.

Because of my enthusiasm and "frequent customer" appearances, I got to know the Librarians, especially one named "Laurie" (not my aunt, her agreeable name merely a coincidence).

Over time, I finally exhausted both my aunt's books and the library's resources, even through interlibrary loans. Some of the books simply weren't available anywhere, although we continued to look. Some were being reprinted and I ended up receiving a couple of the later books as gifts or by purchasing them myself.

I read and re-read my favorites of the series, but realized, as my Fourth Grade teacher had taught me, that I couldn't stagnate. Laurie, the Librarian, seeing my consternation at running out of my beloved Trixie books, strongly recommended Nancy Drew, and so I moved on to that series, too, and before long, was coming to the reference desk to ask her to place more orders for interlibrary loans.

Nostalgia

When I left for college, I think, I had to finally release my aunt's books back to her, so I'd carefully packed those old friends away while suppressing the tears. Over the years I'd read and re-read those books I had initially not wanted...and like so much of life, learned that what we think we'll hate is often what others realize is just perfect for us.

I also knew that one has to move on to greater things, and as much as my old friends Trixie, Mart, Brian, and Bobby Belden, Honey Wheeler, Jim Frayne, Dan Mangan, Di Lynch, Regan, Miss Trask, Tom Delaney, Nancy Drew, Midge....had become nearly "real" to me, one must always grow up. Instinctively I'd understood that the series had ended because the characters had to grow up, too, and life doesn't ever remain the same...not even in storybooks.

Still, I didn't go to college untouched by these mere "childhood" books, even though I didn't realize until recently how much they have impacted my life.

Good Literature does not point to itself...but to even GREATER Literature

Recently I went to the public library and admittedly, somewhat abashedly, entered the "Children's" section of the huge hub, and went through the fiction stacks. Although I found Nancy Drew, and knew from a previous computer search that this library DEFINITELY had SOME of the Trixie Belden books, I couldn't find a single one. I looked under both author names under which the 39 books in the series had been penned. Nothing.

Shamefacedly I approached the librarians and confessed I could not find my beloved Trixie Belden, and they helped me locate it on the shelves - under Title, not author, simply because of the duality of authorship.

For the last week or so, I have been DEVOURING these books and realize how much they contributed to my own formation in my teenage years.

Although they were written in the '40's and '50's, and use archaic words such as "dungarees" instead of "jeans", and to this day, I still have no idea what a "sharkskin suit" is or why it is considered to be "cool" for a hot day, I took to heart the moral lessons within the pages. Now that I am re-reading as an adult, I can see the values instilled in the characters, but still the personalities, temperaments, and utter teenage stupidity that made the books so appealing.

It is because of Trixie Belden that in my Jr. High years I took it upon myself to read Edgar Allen Poe, the works of Shakespeare, and inquire about other classic literature - simply so that I would be able to understand the references the characters made. In fact, because of these books, I questioned why I had never had to study these greats, and why we didn't touch them in English classes or other electives until High School?

Through Trixie Belden and Nancy Drew, I became interested in the world around me, not just my immediate locale, but the larger world, and suddenly, History became important, and other cultures became even MORE interesting than they had been before.

It didn't stop there, though. I can't help but notice the words being used and how cleverly the authors of the series clearly sought to elevate their readers to the next level. Julia Cambell, "Caroline Kennedy" (pseudonym for several authors), and Katherine Keene (Nancy Drew author) did not talk down to their young audience but sought to increase their vocabulary. Perhaps they did this unconsciously, for it does not read as "gimmicky" but like books written by readers for readers out of respect for the intelligence of readers everywhere.

I can't help but recognize the influence of these authors upon my own writing, both in fiction and that which I use on my blog, and I wonder sometimes if I am channeling Mart Belden - and if I'm not, I wonder if perhaps he could have stepped in to become my muse on occasion, especially when having to compose academic treatises. (Only Trixie Belden fans will understand this reference).

Dear Old Friends

For years I have been reading some pretty hard-core stuff: between real-life autobiographies to deep Theology and some Fiction, it has been Flannery O'Connor, some CS Lewis, murder mysteries, and well...some serious adult content consistent with my history and training in Criminal Justice. Because I enjoy "BONES", the TV show, I have read Kathy Reichs, the series upon which the production is based, and even though it interests me scientifically, it still makes me occasionally scream and want to write to Ms. Reichs about what she's getting wrong about Catholic theology. So often, when I read even FICTION these days, it feels like work, because as a theologian now, I can't help but take what I know and interpret everything through that particular lens.

[Remind me to write to Dr.. Reichs and offer my services as a specifically Catholic theological consult. She's made some really embarrassing errors with regard to Catholicism both in the books and on the show - or her current "theologian" on her payroll has, anyway. It makes her look like an idiot and she has a HUGE Catholic following to whom she is doing a great injustice and has been for a long time. *sigh* ]

Because life has been so burdensome of late, I realized I needed something lighter, and so I turned to my old friends. I found that it's been so long I have forgotten the plots of these "juvenile" mysteries, and even though the core of the story has remained, I can still re-read these books as if for the first time, introduced all over again, entertained all over again, reminded all over again.

I love turning these precious pages, getting lost in the stories in a way I could never really be lost in theology, for both forms utilize the intellect in different ways. I realize that I have to get back in touch with my own roots, my own motivations, the very basic love of literature at the simplest level, engaging my imagination so that I can once again gallop along the bridal paths (an experience I've actually finally had in real life), once again thwart the bad guys (another experience I've had in real life), once again enjoying the camaraderie of great friendships in good times and in bad (an experience that is ongoing as long as the sun rises and sets.).

Ah, my dear friend Trixie, how much you taught me about life, about literature, about selflessness, about manners, about goodness, about adventure, about the very mystery of life. How much I would like to be like you, even now...but still am grateful for many of my adventures in real life were inspired by your fictional ones.

Thank you.

Now, my readers, please excuse me...I have books to read and many old friends with whom I have been longing to be reacquainted.

Consider this an invitation to meet them, too:

Trixie Belden

Nancy Drew (I read only the original series and always saw the later "files" and such as bastardizations of what was originally a good story and good character gone to agenda.)

Ten Years Later: 9/11/2001

2011-09-11T21:27:00.001-05:00

The Anniversary has always been hard for me, and over the years, although I've written many posts about it, I always go back to the beginning: to where I was on that date. That's what we all do, we who remember the day. We know where we were.

This morning I went to Mass, already walking a thin line emotionally, and pondered how perfect were the readings for this day, as if God knew exactly what we needed to hear and pray on this tenth anniversary - and indeed, He did, for 9/11 didn't take Him by surprise.

I think what's hardest for me right now is that ever since I left emergency services, I don't have any friends now from that time period. I don't have any friends who wear badges...or ever have. I don't have any friends in police or fire services, or any area of EMS.

When I left for the last time, I left for good and because I was never truly called to those careers, I did not maintain the friendships - and so 9-11 is not just a sad day, but a lonely day, because there isn't anyone who understands my pain. Those I know NOW saw the images on TV, like any other disaster. But they didn't see it as a rescue worker, they didn't have friends or relatives there - for the people around me, they don't understand why I continue to take it to heart each and every year.

One friend of mine, usually very sensitive, said to me today, "Yeah....but it was 10 years ago. Get over it."

I think my silence in response to that remark said far more than any blog post I've ever written.

There are just some things that can't be expressed in words, but only through shared experience, shared understanding at a visceral level...shared understanding with others who know what it's like.

Theologizing

I am saddened to see many of my fellow faithful Catholics poo-poohing the images of September 11, 2001, and several have expressed the fact they desire to FORGET. They admonish we who watch the looping video from that day, bringing in the Sacrifice of Christ, pointing out that remembering does not mean seeing.

That may be true to a certain degree...for them.

Indeed, in the Sacramental Theology of the Church, the Sacrifice of Christ takes place EVERY DAY, an unbloody re-presentation, making us present there, at Calvary, and yes, I believe this and agree with it.

But that doesn't mean I don't need my bloody crucifix of Christ to remind me that His death was anything but pristine, and the ransom He paid for my sins was anything but comfortable. When I gaze upon the bloodiest renditions of Christ in any work, I am moved, for I am forced to confront the violence of sin and the very bloody price paid for my Salvation.

While certainly, maybe we don't "need" from an intellectual level, we who are faithfully enlightened, to see the bloody images of Christ to know about His Sacrifice, and maybe we don't "need" to see looping footage from 9/11 or for that matter, any other given disaster anywhere in the world, on a very visceral human level...yes...some of us do.

I can't agree with some of my dear friends that the images from 9/11 should not be shown, for I hold that we DO need to see them in order to properly recall the full extent of human evil and human suffering, and human triumph on that day. We need to see those video loops because we can't help but witness the best of humanity brought about by the very worst. (Caveat: some can't handle the sight of blood and/or violence; I offer my "need to" with the suggestion of prudence on behalf of sensitive individuals.)

Ten Years Ago

Ten years ago I was a rookie with some serious life experience, but still grasping to learn, on the cusp of belief in immortality and recognition of mortality.

Ten years ago I was barely practicing my faith, although I was trying, and not a day went by at the Training Tower that I did not pray, "I can do all things in Christ, who strengthens me." It was the litany that got me through many terrifying tasks.

Ten years ago, I didn't know my Faith and I only prayed when I was afraid or when I had a big decision to make...like whether or not God was calling me to take the Fire Test, or if I passed, whether I was really supposed to be a Firefighter. Because from the beginning, it terrified me and with God's Grace, He pushed me through fear into...well....I'm still not sure what.

Firefighter training, and for that matter, coupled with earlier Police training/experience made me realize my mortality, and drew a very clear black-and-white line in the sand for me...especially on 9/11. Although I went back to class on my deceased father's birthday, September 12, in looking back, I think that perhaps was the day I realized I didn't have it in me to do what the 343 NYFD Firefighters had done the day before.

Even though I didn't even know what my life was about, or perhaps, BECAUSE I didn't know what my life was about, I knew I couldn't lay it down for anyone. I didn't have the courage for I didn't even know the cause. The First Cause.

I think that in the last ten years, I have been seeking a cause, and that's what led me to study Theology. In confronting death, I was forced to confront God and learn, at a very basic level, who I am in relation to Him and therefore, everyone else.

But that doesn't explain 9/11 or why each year I spend this day holding back tears. Why MANY of us hold back tears, and live in the loneliness of grief we can't express, for that grief has nowhere to go and no ears, hearts, and souls that truly understand.

I can't explain what it was like that day to stand there in a Fire Dept. uniform, learning about and discussing the SOP's about skyscraper fires only to learn about the worst ever known, happening live on TV. I can't explain what it was like to watch a Fire Chief weep while teaching a lesson, live, in real time, about something happening NOW, because, had we been there, we would have been called to go in, too, especially because our brothers and sisters had just been killed. And in fact, his own dear friends had just been pulverized before his very eyes, and still, that Chief chose to teach even through the tragedy because that was what he was called to do. That's what most honored his friends, who had taught him.

I can't explain what it was like to have the reality of a "Job" brought so close to home, knowing that at any moment, we could get that Call, too, simply because of who and where we were in that given moment.

I can't explain what it was like to watch people leap to their deaths, for to us, it wasn't just news video, but the very reason we had applied to the Fire Department: so that no one would ever have to do that.

I can't explain what it was like to stand there, unable to do ANYTHING, watching futility in action, watching Firefighters in New York, Police in New York, Paramedics in New York...go into buildings to help victims of a coward's attack...and never leave.

I can't explain the grief within my soul that surfaces this time every year, even though I haven't worn a uniform and badge since May of 2002.

Do you know why I refuse to stop watching the footage from that day?

Now, ten years later, I have a Masters in Theological Studies, and although I am well versed in the theology of suffering, of redemption, of the Sacrifice of Holy Mass and even teach it to others, I find that mere theology is not enough.

It's easy to intellectualize and theologize suffering.

It's hard to LIVE it. It's hard to look into the eyes of those who are experiencing or have experienced REAL suffering and just tell them Christ died for them and therefore the images aren't important. To those who lived 9/11, and survived it, it is not sufficient to speak of the "unbloody re-presentation of the Sacrifice of Calvary", for to them, there isn't anything "unbloody" about it.

We always have to remember that suffering is not an abstract idea, but it is real, it is painful, it is agonizing and brutal, and the recognition of its bloody violence is ALSO necessary; for that is what paid our ransom for sin.

I am grateful for the programming each year that shows the footage from 9/11, because I NEED that, and I know that others do, too.

What I pray for is understanding from my fellow Catholics, that our desire to watch those events again is not "gawking" and is not "denial of the sacrifice of Christ", but rather, is perhaps a way to continue to seek to understand, to realize that others, too, struggle to explain this loneliness of grief that can't be easily expressed, and because we NEED the visual reminders....to ensure that we will NEVER forget.

We watch the footage, again and again, because Theology has never been about mere intangible Philosophical theories, but about children of God who, every day, suffer the Passion of Our Lord, and never is this more apparent than during a disaster. Ten years later, those who suffered on that day CONTINUE to suffer, and those images are not mere images, but reality, for they live it day in and day out. To watch that footage is to enter into their suffering, to suffer with them, to take it to heart and to have, even briefly, a glimpse of their grief.

To forget that day, and those images is, to many of us, a denial of the heroism of those who went into those buildings, even though they knew they might never come out. To deny the images is to deny the very real, visceral, sacrifice, taken on willingly, by human beings who realized what their lives were really about. To forget that day is to forget all those who continue to suffer the losses of that day.

Anyone who has lost a loved one through the most ordinary of deaths knows that although there is much "support" in the beginning, it quickly ebbs and months, even years later, the survivors are forgotten, although they still suffer. So it is with 9/11 - many continue to suffer and many others who have been direct casualties of the wake of that day. To forget is to ignore them, too.

Bl. John Paul II wrote eloquently about compassion, explaining that this virtue was about being with others in their Passion. When I watch the annual 9/11 tributes and memorials, when I watch the footage, I know that in prayer, in emotion, in solidarity, I am with those for whom 9/11 never ended, for the reality of it goes on and on for the 3,000+ (and counting) who were murdered and were injured that day in New York, Washington DC, and Pennsylvania.

No, not everyone needs to see the images, but I can no more look away from the carnage of 9/11 than I can the carnage of the Cross. They are one and the same, for Christ gave His own sign of His presence that day through the death of Fr. Michel Judge, the first official death recorded for that day. Even 9/11's foundation was laid upon the altar, a priest who died offering his life to bring Christ to the hopeless through the Sacraments.

Today is September 11, 2011, and I pray that we will never forget.

Age of Reason

2011-09-09T10:40:00.000-05:00

Several days ago I posted a story that I think made national headlines. I know that a week ago Monday it hit every local NEWS station's site, and that Wednesday, there was FINALLY video of this, probably because of the utter hilarity of the crime of goat rustling and WHO committed it, while wearing...PAJAMAS.
I love this story but not just because it's, well...hilarious....but because it reveals so much about the intelligence and awareness of children. That intelligence and more importantly, AWARENESS, is exactly why Pope St. Pius X allowed children of "the age of reason", usually figured to be about age 7, to receive Holy Communion, and therefore, the Sacrament of Confession.

Why? Because at that age, children can discern the Body and Blood. They are aware of Sin, of what that means, how it separates them from God, and they are most importantly aware of the fact that He gives Himself to them, in pure innocence, at the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.

No, they don't understand all the reasoning of 4,000 years or more of Judeo-Christian philosophy and theology, but they sure do know what is required to steal a goat and they know enough to try to hide their crime by lying about what they did.

Even more importantly, they sure do know that stealing a goat is WRONG or they wouldn't have, at the age of 5 and 7, escaped their home with a very viable plan, with a leash, walked a mile or so to a farm, liberated a goat, leashed it, and walked it home, then lied to the police officer who confronted them.

Should Children Receive the Sacrament of Confession?

In my parish work, I have become aware of a number of local parishes that do not offer First Reconciliation before First Holy Communion. Their reasoning: children can't possibly commit mortal sin. Children don't understand sin and their "sins" aren't really sins because children don't understand what is wrong and why.

Hmmm...there's so much wrong with this, and yes, I'm going to talk about it, but first, let me tell you a little story.

Oh, the webs we weave, when first we practice to deceive....

When I was about 4 years old, I spent the morning in our little country neighborhood playing with my friends down the road. When it was time, I went home for lunch, having made solid plans to return to my friend's house to continue playing the afternoon away.

To my surprise and horror, Mom told me that no; I wouldn't be going out to play. I would be taking a nap. Of course I thew a fit becuase I was both wide awake and wanted to PLAY! Well, of course, me being 4 and Mom being Mom, she won that argument and sent me to my room, but you see, there's a bit more to this story...

As I sulkily ate my lunch, punishing Mom with my pouting silence, I came up with a plan to make Mom THINK I was napping, but I was REALLY going to go play with my friends. I was going to choose adventure and fun over obedience.

When I finished lunch, I (apparently) obediently went to my room, found one of my dolls, and placed her in my bed. You see, Mom always commented on that particular doll and how much her hair resembled mine. And I ALWAYS slept with covers over my head, even on hot summer days like that particular one, so it wasn't odd for me to cover my head but still leave a bit of hair poked out. I knew Mom would "check in" on me during my "nap", so I made sure to rustle the bedcovering a little. I think I even changed my shoes so she'd see a pair by my bed as though I'd kicked them off before climbing in.

Quickly, I opened my bedroom window, opened the screen (something my brother had recently shown me how to do), made sure there were no spiders as that was the ONLY thing that would keep me inside, and seeing that the coast was clear, I climbed out, closed the screen behind me, leaving it cracked just enough so I could open it again when I got back, and snuck around the house remaining below the windows to avoid being seen.

I spent a few hours with my friends, blissfully playing, but unfortunately, we got into a fight. I ended up stomping home, steaming mad, and because I was so angry, I completely forgot about my plan of escape and return. As such I burst through the front door, stood in the kitchen, hands on my hips and announced that I was NEVER going to play with D. and J. EVER AGAIN!

I can still see my Mom standing in the kitchen, wiping her hands off on a dishtowel, staring at me in shock and growing anger.

"I thought you were taking a nap!"

Uh oh! I can still remember the sense of horror that I had just exposed my very big lie.

I actually tried to race to my room ahead of Mom to erase the evidence, but predictably, she beat me to it, tore back the covers and exposed the deception and disobedience.

That was the first time I was ever grounded. I was four years old.

Let's Break This Down

I know that some of you reading this will first question my age - four years old, running around the neighborhood? Yup, that's right, and no exaggeration. I'd been free to run around at about the age of 3, within limits. Our home was surrounded by retired couples and stay at home moms who knew all of us and where we were allowed to go and when. My friends lived the equivalent of a block from my house and we all knew to watch for traffic on the gravel that only served our immediate homes. Besides, times were very different then and there wasn't a lot of crime in our sleeply little town, and certainly not in our immediate neighborhood.

So, that objection handled, let's talk about a child's ability to reason.

1. I knew that I was disobeying my mother, and willfully so. Proof: I hid my crime and deliberately pretended to obey by going to take my "nap" without argument once Mom refused to give in. (Premeditation)

2. I went to great lengths to plan how to hide my disobedience, to include the return trip of climbing back in the window. (Deliberation)

3. I knew that if Mom discovered my deception, I'd be in BIG BIG trouble, but I did it anyway. (full knowledge that what I was doing wrong, consent to do it anyway)

What are the three elements of mortal sin? According to paragraph 1857 of the Catechism of the Catholic Church, a mortal sin must be an objectively grave matter, committed with full knowledge and consent.

Now, I will not say that my sin that day (or rather, slippery slope of many sins) was mortal, for the simple act of disobedience, no matter how complexly I went about it, is not normally a "grave matter", especially for a four year old. However, I would argue that it was sufficiently grave especially considering my age, the danger I could have been in, and the fact that one intent to disobey led to a whole host of other sins, including the fight with my friends which ultimately ended our friendship. (That's a long story and I don't want to tattle!)

Can children commit mortal sin? Yes, I would argue that they can. Usually, though, the fact they don't have sufficient knowledge and certainly can't reason through the consequence of their actions even if they can reason the concrete "how" to commit them, prevents them from meeting the definition of "mortal sin".

Always, though, when I speak with someone who advocates a more mature age for First Confession, if they argue on the grounds that "children aren't capable of mortal sin", I query, "Why would you wait to teach them about right, wrong, and sin when they ARE capable of doing something that grave?" Seriously...wouldn't that be like closing the barn door when the horses have already escaped?

For some reason, some adults of a certain age have no problem telling their children about right and wrong and even mete out punishments and corrections as they grow, but when it comes to Confession, they balk and say, "Oh, my kids can't really sin."

Except they do, all the time, and they are AWARE of it - but they need US to teach them what sin is and how that affects their relationship with God...and with others. How are they ever to learn about consequences if consequences aren't taught? Children know how to choose what is right, and they do THAT all the time, too, and understand that if they obey here, there are good consequences that follow, and that reinforces their good behavior. That's even basic psychology!

Confession, though, also teaches children how to identify their sins, how to correct them, and learn the consequences, not just in this life, but for the next.

And you know what? Children really really love Jesus a great deal, and they want to please Him, they want to be right with Him, and that want that deep, personal relationship with Him.

Still, there's one other thing we can't miss when talking about the Sacraments: Grace.

Not only do children need to learn how to identify sin and take responsibility for it, but they need that final revelation that SINS CAN BE FORGIVEN! Remember: God never reveals sin without revealing His Mercy.

Children can learn that, and not just learn it, but EXPERIENCE it, and then, in the Sacrament of Confession, receive the Grace to be strengthened against temptation, to be guided in learning to live in Christ. They can be placed on the path to Sainthood and perhaps, learn to never commit a mortal sin!

Dare we hope for such Grace? And why not? God freely OFFERS it!

Certainly, people can argue all day long about whether or not children can commit mortal sin, but when it comes to the mysterious workings of God's Grace in the soul, that's where the argument ends.

Why would we ever want to risk a child's eternal soul by denying them the Grace of the Sacrament of Reconciliation, especially, and properly, before they receive Our Lord's Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity in their First Holy Communion?

.

A Tale of Pajama -Clad Girls and a Stolen Goat

2011-08-31T15:07:00.000-05:00

For a few days now, I've been giggling about a story out of Mankato.

Two little girls, ages 5 and 7, snuck out of their house on Saturday night, walked a mile to a Farm Park (whatever that is, exactly), and, uh...liberated a goat. They brought a leash with them and just walked the goat back to their home along a busy street, wearing their footie pajamas.

Fortunately, a neighbor saw them and thought it a strange enough sight to call 911, and fortunately, since they did look so odd, being so young, wearing pajamas in public, and leading a goat in the city, it was very easy for the chortling officer to find them.

I don't think it was very easy for the Police Officer to stifle her own laughter as she "assisted" the children and the goat home.

Today a local News channel posted a video of the story, well worth checking out!

2 MN girls pull off the great goat escape!

Now I want a goat! (Well...I've wanted goats for a long time, but I live in the city and I don't think my neighbors would appreciate goats in the garage. Or the yard. Even if they WOULD save on lawn mowing fees!

Just sayin'

Discalced Singles of Perpetual Involuntary Vocational Deprivation

2011-08-27T00:16:00.000-05:00

Every now and then someone contacts me to ask how my "discernment" is going, and that makes sense, considering the very premise upon which I began this blog was... (drum roll....) : VOCATIONAL DISCERNMENT.

Well, I haven't offered any updates because IT ISN'T GOING ANYWHERE.

Literally.

Now, don't jam up my combox [not that I recall what a jammed-up combox is since I've never had one] with a bunch of hand waving interruptions and insinuations like nightmares from the past I wish I could forget resembling "But Adoro! But Adoro! Go to this community! Or this Order! And Oh my gosh, Adoro, my twelfth cousin thrice removed liked THIS community and celebrated her jubilee this week so you should go there!".

Please spare me and all we discernment-weary Singles your....uh...distant relative's joy. I already assume it exists and that if God wanted us to know more about it, we'd be the recipient of it in some way, and far more directly than a combox internet-vocational-charitableness assault from someone I don't know and who doesn't actually know me no matter what I've written over the years. (Why do I fell like I'm channeling The Crescat right now?!)

Anyway...yeah...I'm done looking and have been for over a year now. I know where I'm going but God has not opened the door. In fact, even though the community opened the door, I have not been able to enter their program, ironically, because I work for a church and every one of their formation weekends has also taken place on a weekend I have been required to work. Every one. No exception. Not even their retreat was possible for me. That's what I get for having to direct a program I don't even want; but then again, we must be obedient and go when GOD calls, not when we would prefer to go.

As a friend of mine observed (someone comfortably married who can afford to make such observations), I'm probably experiencing a "purification".

Yeah, tell me something I DON'T know. What I AM interested in knowing is whether this ongoing period of purification that began roughly when I lost my first career in late1996 is going to finally come to an end? Gosh, stick a fork in me already! I'm done!

Apparently God isn't into the culinary arts and doesn't have very good aim with the fork. Maybe He should talk to St. Lawrence, who always knew when he was done.

But I digress.

After a conversation with a friend today, who was under the impression that I have decided to no longer pursue religious life, I realized that, well, this limbo is not only Hell for we who suffer it, but also a really confusing time for our friends and family members who have come to "see" us, finally, as religious, and don't understand why we're not living in a community and going around chanting and praying all the time.

This conversation made me come up with

A COMPLETELY BRILLIANT PLAN!

Oh, my regular followers are all shaking in your shoes right now, aren't you? You know ALL ABOUT my "Completely Brilliant Plans" from the past and how they...uh...ended...don't you?

Well, you all may be naysayers but really, this is brilliant and this time I MEAN it!

So, here's the deal: there's a lot of we Single Catholics out there who aren't at all sure of our Vocation and are at various stages of discernment. For some it is a new thing, for some, who are veterans like me, we actually squwack cobwebs from our mouths when we utter the word "Vocation", and that's really disconcerting both to us and to our various interlocutors.

Many of us have worked really really hard, with SD's, with friends, with spiritually-wise trusted people to learn to seek God's will, and some of us have, in that journey, even spent thousands of dollars in a Master's in Theology program just to work in a church so that we might become even MORE poor and deprived in a voluntary economic inversion of involuntary poverty we didn't actually understand before it irrevocably buried us.

We discerned seriously, and then the doors closed. We realized we aren't called to Marriage (or probably not, at least), and focused with our entire hearts and souls upon religious life of some sort, and learned that, well, with our debt, the market crash that made it impossible for we late vocations to sell our homes and actually be without debt as canonically required, our student loans, our credit card loans from paying for car repairs not covered by warranty...etc...we're really REALLY buried, and not a valuable finely crafted Trappist coffin among us!

No one will have us. We're so poor we can't pay our own bills, and even though we have the ability, otherwise, to enter religious life, we find there are other obstacles, such as parish work, that literally makes it impossible to even BEGIN to enter the final stages to acceptance to a community...which, if completed, would open doors to mere financial assistance.

But heck, at least we get to experience the poverty-part while seeking. That's such a nice plus.

Gosh, I can't tell you what an honor it is to offer up a near-foreclosure existence while barely staying ahead of disconnection bills. Just riding the holy wave of the almost-destitute....whew! The ADRENALINE baby!

It's so heroic to be single and try to figure out which of my possessions will fit into a box on the corner under the 394 bridge near the Basilica in Minneapolis. I think my wool blankets hand-woven from Mexico, the ones I got in the market, would be wonderful, but I hope they don't pick up vermin too quickly or start to stink if they get wet.

But WAIT!

IT DOESN'T HAVE TO BE LIKE THAT!

This brings us to my plan:

MY COMPLETELY BRILLIANT PLAN:

I'm going to found a new Religious Order!

Are you ready?

Good!

But...before I tell you what it is, there will be a certain code of introduction we the Screeners (not "Superiors" as we have no authority whatsoever) will be looking for. It should be something like this:

"Hi, I'm Adoro and I'm a Single in Vocational limbo just when I had it figured out for...hold on I have to count (one...two..three...) Do you have a calculator? No? Ok, hold on... (four...no, wait...ok six...back to...right...then...) TEN! I had it figured out for the tenth time, consistently. Um, except that...well...uh *scratching head, scraping toe on floor* I'm still Single and I THINK I'm supposed to enter religious life except that, ah, well...I can't. And it's not just a matter of funds but...ah, well...the door is...uh....stuck.

Yes, that's right, it's stuck. It won't open. I've tried and tried and the crowbar is defective. See? It broke! And now I'm out $20.00 for the broken crowbar and the store won't take it back since it's "used". Now I have to skip 3 days of Ramen noodles because I have to pay for that bloody crowbar!"

You see, that's what we'd be looking for, although variations would be permitted.

So, are you interested in what Religious Order could come out of the above intake interview?

Here it is:

The Discalced Singles of Perpetual Involuntary Vocational Deprivation

Who we Are: Singles from all walks of life who have sincerely sought God's will for our lives but broke crowbars and hurst tools while trying to open each and every Vocational Door...at least twice, if not more. We're on the "lowered expectations" end of the scale because most of us have tried sincerely several times and seem to be stuck in a room full of a few doors that refuse to open or be chopped down.

Each candidate goes through a screening process to make sure they aren't just taking the "easy way out"; we Discalced Singles of Perpetual Involuntary Vocational Deprivation worked HARD to get to where we aren't, and we won't tolerate anyone who hasn't put in the honest time and mileage. Most of us are age 36 and above, given the cut-off ages of most religious communities.

We Discalced Singles of Perpetual Involuntary Vocational Deprivation will take ANYONE of any age over and above those accepted by religious congregations. We're like the opposite of the Frassati Society - the flip side of that coin.

Oh, and just to be curmudgeonly, we don't do outdoors things because it's really hard on our feet since we're discalced.

That brings us to our Vows:

We take vows of Chastity, Poverty (not like we have a choice!) and Obedience to the Magisterium of the Holy Catholic Church, and we will go barefoot (discalced), also because we have no choice because a requirement of membership is actual poverty because the economy crashed and they foreclosed on our houses so now we're both homeless and shoeless and just trying to keep the car running so we can get to work so we can pay taxes, never mind the groceries....

We're still discerning our Charism; the thus far non-existent Discalced Singles of Perpetual Involuntary Vocational Deprivation is such a motley crowd and we so fear becoming modern hippies with vile 60's and 70's colored dyes and ironed hair and designer fringes on the organic hemp clothing being pushed on us by a nearby vegan community who just doesn't "get" our spirituality, man, know what I'm sayin'? (Seriously, just because we're poor doesn't mean we're without taste or have in some way become color blind! Also...we like meat. We actually would be willing to raise cattle as long as we get a good cut of steak every now and then, especially when it's warm enough to grill.)

So...more to come as we continue to discern our involuntary Vocational deprivation....

Barking at the Rain

2011-08-23T22:31:00.000-05:00

Last week we experienced another summer deluge and I was amused to see my dog leave her cover and stand facing the living room window, nose lifted, sniffing the puffed breeze flowing through the screen. She barked once, sat, laid her ears back, and continued to analyze the scents, finding it necessary to alert me another few times with barks and less urgent "woofs" that it was, apparently...raining outside.

To all appearances, she was indeed, barking at the rain, and I admit I shared her sentiments; I'm tired of the rain, too.

Lately, it's been pouring, and I'm not just talking about the crazy weather we've been experiencing for nearly the last year: the unusual extremes of winter followed by the unusual extremes of summer. And of late, the death, the crisis, the emergencies, the uncertainty....it just won't stop raining.

Still, between the raindrops, there have been blessings, surprising blessings, seemingly small but when considered, reveal the hand of God at work.

My friend died a week ago Friday, and it was with agony on that day that I reigned in my own grief and called the many other volunteers who knew and loved him, and then I called his students. And my co-workers.

Every so often I had to stop and take a deep breath, perhaps let out a little sob, only so that it would not interrupt my speech. I had to be professional, and still, on several of the calls, it was obvious both to the person receiving the news and to me that we BOTH knew the other was weeping.

I think what hit me the hardest was speaking to one of the students, catching the hitch in his voice, knowing he didn't want me to hear it and yet, I could nearly SEE it through the phone lines.

Willing to Suffer in Joy and Pain

For years, ever since I began at my work, I knew I was not "called" to it. I hate the charismaticsm that surrounds me and rules my co-workers and any area of youth ministry in which I am involved. I hate having to conform to a spirituality I do not possess and find lacking, and then inflict it upon our youth as though this is the ONLY thing.

One of the pillars of my work, then, was the man who recently went to his eternal reward, because although he never expressed it, he and I saw eye to eye on this and worked together to bring our own more...contemplative...spiritualities into the realm of religious education. And I know, from him and from his students, that he truly brought himself into the classroom, engaging them with stories from his life and military service, showing his love for them through teaching our Catholic faith through example, devotion, and practice.

He died praying for "his boys" and all who instruct students in the Catholic faith. To my blog readers...that means he was praying for YOU and for YOUR students as well!

Unexpectedly Finding my Place

When I went to pay my respects, before I approached the coffin I waited to speak with one of his daughters, and in a way, felt very awkward. It wasn't "my parish" because I only worked there, right? Yes, my work parish is a second home of sorts, but...still. Who was I to enter into this moment of grief?

The second she saw me, though, his daughter threw her arms around me and sobbed into my shoulder, "He loved you so much!"

I hugged her back, instantly as tearful, hugging her as fiercely. I've lost my father, too, and now I've lost a friend who was HER father, and all I could expel between my own sobs was, "I loved HIM so much, too!" We cried together, shared joyful stories together, and, well, reveled in the love of a struggling-to-be-holy man who had touched so many souls.

While there I saw many other parishioners, and we alternately wept and smiled, for we all knew our grief was transient; we believe in the Resurrection, and we are happy this dear soul has been called back Home, where we all hope to meet again.

It was there that I understood my place in the parish; I, too, have a role, I have a place, and to those parishioners I am also a part of the the family. Although I had often called upon this man for help in various programs, and he has meant a lot to me, it was through his family that I learned how important I was to him...and to all of them.

They helped me, unwittingly, understand more deeply the bonds of friendship and service and that my parish work has effects I cannot possibly understand.

My friend, in his death, has taught me a great lesson, perhaps the most important I have ever learned, about the value of the smallest things I do in my employment in ministry and their impact on the people I serve, including my volunteers.

It Was Pouring

While learning this great lesson, I was in the midst of fear of greater grief, fear of losing my mother. Fear of being the only family member available during her procedure. Fear of making the wrong decision for her, contrary to her wishes and Catholic teaching.

I couldn't find my mother's medical directive so couldn't bring it to the hospital so trusted, as she'd shown me, that it was with her documents should it be needed. She had to fill out paperwork prior to arriving at the hospital, so when I arrived I thought it would be available to me.

No, it wasn't. Mom remembered her overnight bag, but left all of her documents...ALL of them...on her kitchen table. That meant that her pre-op was delayed as she filled out the permissions and history and contacts all over again, but it wasn't until I was brought back and sat with her for an hour that I learned she didn't have her medical directive.

My own heart nearly stopped when, 40 minutes into what we expected to be a 60-120 minute procedure, I was called back to the "Consulting Room".

I had been glancing at the clock, wondering how my friend's funeral was going, wishing I was there, praying not to be planning my own mother's funeral.

Then in the Consulting room, I was living in two places: planning the future and visualizing the present at which I was not...present.

Because I've written of it, you all know how it turned out...but I cannot accurately express my agony of that time.

Feast of St. Rose of Lima

It is fitting that I finally publish this post on the Feast of such a great Saint, for St. Rose of Lima was well acquainted with suffering, and chose it both for her own hidden humiliation but also to emphasize the necessity of our willingness to unite our own agony with that of Christ in His Passion.

How often I fail at this! How often I complain and squirm and wail and whine!

How often God must roll His Divine eyes at my caterwaling!

When I experience the slightest discomfort, I complain.

Elevated humidity? Oh, the suffering!

A pain in my knee? Oh, the agony!

A bit more rain than usual? Oh the torment and drama!

A bit of suffering with the chance of "offering it up"? Oh the refusal to rise to holiness!

St. Alphonsus Liguori, in "Uniformity With God's Will" wrote with simplicity about how easy it is to just...accept God's will in every moment.

I can't even stand a bit of discomfort. It's "too hot" or "too cold" or "too busy" or "too...whatever". Never mind the toil our Savior suffered for our salvation.

It's so easy to forget that we aren't here on earth to be comfortable and really shouldn't be so shocked at the trials that come our way. After all...we choose most of them for ourselves! Seriously, we shouldn't complain so much when we are faced with adversity of any sort.

While I can't speak for my readers, most of whom, no doubt, buck up so much better, I can say, with great shame, that I am all too willing to give in to venting and anger and passion when faced with the realities of life, when something is asked of me that takes me out of my comfort zone.

That is behavior far unfitting a Christian.

A couple weeks ago, the Gospel was about the woman Jesus called a "dog".

I know why He did this, and I know why she compared herself to one as well. She and I are one and the same and I realized it while I watched my German Shepherd respond with defiance to the downpour that was flooding our yard.

I am nothing more than a dog barking at the rain, for the rain will fall whether I bark at it or not. I know Christ and have been baptized into His Body, yet am nothing more than a dog refusing crumbs and barking at the rain, only to seek shelter as though the thunder and lightning do not exist.

The Calvary Cometh

2011-08-16T11:27:00.000-05:00

I spent yesterday in the hospital with my Mom. First waiting while she was being prepped, then waiting with her in pre-op.

The nurses, techs, and practitioner were all amazing and I was very impressed. While the time dragged on as we waited together for the procedure room to come available, I developed a new hobby: watching the IV drip.

It's fascinating. I also counted the high number of ports. It's almost as exciting as watching paint dry. In a phone conversation with my brother that put Mom to sleep, we discussed the epic IV dripping with great excitement and animation.

Then without ceremony, they came to take Mom away and banish me back into the exile of the waiting room where I fired up my computer and tweeted about IV drips and drops. It was only 10:30 so I wasn't ready for lunch, and they'd told me it would be anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour and a half. No problem...I'd wait.

To my surprise, they called me to go to the consulting room only 40 minutes after they had wheeled my mother away to surgery. Was this good or bad news? Was the consult the type of "this is what happened and we need to do something NOW" or "good news she's fine"?

The volunteer who escorted me to the lonely and isolated but comfortable "consultation room" told me the surgeon would be out in 5 minutes. Nope, he wasn't. I waited. And waited. And my uncle called on my mother's phone and I explained I'd know more...um...10 minutes ago? He asked me to call him back after I'd spoken with the surgeon. No problem.

Sure enough, the surgeon came out and delivered good news and with a diagram to prove it. He explained that they hadn't found anything so no medical intervention actually needed, contrary to our expectations! Thankfully I returned to the less-lonely waiting room and a staff member helped me carry my mother's things to post-op.

As I walked into the room Mom said, "Well where were you?" with this terrible, wide-eyed expression suggesting I had abandoned her.

"Um...in the waiting room." She immediately relaxed.

"Oh." and then she forgot all about it. Quite literally.

The initial plans were for Mom to remain in the hospital overnight and then go home in the medical transport van that had brought her there. Unfortunately, the hospital was releasing her, deeming an overnight stay (in spite of an arterial stick) to be "unnecessary". Why was it "unnecessary"? Because insurance wouldn't cover it.

So we had to scramble for a plan because she couldn't take the van home unless someone could ride with her. But we had no one to ride with her and stay with her overnight - we had not planned for it as they'd assured us, apparently, that Mom would be in the hospital overnight!

Oh, my. So it was decided that I would drive her to my brother's home, she would stay there and we'd figure out from there how to get her back home this week.

That's not what happened.

Last night I spoke with Mom as she called me in a panic over some directions from the doctor, which I explained was not part of her care plan since they had not put in stents. Oh, ok. Thanks.

All seemed well and I went to bed. My phone rang sometime around 2:30 am or so. I answered after staring at it in confusion but no one was there. I think I tried to call back but don't really remember. I knew it was my brother but figured perhaps he'd called me accidentally while checking on Mom.

I went back into a troubled sleep, to be awakened at 6 am by my brother, calling again. This time I managed to actually answer the phone.

He explained Mom had gone to the hospital via ambulance at about 2:45 or 3:00 am and was being admitted - she now has pneumonia. During that 6 am conversation, he had to disconnect but later emailed me the room information. When we finally spoke again I got the crazy events that had led up to the 911 call.

I admit I had to chuckle a little bit over some of it - the repeated conversations with my very confused yet childlike mother, and my brother's surprise that, when you call 911 for a medical emergency you don't just get an ambulance, you get a BIG RED TRUCK! And a squad car. Yup - you get the calvary!

My brother had been very unsure about calling for an ambulance but I'm glad he realized the necessity of it. I won't go into details about the events that took place at his house; suffice to say he did the right thing and clearly, Mom is where she needs to be.

At this point we don't know what else will happen, how long she'll be there, or if they'll be able to identify some others of her medical complaints, of which there are many. Thank you to all my readers who have been praying for my mom, and please continue praying - clearly, we aren't out of the woods yet and don't even know what is coming next.

Hypoxic

2011-08-14T20:55:00.000-05:00

This evening my brother called; he saw Mom this weekend and said she is falling to "suggestion". Because other people thinks she has to look a certain way, she now looks "ashen".

I rolled my eyes thankful we were on the phone, even though his description kicked my worry up a notch or so.

He explained then that Mom did NOT receive the Sacrament of the Sick (Anointing) at her parish, citing the fact that apparently, Father didn't have the oils on him. He was going to call her so I asked him to find out for certain, because if she was truly denied the Sacrament, I was going to call the hospital so that a priest could be there tomorrow.

Monday is the ONLY day there is no priest available at the hospital.

After some conversation, I gave my brother some facts about coronary heart disease, how the heart works, and what happens to a brain that is not receiving enough oxygen. This took place after he told me Mom had dropped the F-bomber.

That's right. Mom brought the F-word into everyday conversation. We have NEVER heard her utter that word. Ever.

Ergo: she's either had a stroke or she's hypoxic. Given her current diagnosis, I'm guessing the latter.
As I had to explain to my brother, welcome Hypoxia, the guest of Coronary Heart Blockage. Who is being evicted tomorrow. We hope. And disconnected.

Then Mom called, and I spoke with Her Hypoxicness directly.

It took some creative lines of questioning, but I learned that yes, Mom DID receive the Sacrament of the Sick (Anointing). She had gone to Confession, and Father didn't have the oils on him and expressed that he didn't feel the Sacrament of the Sick was proper in her case. Clearly he had no idea what he was talking about, or Mom wasn't clear, etc.

As it turned out, though, after Confessions he DID Anoint her as she requested, regardless of his own "feelings" on the subject.

So thank God for that!

Then, once I had that information, Her Hypoxicness began crabbing at me about being tired, traffic, driving, and not knowing where to park tomorrow which was all making her even MORE tired, and she was also apparently angry that I was keeping her awake since she forgot that in fact, she called ME!

I explained to her that she was taking med transport to the hospital and didn't need to worry about parking - they would know where to drop her off. (I, on the other hand, do need to worry about parking and which limb will be severed to pay for it.).

Based on my brother's physical description of Mom today, her liberal use of profanity that has NEVER been part of her vocabulary, and her confused conversation with me this evening, I am even more worried than I was.

It is clear that the blockage in her coronary is affecting her more acutely than we'd realized. She's been short of breath for a long time, but also suffers from COPD from her years of smoking.

I pray that she makes it to the hospital tomorrow and hope they have O2 readily available.

Please pray for the surgeons who will be operating, the surgical techs and nurses, the anesthesiologist (I know there is at least one really good Catholic among them..hoping she's on the team), and all who are there to care for my mother and other patients at the hospital tomorrow.

Tomorrow, because it is a Monday, is the only day during the week that the hospital does not have a Catholic priest available. I am praying that because it is a Solemnity (Assumption of Mary), there will be a Mass I can attend and perhaps, if needed, a priest available, especially if it turns out he is needed.

Mom received the Sacraments (Thank God!) but you know what? I need them, too and it seems I will be deprived of Mass on the day I may need it the most.

Serious Air Force Amazingness!

2011-08-13T21:57:00.002-05:00

Seriously, you have GOT to check out the pipes on this Air Force (National Guard?) Staff Sergeant Angie Johnson and the rest of the band, the Sidewinders:

The Intelligence from YouTube gives us the background on this incredible force:

Air Force Staff Sgt. Angie Johnson and Sidewinder perform a cover of "Rolling in the Deep'" by Adele. Sidewinder is part of the 571st Air Force Band, 131st Bomb Wing, Air National Guard. They are deployed as the U.S. Air Forces Central Command Band.

Sidewinder is Capt John Arata - officer in charge, keyboards, fiddle; Tech. Sgt. Kevin Maret - NCO in charge, percussion; Tech. Sgt. John Cavanaugh - operations/logistics, bass; Tech. Sgt. Joseph Castilleja - guitar; Staff Sgt. Tobias Callaway - saxophone; Staff Sgt. Ransom Miller - trumpet; Staff Sgt. Devin LaRue - trombone, guitar, keyboards; Staff Sgt. Brian Owens - vocals; Staff Sgt. Angie Johnson - vocals; Staff Sgt. Sean Navarro - Audio, Trombone

If you're not rockin' out with Sgt. Angie and Sidewinder and company on this, there's something seriously wrong with you.

OK, and really...check out that violin and hit that guitar....absorb those drums and return the echo.

I gotta be honest...I could sing this song and hit the notes, but I couldn't sing it with abandon, the proper vocal tone and hit every note, every word, and embrace it with the same SOUL Sgt. Johnson hits with with such complete and effortless abandon. That is a true gift from God!

Dang. I'd be honored to sing backup for her, anything to bring out her vocals even MORE.

Is Sgt. Angie and Sidewinder releasing a album any time soon?

If I were dying, my wish would be to sing backup on their cover recording of this song. (No offense to Adele! I just love our Troops!)

** ** **

Um, well, OK then, nothing to see here and stop listening to Adoro [try to] sing in her car, shower, or livingroom!

Move on..nothing to see here...nothing to hear here...

Some things are just plain 'way bigger than a blog can contain...

Life Gets In the Way

2011-08-12T22:04:00.000-05:00

Or is it more proper to say, Life IS the way?

We don't grow in holiness through blogging about it. We grow by experiencing challenges that force us to grow in virtue.

Our life experiences bring us out of our comfort zones, force us to confront not just the situation but also to reflect upon the state of our own souls, and hopefully, to help us grow deeper into our Vocations or even temporary states in life.

What's the old saying? "Man plans and God laughs". Something like that.

There's been a LOT going on around me, at home and with family and work, and it consumes me.

Today has been especially difficult and I even fled quickly from Mass this evening, knowing I didn't have enough kleenex to absorb the tears.

We all deal with tragedy, but I'm still trying to sort out the magnitude of tragedy going on around me. I thank God for a special gift He sent this week, that being lunch with an old friend who is back in town for a reunion. Perhaps that was the respite that prepared me for today in the wake of all that has been going on and will coalesce in the next week.

Backstory

I can't go into detail because it may involve court proceedings, but I can reveal a little.

Remember last fall, my posts about the battle against the mouse invasion?

Yeah. I had no idea what we were all up against. Although eventually the mice population lost to human dominance over our own proper habitat, we unfortunately didn't realize that humans can choose to be vermin because that, too, is a part of our fallen nature.

If I'd realized then what was going on, I would have been on the horn to child protection and the health department and anyone with jurisdiction over this on a weekly basis.

You see, I live in a townhome and the unit in question, being rented, was host to someone who misrepresented herself and unfortunately, wasn't screened by the homeowner. So it was that about 5 families or other single personages moved in, and the main renter happened to allow immediate destruction by her children with no correction. Ever.

Let's just say that the renter in question turned out to be a hoarder, didn't understand what cleaning chemicals, brushes, rags, mops, vacuums, etc are for, and never employed them. Ever. In fact, there seemed also to be no understanding in that home at all that garbage containers were designed for a purpose, too. Apparently, these people decided that living with and among and on top of and under garbage of all types was something they preferred.

Now, I didn't realize this until recently. Yes, I'd noticed the growing rank smell in my garage and increasingly had to suppress the gag reflex every day I came home. And yes, the people who resided there increasingly used the front lawn as a livingroom, and often, the lawn outside my place for major celebrations, which was very noisy and annoying especially with their unleashed dog and uncontrollable children who literally threw patio furniture at each other with no parental intervention.

But that's beside the point. They had their electricity turned off for non-payment shortly before the end of their lease which was not being renewed, and that's where I came in. While checking on the property for my friend the homeowner, I and another neighbor became aware of the ACTUAL condition of the property and the filth that contained the people there.

Have you ever seen the show "Hoarders" on A&E? I find it ironic that I watched a few of them via Netflix while on the other side of my wall, THAT'S what was going on. But you see, I didn't realize because I had no reason to pass in front of that unit that faced away from me, and they were such heavy smokers that the cigarette smoke that permeated the walls and filled my home with a haze actually covered the scent of garbage and human soil.

Really.

Well, I actually had to enter the abandoned place to turn stuff off when the owners, unaware of what was left on deliberately or not by the vacated renters, had it turned back on. We pulled the fuse on the Central Air from outside and decided to enter (trespass) in order to protect the owner. And it all went downhill from there.

You can't imagine the smell. Four cats and the litter box never cleaned, or if so, only rarely. The introduction of a puppy. Actual violence done to the actual structure of the home. Filth everywhere. A kitchen never cleaned...ever. Walking on garbage, floors tacky, even the carpets. Mold and mildew from a serious water leak they did not call the landlords to report. (Now I know the source of the mildew I smelled about mid-winter but could never track in my house. The leak wasn't mine..but the scent came through my walls).

So...well...let's just say I've been in the unit taking damage photos with the owner's permission, blessing, and gratitude simply because I used to investigate fraud and know about the importance of photos in court proceedings.

Unfortunately, I may have signed away, for free, several years of my life.

But Wait! There's More!

Well, my personal life isn't exactly roses, either.

While I'm not a hoarder by any means, I have agony coming at me from another direction: family.

Recently I wrote about my mother's upcoming surgery. Even though Angioplasty is perhaps the least-invasive of all heart surgeries, the fact is that we all only have one heart muscle and if something goes wrong, it's over.

It's complicated by the fact my mother is high-risk with diabetes and a non-or-under-functioning kidney. (For those unaware: that complication has to do with the dye used to identify the blockage).

I'll be waiting at the hospital, alone, while Mom is in surgery as bro can't be there, and so I've been trying to emotionally and mentally prepare myself for the worst case scenario.

Today

Then today I went to work, and learned that my friend, whom I wrote about a couple weeks ago, died this morning.

That was hard enough and I had steeled myself for the news, knowing that as a parish employee, I could not give in to emotions. I had to inform as well, and be present to support others.

So I received the news and took advantage of the short period of numb denial, and called, personally, all of our volunteers who had worked with him so long, starting with the most difficult. Then called the teens he had taught, and heard some very touching things from the parents with whom I spoke: as much as this man had been touched by "his boys", they also had been touched and spoke often of him. They had also learned much of their faith and that, too, had made incredible impact.

Because of this response I passed on to them his dying wish, which I won't reveal here for that should remain silent but for those whom it involves right now.

While making those calls, I often had to stop, take a deep breath, and get my emotions under control. On the other end of the phone I heard tears, sharp intakes of breath before I even delivered the news as some seemed to sense that I wasn't calling for my normal August reasons.

Many took the news and re-directed the conversation to other things, probably for the same reason I allowed it to be re-directed: for composure. To speak of normal things because, well, we were ALL at work.

And sadly, I had to leave the information on some voice mails and with great apologies. Still, if it were me, I'd rather have the voice mail notification than none at all or a cold emailed version.

Because of all this, I had to get away from the office. I couldn't go to the Adoration Chapel at work; when I am there I need to be "professional" and can't just go there to cry there in front of Jesus.

I had to go home, so I left work, went to my home parish chapel, and prayed the Office of the Dead, Divine Mercy, and laid my grief before My Lord.

And Then It Got Worse

When I arrived home, I had a phone call from my boss with the funeral information: it's Monday, the Feast of the Assumption.

The same day as my Mother's surgery.

I can't go.

I can't go to my friend's funeral because I will be sitting in a waiting room praying not to have to plan my mother's funeral.

And on top of all of that, today I also learned a co-worker and friend was diagnosed with breast cancer and will be undergoing very aggressive treatment, starting very soon.

We Are All Tested

I can't explain the ways of God, but I know the family of my friend probably hoped for a funeral on the Feast of the Assumption for the same reason I prayed my mother's surgery would be on that very same Feast Day.

It comes down to our beliefs about the Assumption, about eternity, about the Blessed Mother's intervention at the time of death

It comes down to what we believe about Purgatory (pray for the Holy Souls!) and eternal Beatitude.

Grief isn't a bad thing, as some want to imply. Grief is beautiful, for it is a corollary of love. We cannot truly grieve those we did not love. In grief, tears are the pearls recorded by God and if offered up, applied as prayers on behalf of the loved one who has gone to join Him, and such pearls are never wasted.

I know my friend received the Sacraments and spent his final months doing little but praying, most especially for others. I am honored and grateful to have been on his list.

I know my mother has received the Sacraments and will go into surgery spiritually prepared.

And I know that God wills me, in some sense, to be present there, in "original solitude", and He intends it for my holiness just as He intended for me to make all the phone calls, alone, earlier today, reigning in my own grief in order to support that of others. None of us lives for ourselves; our lives belong to God and He calls us forward into that life, to serve even when we'd rather retreat. This the paradox that makes us grow in virtue.

Tonight I am exhausted, and it seems, at every moment, there is a phone call or email demanding something more, and I find that still, somehow, I have more to give. It doesn't come from me...it comes from Him.

Yes, Life gets in the way of our personal plans, but in reality, that's because God calls us to live through everything so that we may more appreciate His sacrifice, learn to live it ourselves, and bring others to Him through our own suffering.

You know...Jesus never promised that we wouldn't suffer. Rather, He promised to be WITH us.

The more difficult the trial, the more He carries us and our load.

Thank You, Jesus, because I can't carry any more right now.

From Hell

2011-08-04T23:21:00.000-05:00

Spiders are from Hell. They are demons sent to torture us in small ways. Think about it.

My long-time readers will remember a couple posts on the topic of spiders.

The first was aptly entitled Spiders so I offer this excerpt:

Fast forward to my new townhome. For the first couple years, I lived in holy terror of the bushes. They were COVERED in funnel webs and sheet webs, spiders entered my house through microscopic cracks and I considered purchasing a S&W .45 semi-auto and staking out the doorway in order to blow every creeping spider into oblivion. Or purchase a blow-torch. Or Aqua-Net and a lighter.

Every morning as I stepped outside with the dogs, I feared walking into a web that covered the doorway. As it was, they covered the doorbell and made the bushes look like a horror-movie version of cotton-candy. Vanilla flavored. I idly wondered if I sprayed the bushes with food coloring, could I SELL the webs as a fair treat?

Spiders on a stick.

Read the rest; for once it's not a long post but it has the benefit of big, colorful pictures of spiders. Go ahead. I dare you!

You may be asking yourself, "What prompted this random post about the demonic nature of spiders?"

Well, my Google+ friend (I'm not naming him as I'm not sure if he's public or not) posted a photo of a spider sculpture demonically placed directly across from the Notre Dame Cathedral in Ottawa, Canada. The spider happens to sport a huge egg sac crawling with baby spiders ready to overcome the world. Or at least the square.

Or perhaps it is actually an allegory of an allegory of the dragon discussed in colorful detail in the book of Revelation; the dragon waiting to eat the child of the Lady, forcing her to flee to save him from the ~~spider's~~ dragon's terrible jaws.

I bet if we really look at the original Greek, the term for "dragon" would mean:

"huge giant gargantuan leviathan sickening drooling snapping aggressive funnel-and-sheet-web-weaving venom-bearing creepy crawling destructive poisonous vindictive rabid syphilic leperous flesh-eating hairy scuttering scaling ebola-and-tetanus-bearing kracken with eight legs building an ecosystem out of nasty rotten cotton spun out of its rear end in order to snare unsuspecting or misdirected innocents in order to entrap them in said cotton (not silk because silk is pretty) in order to suck blood from them for eternity just for sport and to get back at God for stepping on the snake that tempted Eve and suckered Adam."

Yup. That's what "Dragon" means in Revelation. It's all there. Really.

Spiders are creatures straight from Hell.

I once had a dream about it, and sin was the vehicle that carried the spider allegory. It still haunts me, and I STILL dream of spiders and spider-like creatures when I need to go to Confession.

Oh, yes, God knows how to remind me of Hell and how I will be spending it if I continue to reject Him.

I will be spending it with spiders, dead and alive, large and small, and I will NEVER be able to escape them!

The worst part about it, is this: if in life I become comfortable with them, that is the sign that in death, I will suffer eternal separation from God in their huge giant gargantuan leviathan sickening drooling snapping aggressive funnel-and-sheet-web-weaving venom-bearing creepy crawling destructive poisonous vindictive rabid syphilic leperous flesh-eating hairy scuttering scaling ebola-and-tetanus-bearing kracken with eight legs building an ecosystem out of nasty rotten cotton spun out of its rear end in order to snare unsuspecting or misdirected innocents in order to entrap them in said cotton (not silk because silk is pretty) in order to suck blood from them for eternity just for sport and to get back at God for stepping on the snake that tempted Eve and suckered Adam with no hope of ever escaping to a dragon/spider free eternity.

In order to understand this statement, check out my eternally-haunting dream from 2007, Attachments to Sin:

I turned away and went to find my spray bottle, a spider repellant, which I hoped would kill all the spiders that still lived, even unseen, in that terrible thick web. First I went to the garage where I was careful to cover all corners and the entire door with the fine spray. Then I went to the large wall/door in my home and sprayed it down, aiming especially at anything that moved. When done, I put the bottle away then returned to the conglomeration of spider webs, trying to figure out how best to deal with the mess.

Even as I stared at it, I realized that for some reason, I was not as horrified as I should have been; I am complete arachnophobic. I HATE spiders, they freak me out and give me nightmares. (case in point!). Yet I was somewhat disaffected by the overabundance of these horrible creatures and the home they had made in my very house!. I thought this kind of complacency to be odd, even in the dream.

*shudder*

Read the rest. You'll never look at spiders or sin the same way again.

Maybe you're still thinking I'm some sort of crank case.

I ask you this: Why do I think this post makes you think differently than you ever did before?

Yup. I'm a crank case. But that doesn't make me wrong.

Think about it; Spiders are a creation of God designed to reveal the nature of evil and Hell.

1. Some spiders are *cough choke vomit* pretty *choke choke choke Heimlich choke cough* in some twisted way, and attract people...well...who are attracted to that sort of...uh... *choke* beauty *choke..someone give me oxygen* !! Ugh. That's all I can say about that or I'll drop dead right here on my own blog.

2. Have you ever seen the morning sun, as it rises, reflect upon the dew droplets ~~innocently caught on the predatory~~ reflecting the new light, the dew droplets like perfect ~~victims~~ pearls, revealing the incredible artistic, ingenious design ~~of the~~ ~~death trap~~ ?

[Note to self: get rid of anything resembling pearls. They now remind me of dew drops being sucked to eternal torture in a demon's lair]

3. Spiders retreat and set snares for their prey, just like demons. All the creatures who find their violent end in a spider's web or outside his trapdoor have to do is go about their daily business of flitting from flower to flower or shade to shade, only to find the horrific countenance of deformed ickyness pouncing and latching onto them in all their nasty hairy skitteriness only to suck the life from them at leisure. It's a terrible, painful death involving liquefied organs.

No wonder they've spawned so many horror flicks. Just like they spawn their young and take over the planet.

4. Spiders and their lairs spawn and then attract innocent children who are fascinated by their surroundings and see only the pretty colors. Just like sin. Sin is pretty too, but it ensnares the soul and sucks the life out of the human who also mistook it for a shiny bauble.

5. The biggest spiders are found in the hottest places on earth: the tropics, the desert. Arizona, Nevada, New Mexico, Texas, Mexico, Guatemala, etc etc through the Amazon, then Africa, the Middle East, India, Taiwan, Indonesia, Australia, New Zealand....you get the picture.

Hell is HOT. That's why spiders live there on earth, too.

6. There are 6 points, the number of imperfection, ergo: God created spiders, and because every facet and creature of His creation has theological import, it's obvious that spiders were designed to remind us of Hell.

~~Spiders~~ Demons weave pretty webs but reproduce in astronomical proportions; whatever "beauty" can be attached to a spider is merely an allegory for Satan and his minions and his horrific residence.

Spiders and Demons are the same thing and should be handled in the same way they handle us: violently.

Maybe that's why the Saints said we must "do violence" to ourselves in order to rid ourselves of sin. After all, demons, by seeking to separate us from God, do violence to us, and spiders are, by nature, bloodthirsty, violent creatures.

I will never again feel guilty about "wasting" ammo on a spider. They're great for target practice.

I just wish the neighbors would relax about it.

What?

What Do Sin and Belly-Button Lint Have In Common?

2011-08-04T12:21:00.002-05:00

Observation 1:

Yesterday I was watching, via Netflix DVD, the 1980's show "Perfect Strangers".

This probably has to be one of the best comedies ever, and it's so refreshing to actually LAUGH at things that are funny but not in a squirmy "I shouldn't be laughing at this" kind of way.

In any case, Balki, from the mediterranian country of Mypos, was working on a lint painting. He explained to cousin Larry that the legend of its origin had to do with their spiritual leader. The man apparently made a trip to the top of a mountain where he sat staring at his navel for sixty days and sixty nights, and returned to his people with a lint painting.

Seriously, doesn't that make you giggle?

Then I reflected a bit on navel-gazing. Are you ready for my observation? Here it is:

If you don't navel-gaze on occasion, you'll never find the lint you missed.

Ponder that one for a bit...

Observation 2:

This morning's Divine Office, first reading, was taken from the book of Hosea.

The book itself is startling, expressive, and ultimately redemptive in character, but I always cringe at the names.

The prophet Hosea, at God's direction, took a harlet named Gomer as his wife, and she gave birth to a son. Then the Lord said to him,

Give him the name Jezreel
for in a little while
I will punish the house of Jehu
for the bloodshed at Jezreel
And bring to an end the kingdom
of the house of Israel;

Ugh. Brutal name for the poor infant son!

But wait! There's more!

Gomer gave birth to a daughter, and the Lord ordered Hosea,

"Give her the name Lo-ruhama;
I no longer feel pity for the house of Israel;
rather, I abhor them utterly.

And it even gets worse when Gomer gave birth to another son:

Give him the name of Lo-ammi,
for you are not my people,
and I will not be your God

That's just from today's reading! There's even more!

Although I do love the book of Hosea, which is an allegory expressing the spousal love of God for His Bride, the Church (and what a fallen Bride she is), the names given here cause me to ponder concupiscence, for truly, it is not God who rejects us, but we reject Him. We are the ones telling Him, "We will not be your people and You will not be our God."

That's what sin does.

Sometimes I am very saddened upon the necessary navel-gazing, looking for that lint I missed the last time I went to Confession. But when I really think about it, I am overwhelmed with gratitude that I am not named Gomer, Jezreel, Lo-ruhama or Lo-ammi, or for that matter, Mahershalalhashbaz.

That is all.

** ** **

P.S. You checked your belly-button for lint, didn't you? ;-)

Comedy Among Tragedy

2011-08-02T22:12:00.002-05:00

It's been a weird day for me, filled with grace, humor, sadness, grief, and hope.

Comedy of Errors

It all started with a thunderstorm that kept me home after my planned departure time, allowing me to take a phone call from a co-worker who needed a ride to work today.

I'd already opened my garage door for air, so when I finally left I found two birds taking shelter from the weather. They flew off as I encroached upon their friendly solitude and tossed my purse into the car.

En to co-worker's house, I was confused, wondering if perhaps I was on the wrong road; for some reason, everything looked weird today. Although the road signs and sights were familiar I was discombobulated, then taken aback even more when I had to slow for what I thought was a family of ducks. As I reached them, though, I didn't recognize them as any waterfowl I'd ever seen and was unable to get a good look thanks to a redneck pickup hard on my rear end. Had I not slowed to a stop for the birds, however, I would have run over the last cartoonish straggler, which I hope the pickup driver saw in his probable confusion as to my randomly-stopped behavior on a country road.

When I finally reached my co-worker's neighborhood, I missed the turn and had to go back, even though I've driven this route several times.

On the way to work, we saw yet another creature crossing the road ahead of us, but this time neither of us could identify us; could have been a cat, a badger, a skunk, or a raccoon...or some other critter not yet considered. For once, no deer appeared; they were probably still huddled in their storm-shelter thickets.

Then I took another wrong turn and headed up a highway that took me back towards home...not work. Laughing at my very stupid mistake, I turned around at the next exit and managed to navigate our way to the office.

My co-worker took me out for lunch to thank me for the drive to work and home for the last couple days, and on the way back from the office, I AGAIN turned down a wrong road, causing a detour from a known detour. There seemed to be a theme developing.

Finally, on the way back home, I AGAIN got off on the wrong exit to my co-worker's home, causing us to have to sit in traffic we could have avoided and even though it all worked out, she offered me the use of her GPS in case I got lost finding my way home again!

Yeah...I nearly took her up on that offer!

But that's not the whole story. There were bigger events today and I wonder if God just used my lapse in obvious navigation as comic relief to keep me from focusing on weight heavy upon my heart.

Tragedy

Today we visited a dear friend who is dying of cancer, now completely bedridden at home, suffering from the encroachment of several brain tumors.

I admit I was afraid to see him, but at the same time, looking forward to it, for I love this dear, dear man.

When we arrived, I had to hide my shock (even though I expected this) at his condition; he looked like a concentration camp survivor. This once-robust man was lying in bed, eyes still bright and welcoming, overwhelmed so much by a body wasted away that he could not even reach up to hug us, settling for a good strong handshake instead.

We remained for an hour or so, listening to a story about a part of his life, laughing with him and his wife as they still bantered, laughing with his lively spirit even as he struggled to draw his breath, waiting patiently through his pauses as he had to often swallow, breathe, and gather himself for the next thing he was going to say. It was a great gift to be with him.

This man and I have a few wonderful things in common: we graduated from the same university, although he has a greater claim to it: he was a Brother there for a time, trying his Vocation, attended the seminary there, and of course, ultimately earned his Bachelor's there, as did I...many many years later. So it was that I was grateful to sit at his feet, literally, as he spoke of his early Vocation, how it came to be, his Irish mother and her persistence, his Priest brother, and his children and grandchildren in their relationship to God and the Faith. He showed us his rosary, spoke of his brother's death (only a couple years ago), of his mother.

Yup. He's always been a storyteller, but what I reflected on as we left was this: in his stories, he is remembering and communicating not just his actions, but trying to impress upon us those he loved who had gone before him. He is getting ready to meet them again.

He gave me a few directions and hopes for his funeral, things that perhaps I can assist with, and I recognized it as a "dying wish". He knows full well that I don't have the power to do all of it, but I do perhaps have the ability to influence at least SOME of it...and a few other things perhaps he doesn't expect. Those things are in the works and I must pray about the rest, for it involves personally delivering very difficult news to young people in hopes they will respond in love through their grief and meet Christ more deeply.

I don't know if I'll ever see him again, but as we told his dear wife, we hope to come back for "Chapter 2" of his story. I don't think MY life will be complete without it.

The Unexpected Tragedy

When we returned to the office today after the hilarity of lunch and getting "lost" on the way back thanks to my ditziness in known lands, I had an email from my brother.

Mom recently came to the Cities, to Abbot Northwestern Hospital, for some tests on her heart. Well, they found a blockage. My brother said only that Mom needed surgery, family needed to be present, and he couldn't be there so call Mom.

So I did.

Mom has a blockage in one of her Coronary arteries, which are the arteries that supply blood to the heart itself. One of the tests she had was an angiogram, and the surgery required now is Angioplasty. For those unfamiliar, it means they send a little balloon into the artery to clear the blockage, and this includes many risks, although it is probably easily the least invasive heart surgery available.

I told Mom to schedule it according to what works. She was concerned about a meeting with her Insurance Agent that week. I told her to cancel it, he'll understand. (She worries about these kinds of things).

We also discussed the Sacraments: I told her she should be Anointed (Sacrament of the Sick), but she said she wasn't sure how to go about it. Part of the problem is that her own Pastor is out with his own health problems, so substitute priests are covering their parish. They never know who's coming, and often, they don't even arrive for scheduled Confessions on Saturday. She had thought, since there are rarely any lines anyway even if a priest DOES show up, that perhaps she could ask for the Sacrament then.

Well...given the improbability of this actually happening, she is going to contact another nearby parish, one with which she is familiar, and ask for Confession and Anointing. (I also told her Confession is part of the Last Sacrament, for those who are able, so even if she hadn't been to Confession they should be offering it). I looked up the phone number for her and it sounds like she is familiar with and comfortable with the priests, one of whom was ordained only a year or two ago.

As soon as I learned of her surgery, I sent out prayer requests, and immediately the Grace was flowing, as prayers are being answered.

First, Mom is going into surgery on August 15, the Feast of the Assumption. She has a HUGE devotion to the Blessed Mother, and I can't help but recall that my one and only surgery was on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. My Mother's prayers gave me my devotion to Mary and brought me back to my Faith, even though she didn't know I was lost. Now I am grateful to see Our Lady's intercession with the date of Mom's heart surgery.

We grew up with the images of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and Immaculate Heart of Mary...clearly, they will be with Mom, and hopefully with her surgeon, anesthesiologist, surgical nurses, technicians, lab techs, etc etc ets.

Secondly, she is going to receive the Sacraments of Confession and Anointing at...Divine Mercy parish.

At least, if complications arise, we will have the comfort of knowing she will go to Our Lord having received His Most Divine Mercy, after a life of suffering, after a life of quiet devotion and unnoticed holiness.

But please, God, not yet. I'm clearly still lost, can't find my way, and still need my mother!

Prayer Requests:

Please pray for my friend as he prepares to leave this world, and when you pray the rosary, add an extra decade for the Christian Brothers and for students everywhere.

Pray also for my Mom, who hopes to continue with we who still need her, yet she still has the humility to know she may be going into this and meeting eternal beatitude. Although my brother and I and our extended family want her forever in Jesus's arms, we aren't quite finished with her and are praying this surgery is typical and uneventful and gives her back a bit more health so that she can enjoy the fresh air a bit longer.

Thank you all who have already received this news and are praying, and thank you to all who pray upon learning this information now.

Growing Up

2011-07-28T00:11:00.000-05:00

Adulthood is never what children perceive it will be.

From a child's perspective, when one finally "grows up", they will be respected, have money to spend, get to sit at the adult's table at family reunions, and not have to go to bed when the best shows are on TV or the best things happening in the neighborhood.

Yeah, from a child's perspective, things in adulthood are all peachy and perfect.

I wish it was really like that.

You know that some days I sit up and think, "Oh my gosh! I am just a kid! Where is there an adult to go to in order to handle this problem! Help!" Then I stumble across a a mirror, see the wrinkles and sags, the weight gain and, well...the oldness...and realize there isn't anyone to go to anymore.

And even worse, more and more, I find I am becoming like one or the other of my parents, for better or worse.

The most tragic part of that fact is this: no matter how much I aspire to their greatest virtues, I seem to have made my own their most grievous faults. I have become the sum of the fall of my parents.

Nobody's Mom and Dad are perfect. Nobody's! No matter how well-to-do or how impoverished, every family, in modern pop-psychology terms, is "dysfunctional". Welcome to the human race. In ancient times and theology that was called "concupiscence", but in modern times, we poo-pooh that away by labeling it with things such as "dysfunction" and "co-dependence".

Oh, fogeddabodit! Let's just get to the point and recognize we're all a bunch of sinners in need of salvation, and yeah, we've been harmed by the sins of others! So what? How does that make anyone a victim?

Sorry, got off on a rant there for a bit.

Every so often, I fall into the Oprah-victim-pity-pot of interior destruction. Oh, to see her big brown eyes well up with tears for my familial demise....cry me a river. Seriously, is there anyone who DOESN'T deserve to be on now-defunct Oprah?

Tonight I fell into that trap for a short period. I thought about how, as a child, I was bullied. Always, in fact. I always had a hard time fitting in, and I think the reason was two-pronged: Mom had a difficult time socially for a few reasons, and, well we were poor and from the wrong side of town. Dad was a great guy, everyone loved him, he loved everyone, but let's face it; he wasn't an over-achiever unless he was drunk, and then he was living what he wanted to be but was always denied because of his congenital disability. (My parents were bullied as children and as adults, too. Dad died, but Mom continues to be bullied by her own siblings.)

[I don't care what age you live in, but your social circumstances and family hierarchy dictate how you are treated by others. You cannot legislate that away. Period.]

So...I was pondering my childhood today, often an exercise in futility. Recently I came across a piece of music and if my piccolo wasn't so in need of repair, if my embouchure wasn't so in need of practice and retraining, if only I could remember how to finger the notes...I think I could pick up either a flute or piccolo and play the piece. In fact I did, in a dream, and it was incredible. If only that had been real life!

It was this that made me ponder so much, for my love of music is often met by the resistance of memories I wish I could forget.

You know the movie "A Christmas Story"?

Yeah, well, as children my brother and I begged for a piano because we both loved music as did Mom, as did my Dad, whose father was a musician, teacher, and salesman in a music store.

One Christmas we came home to...a two-octave organ, totally mechanical sound (computers do better now...far better, far more realistic), complete with set drum beats, "trumpet" sounds and others that sounded NOTHING like the actual instruments, and after only a few weeks of "piano" lessons that took us far beyond what the limited keyboard allowed, both of us [necessarily] quit lessons and the organ gathered dust until Mom finally managed to pay someone to take it away.

That took years, by the way. It was our fishnet-legged lamp in the window and I'll never forget my disgust. I suspect that's why Mom was so enthusiastic after their divorce, to spring for a flute for me when I was finally able to choose an instrument in 5th grade. (In the US, that's when public schools began musical instruction). Granted it was rented, but she didn't put up a fight with any substitutes like trumpet (which I also took up in high school) or clarinet (which I never wanted, no offense to clarinetists!).

Then there took over the concupiscence, the push-and-pull of child and parent as the child struggles to become herself or himself in the world.

I loved music and began singing. Mom loved the fact that I loved music and encouraged it, but didn't seem to understand the sense of balance. She began to ridicule my successes and my attempts, and this was part of her own disease of bipolar.

One summer, I tried out for Community Theatre, having been a member of our tiny parish youth choir, and so accepted the help of another community-involved parishioner to help me in my audition. I nearly got the lead role, was cast as unofficial understudy with a serious role in the chorus...and had a great time! That same summer, in prep for a talent show at a camp I wanted to attend, my fellow chorus-members, the music director, and musicians helped me to prepare a song and gave me great advice while my Mom waited as an all-too-verbal spectator.

I was trying to sing "Memory" from the musical "CATS", a song I knew my Mom loved, so my offering had a lot to do with her own influence. As I learned the piece and sang it with accompaniment, as the experienced musicians and teachers encouraged, taught, and helped me to make it my own, I heard only one voice, that of my mother, speaking above them all, "You're no Barbara Streisand."

I cowered in shame and listened to that litany all summer. "You're no Barbara Streisand."

I still remember the musicians and one of the actors exchanging glances, pretending not to notice, then renewing their lessons for me. Knowing I wasn't trying to be great; that I was only trying to have fun in an entertaining way; and that's something I could do.

Over the years, I heard that line a lot. As I soloed in my parish, as I was selected to cantor, as I occasionally auditioned for high school productions, always my mother telling me, "You're no Barbara Streisand."

There was a dichotomy, though, as I practiced my instrumental music, for Mom didn't have a comparison. She wanted me to be a professional musician. When I aspired towards visual art, she shot that down, telling me there was no money in it and I would end up on welfare. As we were already there, that terrified me and yes, I knew she was right about that. I wanted to be an actress; not allowed, and yes, she was right about that!

I nearly joined the Marines after my band teacher handed me a brochure about the Marines Band, something I knew about thanks to my uncle, a proud former Marine! It was a great deal! If I enlisted, I could go to ANY, and I mean ANY Music school I desired, on a full scholarship! Because my brother had been around and around with an Army Recruiter who wouldn't take "no" for an answer, I said nothing about this to my Mom, but did to my band teacher. "What's the catch?"

"Well, you gotta go to boot camp."

"Um...no thanks. Not selling my soul for boot camp." (Seriously, if only I could have predicted the 2 boot camps I would go through a few years later...lol)

When I pondered colleges, and we went to visit the college I would eventually choose, and while we gathered information regarding various programs, including theatre, Mom informed me once again, "You're no Barbara Streisand."

Finally, I'd had enough. I don't recall when I said it but I do know it was in private - a grace she had never left to me. Finally, finally, I cried out in tears of frustration, anger, and sadness:

"Why do you continue to compare me to BARBARA STREISAND? I'M NOT HER!!! STOP comparing me!!! I CAN'T SING LIKE HER! I DON'T KNOW HOW! WHY do you compare me????"

It was as if I had slapped her; she hadn't realized what she was doing.

The reality is this; her years of comparing my every attempt to the GREATS made me aspire to something more mundane, more average. More people oriented, less arts-and-music oriented.

So it was that I left my music, my art behind. So it was that I majored in Criminal Justice and spent four years defending myself against the extended family trying to tell me that law enforcement wasn't for me.

But at least I didn't have to try to sing like Barbara Streisand anymore.

All Grown Up

It would be easy to blame my Mom for a lot that's wrong in my life, but I can't. If victim-hood is going to come into this particular Diego Rivera mural, it's going to involve everyone, not just my family, not just yours.

We all have our stories, and if we know them, we can take responsibility for them.

Yes, I left music and the arts because of constant and overbearing criticism holding me to a standard I could not meet, but I don't regret the degree I pursued, even though I'm not qualified to work in that field anymore - because of my own choices and career path. Yes, I live in a townhome I can't afford because I bought it back when I had a good job, and left it because...it was time, and now have to pay off grad loans on a salary that pays less than peanuts. That's my choice, not my Mom's.

Every criticism from Mom was an attempt to ground me, to keep me balanced, and to ensure I did not suffer the financial and personal ruin of the poverty in which she raised us. I can blame my Mom and my Dad for a whole lotta things, but as an adult....I truly can't blame them for anything.

All I can do is thank them.

I thank them for trying to guide me as best they could, even though they suffered so much from the deprivation and abuses thrust upon them long before they brought my brother and I into the world. I thank them for giving us the opportunities they could, and even if misguided, for criticizing us to try to keep us from being what we all hate. I thank them for being who they are (or in Dad's case, who he WAS, may he rest in peace), so that we could become greater, according to God's calling.

And most of all, I thank them for the life they gave us, with all its trials, all its suffering, all its failures, all its triumphs, for much we experienced together, and much, growing up, made us who we are today.

We may not be much, and we will never be "great" in the eyes of the world, but both my brother and I know who we are, where we came from...and it's gonna be a whole lotta years before we ever really "grow up."

Somehow..I think Mom (And Dad, Eternal rest grant unto him...) would agree.

To all you Moms and Dads out there, I speak to you all...Thank you.
Eternal Love,

Your Children

Beauty from Disaster

2011-07-26T18:57:00.000-05:00

I'm on vacation this week with nothing to do.

Well, that's not entirely true. There's Mass and cleaning and reading to catch up on. There's my Icon, which remains neglected, because for some reason, I can't seem to touch it - I haven't been "in the mood" to work on it and perhaps that's because I haven't been praying much, either. It is, in fact, prayer.

Maybe it's because I can't work on the faces without seeing the Mother of Sorrows, and as I draw the paint down her cheeks to form her skeletal features, I mimic the path of her tears as she witnessed the Passion and death of her Son; the Son she holds in her arms as he flies to her for comfort from the shadow of the Cross.

And still, she beckons me onward, and inward, to rest there in that same shadow.

Balance

One of the things I love about iconography is that it is very balanced. While it is mystical in a sense, for the artist creates a "window to Heaven", and it must be "prayed", at the same time, it is a process. In that way, it is very liturgical and keeps one grounded. There's no room for the all-popular "private revelations" for one must combine one's intellect, memory, and will in the creation of this icon, and at the same time, allow the subject of the icon to penetrate one's very soul. It is a creative process completed directly with God, asking to "see" something more clearly, and in so doing, to be changed and sanctified in the process.

This may sound "romanticized" but I don't mean to give that impression. Rather, I'm happy for the practical nature of the work, which for me is the most important as I continue to learn. Although I wish I could just "lose myself" in the painting and fly off like a Saint in ecstasy, it is far better, according to all the Saints, all the proper spirituality of our Faith, to remain grounded without seeking mystical experiences. Iconography does that very well, and yet still provides a sort of "reward", a mutual offering, for when I do work on it, I offer my work to God and ask for His help, and I benefit, too, because I know that doing something that builds up the Church, even in this humble way, is pleasing to Him.

Yesterday I made it to Confession and as I sat in line, pondering my sins and the great mercy of God, I thanked Him for His great love, and asked that I stop being the source of His pain, but rather, the cause of His Joy. (Of course, I know full well my own weakness; read this as a metaphor and a hope for Eternity.)

In a very small way, working on the Icon is something tangible I can offer to Him as a "cause for His Joy", for sometimes I, too, need to see not just what He is doing all around, but that perhaps I'm really not such a hopeless and lost cause after all. When I see the results of my work, I know that there is an offering, there is something small, and seeing it always renews in me a greater love for God, even if I've only made a mess.

At least, when it comes down to it, because I belong to Him, I am His mess, and only He can create eternal beauty from that.

Dappled Trails

2011-07-22T22:45:00.001-05:00

It's no secret: I HATE the city. I hate the 'burbs. I hate the traffic, the sense of being crowded, and the fact that everywhere I go within the limits of the 'burbs, all I hear are engines and motors and flightpaths and construction.

Because I'm on vacation due to practical work reasons, I decided to try to get away within the [considerable] limits of my bank account and surroundings. First I looked to Como Zoo, and one brief visit to their website eliminated it as a possibility.

Why?

The Enemy: TRAFFIC getting there, having to figure out where to park just to get the SHUTTLE, and being dependent upon the SHUTTLE just to get back to my car so I can deal with TRAFFIC again!

All the Regional parks in the world can't block out the noises of TRAFFIC, CONSTRUCTION, and FLIGHT PATHS, so I don't actually want to pay for a yearly pass to inhabit those trails nearest me, either.

The fact is this: I live in a 'burb and have to suck it up, no matter what. So today I hit a trail near the Mississippi, hoping to get lost in the sounds of solitude and nature, only to be plagued by dogs barking incessantly across the river (seriously, were ALL those people actually home and leaving their dogs to bark at each other all day long? REALLY?)

As is typical for July in Minnesota, it was hot and humid, although not nearly so bad as our 100+ extremes of earlier this week. Still, heat is what it is and as my dog and I walked the paved trail, I sought to escape, even more deeply, the sounds of urbania that refused to allow an oasis.

We came to a graveled trail and I decided to turn that way, thinking it probably would bring us full-circle back to the road. As my dog and I progressed, I looked longingly down shaded deer runs, wishing I could follow them, fondly recalling the days of my youth when those trails had appeared as highways through the forest where we resided.

The heat and humidity, even mid-morning, was terrible, though, and I regretted what I was wearing. I glanced often at my dog, knowing that although her fur afforded a certain insulation, it was no match for the growing humidity and I hoped we would both make it to the car in time..especially given the fact we were padding along trails I did not know. Were we TRULY headed back to the road, or only deeper into the forest?

For a short time, my quest for silence was granted. I heard the songs of the birds, and even in the ever-oppressing heat and humidity, there was joy in the silence and solitude of nature; a memory of the type of trails I'd grown up trekking.

Even the hot sunlight reminded me of childhood and I longed for those days, brought from my reverie only by the panting of my companion, knowing she was just as thirsty, or even more so, than I.

I didn't know where we were going or what it would take to get there, I only knew we had to get home, and this trail was the way. Relief could ONLY be found when we returned to our source.

Ah, the Epiphany

No matter what we do, there is a parallel to the spiritual life.

Today, walking the trails, I knew that my sense of suspension of time was locked in the objective reality of eternity. I led my dog through light and shadows and suffered the pain in my feet, my knees, my ankle, old injuries, exacerbated by time and the basic discomfort of our summer climate.

Even with the joy of walking through the woods, moments of time without the sound of urban noise, I suffered. I sweated, I wilted, I hated the heat and humidity. I worried about my dog, how she was doing, hoping we'd get back as I'd planned before it got to be too much for her.

The experience of growing in holiness is truly no different than a summer walk through the woods.

I loved our time today; it was beautiful, it was timeless, and it involved suffering; but because of the beauty and the joy, I would suffer the same way again and again, willingly, because the suffering is transient; the beauty is eternal.

There is another facet as well; my dog was also suffering the same heat, and my concern in our walk was for her. Although I would have liked to walk further, I knew that wouldn't be good for Her Fuzziness; it made me ponder.

As we grow in holiness, as we walk these dappled trails, more and more, we come to recognize and identify with, then join with the sufferings of others. While uniting my suffering to that with a dog is not redemptive, it DOES point to that which is, and reveals, ever more deeply, the mercy of God for all His creation.

Throughout life, we experience a dichotomy of suffering and joy, and as we progress, we find that no matter what we experience, we grow in concern for our neighbor. We can't always help them immediately, and often, we're aware that we need help, too, but that never stops us from sharing in the suffering, in sharing the joy of following Our Lord.

May our entire lives be an experience of the dappled trails of a Minnesota forest; holiness beckons.

Operation Deputy Tim

2011-07-19T23:23:00.000-05:00

Welcome to another edition of "Storytime with Adoro". Sit back, grab an iced tea or lemonade, and enjoy the ride!

** ** **

I grew up in two small towns, and the one I grew up in more was bigger than the one I'd grew up in before I'd arrived. So it was that my experience both as a teen and as an aspiring police officer occurred in a mid-sized city in a decent county that gave me both the connections of the small town along with the mysteriousness of a larger city.

You see...my family was small, followed the law, so didn't get into trouble. On the other hand, we weren't exactly celebrities or politicians and therefore, we, the average taxpayer-type of family, did everything every other family did. That meant that my best friend from my local Catholic Church babysat for a county Deputy and I was, as her best friend and trusted by her family and a parishioner at their parish also...a substitute babysitter.

So it was that, through my church and social life, while growing up I came to know not just one Sheriff's Deputy, but a lot of them, and when I was old enough, (high school), was able to ride along with them on a shift or so and learn about becoming a cop...city or county. Cops are very supportive to those aspiring in their own footsteps.

Because I babysat for one Deputy's family, I was called upon, as a trusted ride-along and friend, to babysit for others, and their kids were kind when I was as terrified as spiders as they were. But that's a different story. (I think those kid's father is now the Sheriff, but I digress.)

Meanwhile, Back At the Teen's House...

We were plotting. That's what 18 year old teens do: they plot. So we did.

You see, our favorite Deputy, a very reserved gentleman and great Deputy in line for great things was about to have his birthday. Because my best friend and I, both trusted babysitters, could not let this date go by unnoticed in our own advanced ages of 18 and 19, we got in touch with his wife with a completely brilliant plan. We knew that we could engage her own mischievous nature, too.

We had decided that our dear friend, Deputy Tim, needed to smile a bit. We knew him to be a wonderful human being, but he didn't smile a lot so we decided that it was necessary to do something for his birthday that would bring a smile to his face and a bit of ribbing from his co-workers, who hopefully loved and respected him as much as we did.

In a bit of trepidation, his wife gave us the key to the van he was driving on that fateful day, admonishing us with the dark directive, "Don't do anything to embarrass Tim or damage the van!".

"No problem!" We took the key, grinning at each other, knowing what was to come.

And, actually to be totally honest...as we were 18 and 19 respectively, of COURSE there would be an "embarrassment" aspect to our hi-jinks! Duh!

Tim's wife knew that, but of course she was just asking for some of it to be moderated a bit because anything we did to him would overflow onto her and she'd have to do the damage control. We knew this, too, and respected this limit. We had no desire to undermine the trust and respect we had for her and her for us.

This was a delicate and carefully planned Operation.

On the day it was to happen, when we picked up the key, Deputy Tim's wife gave it to us in an envelope along with his tentative schedule. Armed with foreknowledge, it fell to me as the most credible and criminal-record-free of the two of us, to contact the Law Enforcement Center with our plan so that we would be allowed into the restricted area where the County and City cops parked their personal vehicles.

Having often been there, I knew who worked the day shift, which dispatchers, and of course, the gossip tree that would send every "free" employee of the LEC to the windows overlooking the parking lot while we did our dirty little deed!

So it was that we drove around the block a few times to scope things out and saw, much to our joy, that Deputy Tim had parked the family van at the edge of the lot in full visibility of the main drag in town. SCORE!

We immediately knew where to hang our carefully crafted banner, precisely composed in the alternate colors of our respective vehicles; one of which Deputy Tim would not recognize as I had purchased it only a few days prior.

Oh, yes, we were Geniuses!

Finally it was time. I picked up the phone and called the non-emergency number for Dispatch, identified myself, informed the Dispatcher that it was Deputy Tim's birthday and explained our plan. I asked permission for us to enter the premises to decorate his vehicle inside and out and invited her to contact his wife to verify our...veracity.

There was no need. She knew who I was, told me exactly where Deputy Tim would be and when so that we would have a perfect hour-and-a-half opening to enter the parking lot to complete our business.

I thanked her very much, hung up, and my best friend and I set to work blowing up balloons and stuffing them into our vehicles so that they would be ready for transfer at the proper time.

A few hours later, we entered the lot which was strangely abandoned, found Deputy Tim's van, and set to work. Very conscious of the fact that any available personnel of the City and County Law Enforcement Departments was watching us both out of mirth and protection of their friend/co-worker, we moved carefully to ensure we would not end up face-down on the pavement with guns pointed at us. Fine if the Investigative Division was taking notes, not fine if it went sour!

As I lifted up the hatch on the van, I whacked myself a good one, quite likely witnessed by the mirthful peanut gallery overlooking the lot from the LEC, and even as I wiped the blood away, I pretended nothing had happened. The LAST thing we needed was an ambulance to respond to Deputy Tim's van!

Not-quite-as-deftly-as-we'd-hoped, we stowed the inflated balloons into his van, hung our sign, and a special message on his rear view mirror, in case he happened to miss the fact that there were 80 or so balloons filling his vehicle.

We fled, returned to my friend's house and spent the rest of the day cruising around in my car since it was the one he didn't know.

But Wait! There's MORE!

Well, Deputy Jim was no dummy.

He returned to work and was directed by his co-workers to get something from his PV (personal vehicle). Upon returning, he demanded information which was also provided as the dispatchers had my full vehicle information. At some point, my friend and I switched cars and drove hers, so it was that, as we drove through town, we caught the good Deputy's eye and he followed us, everywhere we went, but didn't stop us.

Finally, as we drove out of town and in between the lakes, he turned on the lights and my friend pulled over. It was a warm summer day, our windows were open, and because this was not a formal stop, we got out of the car, too.

Deputy Tim, smiling broadly, cheeks reddened, boomed at us, "How did you get into the van?"

We yelled back to him, laughing, "Ask your wife!"

To me he asked, "When did you get the car?"

"Last week!"

Still smiling, maybe with his trademark smirk, an expression rarely seen, he tipped his hat at us, got back into the squad, and drove away.

Yup. We made his day!

Operation Deputy Tim...COMPLETE!

To this day, it's one of my favorite memories of growing up. Even though I haven't seen him or his family in years, I hope "Deputy Tim" also remember it fondly. Now having been a cop, even for a very short time, I know why so many never smile, I know why he was always so serious, and pray that our teen hi-jinks of that day spread encouragement not just to him, but to his colleagues as well. After all, without them as accomplices, we would have been criminals!

In all seriousness, please pray for all who work in Law Enforcement; the Police Officers, Deputies, Dispatchers, Marshalls, Constables, Community Service Officers...and Rookies.

Pray especially for my friend "Deputy Tim" and his family and friends, most of whom are probably retired now, one of whom might actually be the current Sheriff.

Thank you.

Family and Surprising Opportunities

2011-07-17T18:41:00.000-05:00

It's been very busy lately between work and family. Just this weekend we had a family reunion, and it was the first one I've made it to in YEARS.

Because it's been so long, I approached it with a bit of trepidation. Some was warranted, some was not. As it was, many were already there by the time I arrived. It was great to connect with the cousins I grew up with, to meet and bond with the children of my cousins, and catch up with my aunts and uncles.

As I was leaving, one of my cousins, who was, in fact, my Confirmation sponsor, was on her way in.

"Oh! But you have two minutes, don't you?

"Ok."

Her, laughing, "Well, that was hard! How 'bout five?"

About an hour later, I finally left, and with an invitation from her to visit her in another state sometime during the school year to give a presentation to her homeschooling group about icons and iconography. They've been looking for specific Catholic enrichment and she thinks that what I have to offer would be perfect for their middle-to-high-schoolers!

Of course, I'd be happy to go there just to visit family, but spreading knowledge and devotion to praying with icons...that's a huge bonus!

On the home front, I've learned more cousins live locally than I realized so we're planning some social events of mutual interest, all likely finding my brother's house as the center for gathering.

As the months go on, I look forward to more time with the extended family, and hope our plans all pan out; not for the sake of our plans, but for the sake of our relationships as family members.

I guess there is some benefit to being a member of what I like to call the "Twelve tribes of Israel (Minnesota)"!

My dear readers, I pray your summer is also going well and that you are also finding the time to renew your relationships with your family members and friends during your summer down time.

The Truth About God's Love

2011-07-08T19:50:00.001-05:00

Earlier this week, I had a wonderful conversation with a friend who shared with me some of her own profound experiences in her relationship with Christ. It was because of these that she was able to recognize His reality, even physical reality, in her life. She expressed how she had come to recognize His gentleness, His respect for us and where we are in our relationship with Him, no matter how limited or open, and, most importantly..his incredible love.

It's hard to really understand and internalize that love, for in our human frailty, we most often fail to love either ourselves or others - and all love is a participation in God's divine charity.

This morning I went to the Adoration chapel at my parish to pray the Divine Office and Morning Prayer before completing my errands, still pondering what she had said.

While I don't normally read or pray the "Psalm-Prayer" after every Psalm, today one portion of it from the Office caught my attention:

"We, your children, are weighed down with sin; give us the fullness of your mercy."

That line spoke volumes to me; we are, in fact, weighed down with sin, and only God's great mercy can relieve the crushing burden. Note in the prayer that we don't ask only for a little mercy, but boldly, we ask for what Our Lord has provided through the Cross: the FULLNESS of His mercy.

In prayer, even though we are "weighed down with sin", we still go to Him, prodigal children, humbly demanding our birthright.

It was then that it struck me more profoundly than it ever has before; we have nothing.

I thought of my financial burdens, my burden of sin, my worries, my physical possessions...all of it. In prayer I said to Jesus, "I have nothing to offer because all I possess is my sin; that originates with me."

But no; even sin, even my greatest sins, are taken away through God's mercy in the Sacrament of Confession.

The only thing any of us truly possess, the only thing that makes us fully human, the only real treasure to be sought has been given freely; God's incredible, merciful, fiery Divine Love.

We are all poor in our mere possessions and money; no matter how much we have, it is nothing.

The ONLY thing we really need is not tangible, but is far more real than the biggest gem right down to the smallest penny: God's merciful love.

With that, we have far more than we will ever need; we have only to accept it so that we, too, can bring it to others.

Thank you, Jesus

Independence Day!

2011-07-04T12:47:00.000-05:00

Today is the great feast of our nation's Independence, and what a feast it is! In true fashion, Americans everywhere celebrate this day by grilling or roasting on a spit in the back yard anything we can get our hands on: ribs, chicken, steak, pork chops, zucchini, tomatoes, onions, peppers,huge portobella mushrooms, eggplant...and then this is followed by slathering on any kind of available sauce, ranging from barbecue, to tangy Carolina mustard, to marinades of various types.

Here, amidst our flag-decorated patios and yards and parks, we Americans...we would roast or grill anything we could get our hands on, right down to the cereal in our cupboard to the celery in the crisper.

And then we top our celebrations by blowing things up in the sky to shower our cities with all sort of pretty colors and shapes.

Seriously - who doesn't love good food and great explosives?

Happy 4th of July to all my American readers.

May your feasting be fruitful and your explosions be sound!

"Liberty cannot be established without morality, nor morality without faith."

~ Alexis de Tocqueville

A Bite O' Kibble, a Bit O' Randomness

2011-07-03T18:48:00.002-05:00

You know how it is, that when you've got a lot filling your head, you fall asleep and have a dream that encompasses pretty much everything and projects it like an unconnected slide show, much like a memory emesis?

Yeah...this post is going to be a lot like that.

Foster Dog

Many of you, especially the animal lovers among you will recall my couple posts about my foster dog, Apollo. When he came to me he was terrified, shaking like a leaf, and cowered at the slightest sound.

But he loved people and so wanted to trust, so I worked with that and helped him out of his shell just by providing some stability and basic kindness. In other words; I treated him like a beloved pet dog.

You will be joyful to know that he was adopted on Wednesday and went home to his perfect match, a person who understands the timid temperament, the Whippet personality, the pitbull face complete with big soft brown eyes, and therefore is happier now than he's ever been in his life. Another success!

I will indeed foster again, God willing, but for now my dog needs a bit of bonding time before she will be ready to welcome another beloved guest into our home!

Followers From Other Countries

Over time, I've obtained readers from other nations, which is wonderful - it really reveals the universality of the Church and makes our world seem so much smaller. To be able to "meet" other Catholics or people of others beliefs from around the world is really a gift to be cherished, for we find out together how much we have in common in spite of our respective political systems. Truly, we are revealed as Citizens of Heaven, making our civil lives in the secular venues of our countries, knowing that it is Christ we bring to our own nations. In the words of Blessed John Paul II, paraphrased, it is our ability to bring Christ to our nations that makes the world more human and more fraternal.

I am very glad to see Pope Benedict XVI embrace the benefits of our online networking and encourage us to use it to preach salvation to the world by whatever means and gifts we have to do so...all at our fingertips.

What saddens me, though, is that here in the United States, even given the "melting pot" that we are, we do not have the opportunity to study many languages. Most commonly the schools offer Spanish and German, never Latin, and I've never seen Russian, Portuguese, Chinese, Japanese, Aramaic, Madingo, Swahili, Swedish, Norwegian, etc...in any school that is not specialized. Yet continuously, and increasingly, I find that people who primarily speak these languages follow my blog. My guess is that is because they have had the benefit of studying English (dubious benefit, that is.)

Although I can speak and read Spanish, over the years it has become very very rusty so I labor through even the simplest Spanish-language articles and blogs. Google DOES have a translator, but as I am still on dialup (stop laughing!), often the translation does not work for me and so I am left wondering if it will ever be possible for me to follow-back those readers.

So, therefore, let this serve as an acknowledgement to those of you who follow me and understand; It isn't that I don't love you, it is only that I cannot understand and respond in kind! :-( God bless you in your own blog apostolates and thank you for bringing Christ to the world!

A mis amigos hispanohablantes: Dios te bendiga, siempre, por tu servicio para Jesu Christe!

*cringing at badly-written Spanish*

So, moving on....

Pop Psychology Trolls

There are many kinds of trolls. Most of them comment anonymously just to try to start a fight. But there's another breed, one far more dangerous, that consists, typically, of people who land upon one's blog and either decides to comment anonymously under the guise of "compassion" or send a private email. Both the comment and email ALWAYS end with "Please seek help".

What amazes me judiciously is how many of these emails and comments go directly to my Spam folder, so I don't discover them for days or weeks. You see...every now and again I check the Spam filter to see if a gem was caught in the drain before I purge the whole thing with bleach and gloves. Sometimes I find legitimate emails and immediately correct the problem.

Other times I see a name and then the first line, which gmail courteously provides, and from there can often make a judgment on the remainder of the content.

It has been my experience over the years that every time I write about a particularly difficult period in my spiritual life, some pseudo-intellectual seriously malformed by the dominant atheistic philosophy and psychology of our age presumes to try to "diagnose" me. The pattern never fails, and so it's quite possible this particular type of Troll is exactly the same person who has decided to harass me over the years. More likely each and every time it is a different malformed soul as they continuously base their "diagnosis" upon one post only and claim it is "all over your blog."

Really?

The most recent one I received in my spam filter started out like all the others: "It's probably none of my business but..."

That's all I needed to see!

You see, I know this type of email and it's always the same. They all start out by saying "It's probably none of my business but...you DID write it on your blog."

Well, that settles it. If I write it on my blog, clearly I have a diagnosis of...something you've recently read about. By all means, in that case you are clearly qualified to tell me I'm depressed, bipolar, schizophrenic, borderline personality, have dysthymia, autism spectrum, or other Axis I or Axis II disorders. Or even Axis III!

What amuses me so much about this is that it's unethical at best to make such comments, and extremely harmful at worst especially in a person who may be very...uh...gullible and given to hypochondria. Therefore, as much as it amuses me that some joker thinks they can go around and base a diagnostic opinion of a blogger on the basis of ONE post about spiritual trials (much like the misunderstanding that took place when Bl. Mother Teresa's diaries were released to the public), it also pains me as I wonder what very real harm this presumptuous pop-psych troll may be doing to someone.

I pray to God they aren't actually working professionally in the psychological field. Even on the peripheral.

So it is when I see the opening line of some emails (usually and providentially caught in the spam filter), I delete them without reading and say a prayer for the person who sent it. No matter how bad my life might get sometimes, my hope is in Christ and therefore always present. I get the sense that these other souls have misplaced their faith in mere psychology, finding solace in the superficial guidance of self-help and unnecessary medication, for fear that one day they may actually experience sadness or real emotion, realizing that in this life, we all actually MUST suffer at some point - and it's not the end of the world.

Just a General Word to the Wise and Prudent:

If you find yourself either starting an email or composing an email containing this phrase: "This is probably none of my business but..." STOP! You're right; you know it's none of your business so write what you have to write to get it out of your system, then use the DELETE button liberally. If that is seriously how you are starting an email, you are WAY out of line and you know it.

Just because someone says it on their blog doesn't mean you're privy to the entire story and you certainly aren't qualified to venture into the territory your own conscience is trying to warn you away from.

And just so you're aware: I need this advice as much as "you" do, whoever "you" are. (Not picking on regular readers here - you are all dears who do all your presuming in public where it can be discussed with everyone else!) lol :-)

So there ya have it - the mishmash from my intellect.

Now, if you don't mind, I'm taking my Swedish-Irish-French self into the kitchen to cook spicy-garlic tandoori chicken which has been marinating next to the homemade Greek cucumber yogurt sauce and Israeli couscous parked next to the hummus tahini and pitas just waiting to see if this Indian-Greek-Israeli-Middle Eastern dinner tastes good at all!

;-)

Who wants leftovers?

The Word Can Speak for Himself: Stop Being So Dramatic!

2011-07-02T22:12:00.002-05:00

Point 1: Lectors vs Readers

I am a huge proponent of using proper terms in the proper settings. The word "Lector" is one of them. Canonically (ie referring to Canon Law), there is no such thing as a "Lector" in our parishes, and no, Vatican II did not do away with this appointed position. The reality is this: only men can be appointed Lectors, although the 1983 Code of Canon Law allows uninstalled men and women both to READ during the liturgy, and for both, it is a privilege. Still, only MEN can be appointed, and so I find it both insulting and irritating that we continue to call READERS "Lectors" as this misuse and overuse of terminology denigrates the Office of Lector itself, and leaves us to wonder if the Readers at Mass are in fact installed Lectors or are just filling the role because the Bishop refuses to install the proper men or because not enough have stepped up to the plate.

I suspect it's more a lack of education on the part of all lay people. I had to pay thousands of dollars and get a Master's degree to obtain this simple information that should be readily available and explained to the general populace of any given parish. It's not like Canon Law is a secret.

Lest someone protest, indeed, as a Minor Order it was suppressed, but the new Code did NOT suppress the installation of the position or the obligation upon those installed to serve in that capacity during the Liturgy. Ergo, if an installed Lector is in attendance at a given Mass, there should not be an uninstalled Reader performing the liturgical role.

Point II: Dramatic Readings of the Lectionary

It has become the fashion at my parish for the readings to be read dramatically, according to the whims of the canonically not-installed Readers, both male and female, although I cringe to admit the problem seems to have been introduced by a woman.Still...the virus seems to affect men, too.

Nearly every time I have attended Mass at my parish within the last year or so, I have had to look around to see if, in fact, I was present at a "Concert" given by an Elocutionist as portrayed in "Anne of Green Gables."

To be clear; I am not saying the readings should be proclaimed in a monotone! That is just as awful! Rather, I am merely suggesting that those doing the Readings for the Mass each week follow the description given in the GIRM, paragraph 56:

"The Liturgy if the Word is to be celebrated in such a way as to promote meditation, and so any sort of haste that hinders recollection must clearly be avoided."

Yes, indeed. However, pausing dramatically after every few words and over-emphasizing every third word a la melodrama does not meet the theological understanding of "meditation". It falls to "dramatic interpretation" and is TERRIBLY distracting!

So as not to be uncharitable, I quote the continuing context of the GIRM, paragraph 56:

"During the Liturgy of the Word, it is also appropriate to include brief periods of silence, accommodated to the gathered assembly, in which, at the prompting of the Holy Spirit, the word of God may be grasped by the heart and a response through prayer may be prepared. It may be appropriate to observe such periods of silence, for example, before the Liturgy of the Word itself begins, after the first and second reading, and lastly at the conclusion of the homily."

This puts the first part in context. I suspect that the more dramatic Readers tend to read the first part of this paragraph (assuming they have actually read this very important document) and stop there, thinking that their idea of "meditation" and "silence" is the proper one. Therefore, we in the pews are afflicted by their own PERSONAL reading versus their reading of the Word for the rest of us, who are trying to meditate upon it.

Appreciation for a Role Carried out Appropriately

One of the things I most loved about my various monastery and convent visits was this: they all understood meditative reading in accordance with the General Instruction of the Roman Missal. Not a single Sister got up and read according to her own interpretation. Certainly her voice rose and fell for general emphasis, but it was always carried out to foster our OWN meditation, so that we could allow the Holy Spirit to emphasize words and phrases...not the reader.

Every time a Dramatic Reader takes the pulpit in my parish, I consider fleeing. The first time it happened, the woman actually looked at the ~~audience~~ congregation and BEAMED at us as though we were supposed to applaud. And I suspect that were it not for the venue, we would have out of pure reflex. I seriously hadn't heard such vocal inflection since the melodramatic celebrity Elocutionist in Anne of Green Gables. I had to look down to see if I was wearing white gloves and a formal gown, wondering if perhaps Anne herself would get up to give us her rendition of "Our Lady of Shallot" or "The Highwayman" right there in the middle of the Liturgy.

Since that time, this behavior has become all the rage of our parish ~~Lectors~~ Readers. When certain personages step up, I confess I inwardly groan and pick up the missal, realizing that I need to read it for myself and entirely tune the Reader out until she or he has completed their torture routine. If I don't pick up the book, I miss the reading entirely as the drama is just far too distracting to understand what God is trying to say to me (other than to pray for my lack of patience and to pray for the person reading...yeah, I got THAT loud and clear. Anything else?)

I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not. We in the pews have a right to speak up, too, and it's not proper to throw tomatoes at Mass or cut the cords to the sound system. That kind of thing is generally frowned upon. Unfortunately, it has become the culture in our parishes that those who speak up, even gently, are cranks, and no real criticism is tolerated, for fear it might hurt someone's feelings.

God forbid someone in a liturgical role is introduced to the GIRM and therefore has their feelings offended by official documentation.

The Readings at Mass are not meant to be read as though proclaimed in a theatre, but are meant to be proclaimed in a worshipful setting, open to be received by the people in the pews, all ranges of people. There is a place for drama, but the Word of God doesn't need any help from we lay people; He can stand alone just fine on His own if the Readers would only stand aside enough to let Him speak.

I long for the monastery, and the sober, truly meditative reading of the Word of God, in the Office, in the Lectionary, and pray that one day, our lay Readers will also cultivate an appreciation for this lost, yet simple, art of proclaiming the Word to the Faithful devoid of their own personal dramatic interpretation.

Forebearing

2011-06-30T12:22:00.001-05:00

Yesterday I finally took care of the inevitable: I called my mortgage company to advise I would not be able to make my next payment. Or maybe the one after.

I explained the situation to the first customer representative, and he paused while looking up my account. When he came back he said, "But your payments are up to date."

"Yes, they are."

*silence*

*shuffle* "I was hoping not to make this call but I won't be able to make my next payment. What are my options? I can pay some, but not all."

"Well your payments are up to date. I'll transfer you to collections and they'll see what you qualify for since you're not behind. Here's the number."

Then he transferred me, and I spoke to the person in collections. As HE looked up my account, we had a repeat of my first conversation, with the same odd tone. "Well....your account is up to date."

"Yes. But I won't be able to make this next payment as I've had a reduction in hours at work."

This went on for a bit and I admit I was puzzled; both the rep and the collections agent seemed a bit put out that I would dare to be calling them while still current on my mortgage.

Um...was I SUPPOSED to be $10,000 in the hole before calling for assistance, and already in foreclosure? [rhetorically sarcastic question]

Thankfully he processed a 3 month forbearance which also allows me to make partial payments through September. The down side is that after 3 months, I WILL be behind by at least one full payment, if not a little more, and THEN there will be a big black mark on my credit. But...it also sounds like they anticipate that with this type of forebearance and then roll something else out to help homeowners become current again.

I decided not to ask too many questions, though, because even the simplest ones regarding the situation at hand seemed really confusing to the collections rep. He's sending some preliminary paperwork; we'll see if perhaps that answers my questions, but I am guessing I already HAVE the paperwork he's citing and could probably explain it to HIM more effectively than he was able to explain my basic options to me.

*sigh*

Does anyone want to pay my mortgage for a month or so?

No?

OK.

Grimm's Fairy Tales Aren't So Far-Fetched

2011-06-28T00:56:00.002-05:00

...in fact...they're usually entirely too tame.

I gotta tellya, folks, sometimes a story is too good NOT to tell.

Once Upon a Time...

..in Adoro's Townhome Association, there lived a bunch of average people with their lives and their pets and their cars and their troubles. Usually they lived together just fine among the rules, but every now and then, there appeared some Trolls who moved into the Kingdom, or Trolls who emerged from those who had always been present even from the beginning.

One winter, there came a-barking a small ferocious creature with teeth, making vicious noises towards the residents of the Kingdom, and although the creature [York Terror] was merely bait for hawks or larger dogs, it had decided, through making its owners submissive to its desires, that it was the ruler of the Kingdom.

The Kingdom {Association}, made up mostly of good, responsible taxpayers in possession of their own fuzzy creatures, gave permissive indulgence to the idiocy of the village idiots {Trolls} in the charge of the York Terror, rolling their eyes upon the group as an unavoidable vacuous monstrosity common to townhome life.

After a time, though, the People of the Kingdom [Association] became annoyed and visited upon the elected Nobility [Association Homeowners' Board] various complaints regarding the small Terror, for fear their toes and ankles might be bitten or at the very least, harassed. As it was, they were fed up with the harassment of their auditory faculties and found need to seek relief through the Association authorities when their own confrontations of the thing's caretakers were fruitless.

Adoro, in her own particular consternation, having in her care a large beast of relatively ferocious countenance, found a need to prevent it from eating the York Terror for fear that should she do so, her own dear pet would be lost to her forever no matter how responsible she was. So it was that when the York Terror came to Adoro's door and pounced upon her own beast, she found herself in a moral dilemma that hadn't much contest at all.

It wouldn't matter that the Troll's lack of control over its own York Terror was at fault, no matter how documented was that lack.

Why?

You see, the York Terror was a protected class, and even though it was without control by its Trolls, and had never in fact been trained to understand humans were dominant over Terrors, it thought it was in charge, and tried to attack anything and anyone in its path. Had Adoro's Creature of Ferocious Countenance successfully sublimated the York Terror permanently, the Ferocious Creature, by laws of the Association and the State above it, would have been killed in order to rid the world of dangerous creatures.

So you see the problem, don't you?

So it was that Adoro, in response to a timely letter from the Kingdom [Association], reported the offenses, in hopes the Calvary would arrive to put the York Terror and its minions in their respective place, perhaps, even if necessary, banish them to another Kingdom.

Indeed, the Kingdom attempted this, but was met with resistance and in fact, the Trolls outright ignored the Decrees of the Kingdom and allowed the York Terror to run amok throughout, thus annoying and irritating all in its path.

Meanwhile Back at the Guardhouse in the Shadow of the Moat

There was Adoro, innocently imagining her dinner, when there came about, once again, the echo and then the bark and then the growl and then the attack of the dread York Terror.

Adoro, having several times confronted this Terror and several times called upon the Kingdom's authority to banish the Terror and its minions who kept it so uncontrolled, was....finally fed up. She pushed up her sleeves, rolled up her cuffs, and took matters into her own hands; it was time to tame the beast and face the Terror that was so misnamed as to be far to gauche to represent the County of York by its name.

Vigilante Justice

Over the long winter, Adoro had obtained photos, had chased the Terror, had listened to it, had held her own Creature of Ferocious Countenance back from it, and one day, the CFC escaped and dominated the Terror as it gnashed its chops at her very door. Adoro could not hold her own Creature of Ferocious Countenance back from the vicious, unsupervised and unprovoked attack of the York Terror, for the latter would have otherwise encroached her very homestead.

Adoro, though, fearful the CFC would unlawfully damage or kill the Terror without the Kingdom's sanction, intervened at great risk to herself most especially from the Terror, and let the Terror yipe its way in horror back to its home as it realized Adoro's CFC, was, in fact...far more powerful and had far less patience for unmitigated yiping than did the otherwise permissive human content of the Kingdom.

The next night, Adoro noted that the York Terror had convinced, by its terrified yiping, its Troll Servants-fancying-themselves-as-masters to pretend to contain it by nylon straps, along with its Guardian companion. Neither Adoro nor her Creature of Ferocious Countenance were fooled...they knew this battle wasn't over. The Trolls were only waiting their chance.

So it came....

Meeting the Head Troll

On this very evening, Adoro was busy at her work when she heard the clarion call of the York Terror emerging from its nest. Even though the critter had not encroached Adoro's territory as of yet, its voice was one with which to be reckoned, and Adoro was not pleased when it went on for more than the law allowed. After that time, Adoro left her abode, keeping her own creatures at bay, and approached the York Terror and its fellow canine Guardian, in hopes of taming and quieting the creature(s).

Adoro sat quietly on the curb, the property of the Kingdom, and found that the York Terror was silent but its stablemate and Guardian was, in fact, a mouthpiece with which to be reckoned lest one lose possession of one's ankles!

Little by little, the Guardian calmed, and even approached, and by silence and eye contact and basic presence, Adoro was able to bring dominion to the Terror and his other worthless canine companion. It was sufficient that Adoro be present in order for the small canines to be silent, for Adoro is Alpha dog and will not stand for canine pertinence in any form.

Adoro left the venue, contentedly until she heard that clarion call again not five minutes later...

She returned, then, to the venue, again sans her own Creature of Ferocious Countenance for she planned to calm the Beast(s) and perhaps finally entice their puppets (owners) out for negotiations.

So it was.

Finally King Troll emerged from his cave and demanded to know what Adoro wanted.

Adoro explained that she wanted nothing more than the peace to which she was entitled as a home owner in the Kingdom.

The Troll disagreed and demanded she leave the property at once.

Adoro stood her ground to the bare-chested, pants-falling, white-bearded, nostril-flaring ogre of a Troll, explaining quite candidly that, in fact, she RESIDED there and thus had a right to stand where she was, with an even greater right to be there as she was protesting the sound and presence of the York Terror and his other Canine Guardian, well heard at her own abode far away.

The Troll, sticking to his fly-strip platform, threatened to call the Kingdom's ultimate Authorities, wherein Adoro found it necessary to cite the very Ordinance and why the creatures allegedly under the Troll's control were, in fact, not, and therefore liable to legal citation while, Adoro was, in fact, not liable to any kind of citation, she being a quiet and legal resident with full property ownership also in full possession of auditory capabilities, thus identifiying the Troll's issues as those contrary to the law.

The Troll, having nothing to say in his own defense, fully confused by actual intelligence and actual citation of actual law, stepped threateningly towards Adoro, even raising his fist to order her off "his land."

Had he been green, Scottish-accented, and more ogre-like, he might have been cute in a Disney-style Ogre-like sorta way, but he was more akin to an anti-Shreck than anything else. And in any case, Adoro was not impressed nor intimidated by the anti-Shreck imitation.

Adoro, understanding that, in fact, the Troll was indeed trying to physically intimidate her, raised her own hand in a "stop" gesture, not breaking the Troll's gaze, growling, "Don't you DARE!"

The Troll, seeing something in Adoro's eyes (for it certainly wasn't in her diminuitive 5'3" in. stance in his great hulking shadow, nor was she making a fist), stopped, and ordered her to move her "fat arse."

Adoro, not the least bit offended, quite ready to admit that, in fact, she has indeed gained too much weight in recent years (and knows how to use it), with a glint of mirth, questioned the Troll whose "fat arse" was bigger and therefore less worthy of using that term of attack.

The Troll turned back to Adoro, unable to believe she was still there arguing with his bare-chested, pants-falling, COPS-ready stance, only to find, much to his chagrin, that COPS was not actually filming in the Kingdom at the time. He tried again and again to chase Adoro from "his" property, only to learn that Adoro claimed, rightfully the same place and further, that the City Ordinance was, in fact, on her side and she would not hesitate to use it.

Adoro even tried to make a deal with the Troll; to move his unruly Terrors into his own cave and keep them quiet and then, as a favor, Adoro would, in fact, go away (as far as she could on their shared property), and would not call the Kingdom's Ultimate Authority (COPS).. Adoro held out her hand and offered to "shake" on it.

["shake" is a human interaction that binds an agreement between equals]

The Troll turned away, yelling, "(Fbomb), I'm not shaking your (Fbomb) anything!"

Adoro turned away mirthfully, tossing over her shoulder, in place of salt, the adage, "That's OK, I don't shake anything when I don't know where it's been.", wishing only such adage could have been proclaimed in a solid Cockney accent as it would have had far more flavor and pertness to it.

Just the same, it had the proper effect and the Troll fled to his cave, muttering, shocked, defeated, and took the York Terror and its pathetic if loud Guardian in with him, to be kept silent throughout the remaining hours of the night.

Time will only tell until the York Terror will again menace Adoro's door...but when it happens, the Kingdom's Official Guard will be ready, complete with cages and documents, for shelters, foster homes, jail time, court dates, and.....

Wait!

When did Fairy Tales get so heavy on the paperwork?????

*shrug* Well...no matter. It's my story and I'm stickin' to it and may well soon have the police reports to prove it. ;-)

...And they lived Happily Ever After! ..........

Always in Need of Perpetual Help

2011-06-27T08:46:00.000-05:00

Today, June 27th, is the Feast of the miraculous icon, Our Lady of Perpetual Help.

The post I wrote about the icon a few years ago remains, throughout the year, one of my most popular posts so you can find it linked on the sidebar any time, or just click here to know everything you ever wanted to know about it. ;-)

As I have a deep devotion to this particular image of our Blessed Mother, and of course, the Passion of Our Lord that it portrays, I find it comforting that this year, I begin my summer reduction in work hours on her Feast day and conclude this "workweek" with the Feast of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.

For those unfamiliar with the steady ups and downs of my life, during the summer, this being the fourth in a row of this particular hardship, my work hours drop from full time to part time. The first two years it dropped to 10 hours per week. I survived the first year on a good tax return, the 2nd year on the help of friends who paid my mortgage and sent me out East and throughout the midwest to visit a few religious communities, setting the conditions to finally do this: I considered the time to be a blessing and the support...amazing.

Last year I had an increase in hours to 25 hours per week for 6 weeks, so between that and not paying utility bills until I was back full time (playing catch-up), and my tax return, I scraped by.

This year is a different story. While I begin this summer on 25 hours per week, what's left of my already-meager tax return won't help me survive. My undergrad loans were transferred from a company that was helpful to a company that has no soul and in fact, INCREASED the amount they expect me to pay each month. My grad loan company is even MORE heartless and told me they don't have a financial hardship forbearance of any kind. (They're lying through their teeth but if they don't grant it, it's the same thing anyway).

So...this forces my hand. I'm in the process of filling out mortgage relief paperwork and my last attempt to keep my head above water until that can be completed and processed is to contact my mortgage company and see if they will allow me to skip a payment this summer. I'm asking for only one month, which I pray they grant me as I have never been late on a payment.

You see, then, how appropriate is today's Feast, for I do indeed, need perpetual help, both for my spiritual life and my continued financial existence.

The Icon

In honor of the Feast, I plan today to sit down at my own Icon of Our Mother of Perpetual help and finally highlight Jesus' tunic - which I already messed up and have to "re-do" in a sense. Should I complete that, I will begin working on Our Lady's face, at long last.

I have decided, based upon how well the faces come out, to add gold leaf to this image, for if it turns out well, nothing less than gold would be proper for this particular window to heaven - should God give me the grace to ever complete it.

Please pray for me as I continue to write this very large icon, and please pray that somehow, God provides me with some kind of financial relief. While this latter is necessary, the fact is that I am in a better position than so many in our society, for at least I still have a roof over my head, good credit (but for how long before it all crashes?), and a position to bargain with at least a few creditors. There is hope and I keep grasping for it, grateful for the motherly gaze coming to me through Our Mother of Perpetual Help.

The Theory of Spiritual Insanity

2011-06-25T09:22:00.000-05:00

It hit me late this week; why things have been so hellish and why they even started out so badly on Monday. (Which wasn't really the start but was the worst strike).

Every other year, all the diocesan priests head down to Rochester, MN, for a presbyteral council with the Bishops, leaving the care of the diocese in the hands of the religious community priests (Redemptorists, Franciscans, a few others), and a few retired priests who are able to help out.

This means that many parishes don't have Mass at all, because there simply aren't enough priests to go around. My own home parish usually has 3 Masses per day, but during this period of time, that is usually pared down to one or two, meaning many people can't attend as usual. We still have Adoration, and a few parishes may offer communion services (very very rare in this diocese so I'm not sure if any took place), but at my work parish...no Mass. All week.

Usually several of our Adult leaders attend Mass every day of our summer events, and when I'm there for that purpose, I try to attend, too.

This week, it wasn't an option, and the Church remained dark.

Yesterday, Father was back and I was able to slip into Mass just before it began. As I knelt down, a wave of relief flooded over me: MASS! I sat behind one of our staunchest and most faithful volunteers, knowing she was praying for us and had been, but perhaps was a lone intercessor for most of the week.

We simply hadn't had any prayer support at all and on Monday, it culminated in a vicious spiritual attack, not just involving me, but involving my boss, her events, a youth minister she knew at another parish, one of my co-workers and her daughter - and the weirdness carried on all week long.

The awfulness of the things that happened this week to us seemed so out of left-field, leaving us all, individually, shocked, stunned, and thrown off for the remainder of the week.

My theory is the serious deprivation of Grace normally provided by the several hundred Masses offered each day in the parishes of our Archdiocese, and the thousands of prayers people normally pray during those Masses never took place, for those people were not able to attend. I know, from what parishioners have told me, that during Mass they regularly pray for us and whatever is going on in our programs at the time.

This week...they couldn't.

We should have realized what was coming and asked for for our biggest prayer warriors to ramp it up in any way they could in lieu of the Masses they normally attended. But we didn't think of it.

I don't blame the priests or the Bishop for going outside the diocese; they are handling serious business which they need to be able to do without distraction. And many come back during the week if necessary for funerals, etc, but return to the council when the crisis is over.

That is the nature of evil; it flies under the radar, not quite reaching to crisis level requiring the return of the priest, but it reveals the power of the Mass and the prayers of the faithful during Mass to keep evil at bay.

I pray that what we suffered in our diocese this week was a sign of the holy fruitfulness of the priests' meeting in Rochester this week.

The LORD'S throne is established in heaven; God's royal power rules over all.
Bless the LORD, all you angels, mighty in strength and attentive, obedient to every command.
Bless the LORD, all you hosts, ministers who do God's will.
Bless the LORD, all creatures, everywhere in God's domain. Bless the LORD, my soul!
~ Psalm 103:19-23

Nothing Left - The Reality of Employment in Ministry

2011-06-23T22:25:00.001-05:00

My friend Dominisumus over at "We Belong to the Lord" recently wrote:

We each have our own difficulties and struggles in our faith lives that we are usually loathe to share with others. This is doubly hard for people who work in parishes because we cannot burden those who come to us for help with our own struggles, but there are times when it is appropriate and helpful to share at least some of our own journey. Too often people look at us and think that we have it “all sewn up” and we have the ideal relationship with God. Well, let me tell you - Yeah right. I wish I had the perfect relationship with God, but I don’t.

Read the rest of Lord, Teach Me to Pray.

There was a long off-blog discussion that both gave rise to her post and continued after among we lay people who work in ministry in some form. We may appear to have deep prayer lives, and we may talk a good game because we know how it's SUPPOSED to be due to our theological education, but the reality is that we are just as human as everyone else and we struggle, too.

The problem is, as Dominisumus points out, when people come to us with their needs, we are there to be with them professionally and therefore can't pour out our own hearts to them in return. That would NEVER be proper. Sure, we can share SOME of what we experience in our lives, especially with those parishioners with whom we become real friends, but even then there is a boundary.

Truly, that boundary must exist and that lesson was brought home to me very clearly on Monday when a parishioner I *thought* was my "friend" put my job in danger in the name of her own rebellion against a policy that definitely did NOT provide a hill I was willing to die on for her issue. She invited me to "get fired", in fact, and then when her end of things was resolved to a particular satisfaction, she pretended all was well.

The fact is that after she reamed me out in public (a fact for which I am thankful because a witness told me in private she would go to bat for my job if it came to that), I went to the office, certain I would be fired for this other person's disobedience, and then had to maintain composure while a literal line of people in need of my assistance came forward, one after another.

Much to my embarrassment, after the confrontation, which was my breaking point after several stressful days at work with quite literally no actual "off" day (for even at home I was dealing with work issues on the phone), I went to my office to help someone and couldn't stop the tears of anger and frustration, fear, and betrayal from flowing.

While I wasn't sobbing by any means, and I took a deep breath (several, in fact), while retreating to the back of the office to get what someone needed, the kind parishioner who saw what happened and how upset I was actually was the indirect catalyst for the tears I could no longer hold. It's weird, but when I'm upset I HATE it when people are nice to me because that's when I get truly emotional! And I even acknowledged that I was being ridiculous in my response to a problem that was not my fault or doing.

I know that the witness in question thought nothing of it, but I am conditioned to behave professionally at work, which means...not crying. It is not the job of parishioners to comfort me in my affliction. But sometimes, the stress is too great, the timing is too horrible, the demands far beyond human strength....

Ah...now we get to the real problem

We who work in ministry [Definition: we are not "ministers" but we as lay employees participate in a ministry that flows from Holy Orders, by commission and permission by virtue of being hired for the role] by nature have to handle some very heavy issues. We are held to a high moral standard as appropriate to the Church, for we must be moral examples of holiness, even though we fail.

We preach about Holiness, about the Sacraments, about Mass and Confession and the need to put God first at all times. I know that we often come across as "holier-than-thou" not because we are, but because so many people do NOT put God first and assume we are living lives akin to saintliness. I actually had one parishioner tell me she can't imagine why I would ever need to go to Confession; after all, what sin would I have to confess?

She was sincere in her statement, but completely ignorant about my very real sins.

My answer to her, acutely aware of all of my sinful failings: I can confess a LOT. I could spend all day in the Confessional and not get it all out. In fact, even if I never left the Confessional, I'd never be at a loss for something to confess for we sin not just in action, but in thought and in omission.

You may think, reading this, that such positive perceptions by other people about you are good, but the reality is this: they create a dangerous pedestal. Everyone wants others to think well of them, and of course, everyone IS entitled to a good reputation (within reason!), but the reality of parish workers, along with Priests, is that people assume that because we work in ministry, we do not sin.

The opposite assumption is that we're all demons from Hell out to destroy souls.

The answer is much more human.

Those polar opposite assumptions are the same weird things people say about other professionals: doctors are all healthy and live totally healthy lives, lawyers and cops know the law so never commit crime, real estate agents never get caught up in scams, psychologists/psychiatrists are immune to mental illness or illogical thought, firefighters never lose their homes or families to fire...the list goes on. Create your own. You professionals who read this blog...you know what I'm talking about. You fight these myths every day and you cringe when you see your fellow professionals in the news for falling against the myth and proving it wrong. That's what makes the news, and it does so because people so strongly believe in the impeccability of...well...everyone. Until they fall.

For some reason, in parish work, more than any other profession in my experience thus far, the mythology and pedestal-elevation in parish work is the worst. In fact, it's like every parish has a Borderline Personality; you are a Saint until you disagree with someone and have to enforce policy. Then you're Satan Incarnate, but damn you if you dare to leave the parish because the parish needs you and the slightest "no" is a form of abandonment.

This condition is not limited to Catholics, but transcends religious boundaries; I know this from conversations with Lutherans Presbyterians, Methodists, Baptists.....and bet even the organized pagan religions report the same things.

The Facts

Let me tell you about the reality of my spiritual life: it's a big FAIL.

For the last several months, I've barely been able to pray. While it is my habit to pray the Liturgy of the Hours, it is a miracle these days if I even manage to unzip the cover. While I pray the rosary every day en route to work, on my days off work, I don't pray it at all, and even on those work days, I'm usually praying while stressing out over this or that thing completely unrelated to the Gospel I am supposed to be meditating upon. So much for the Rosary.

Fr. Corapi used to say, "THERE'S SO SUCH THING AS A BAD ROSARY!" but, well, these days, he's not exactly an authority to most people, is he? [do NOT go off in the combox on the Fr. Corapi issue. Thanks]

He was right, of course, but one must recognize that if one is praying while off in la-la-land having nothing to do with the intended task, it's not exactly a fruitful prayer, is it?

Life Before Ministry

Before I worked in a parish, I attended Daily Mass, during Lent I made to to Stations of the Cross nearly every Friday, and I engaged in all sorts of spiritual activities necessary to the spiritual life.

The reality now, in working for the Church, is that the demands of my job often prevent my attending Daily Mass (I try to go when I can but it's a slippery slope and I've fallen away even when I CAN go..), this last Lent I NEVER ONCE made it to Stations of the Cross at either parish because of work I pray spiritually benefited people to and for whom I'd been preaching on those days. Even though I preach to others the necessity and benefit of going on retreat, I can't AFFORD on my salary to go, either. Overall, I'm a much MUCH worse Catholic now, a few years later, than I was when this all began.

I'm so burned out that going to Mass on Sunday feels like work to me...probably because, at work, I often have to be at a particular Mass because it's part of my paid JOB to be there. This is a far different thing than mere volunteer roles in the liturgy, which anyone can quit at any time if they find it impacts their spiritual lives.

Maybe some of you are sitting out there wondering why I don't just quit.

That's a valid question but the reality is this: what Dominisumus described and what I am describing afflicts every parish worker. (And whatever you do, don't get any of us started on the "Justice in Employment" BS document we have to sign every year as part of our contract!)

My blog has been erratic as of late, and this is why. I have nothing left. I'm tired, I have no consistent prayer life, I haven't been able to make it to Daily Mass, and even Confession has fallen away for me as I struggle to get there at least every month. And even then, I have doubts.

The fact is that I don't even have the DESIRE to pray most days, and force myself to do so, what little I do accomplish.

As Domini describes, prayer is a gift from God, and as I've written before, dryness is a purification. We try short prayers, we do what we can, and we MUST press on, no matter how hard it is.

But know this: just because someone works in ministry does not mean their prayer life is perfect. They (We!) struggle just like all of you. We go through the same purifications, the same dryness, the same unwillingness to pray, and it impacts us and YOU even more.

Without God, we have nothing to give, because in and of ourselves, our strength doesn't go far. We flail every day, and we can't reveal our own struggles because to do so is totally inappropriate.

Sometimes, all we can do is offer short aspirations such as "Jesus, I love you!" and "Sacred Heart of Jesus I put all my trust in Thee!" and "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" and hope that eventually we'll be able to do more.

As far as my own particular spiritual life goes, it is failing and every day is a struggle. When I worked in Insurance, it was a struggle to go to work, but I was able to find strength in God. Now, in parish work, not only do I struggle to get up to go, but my source of strength absent for even when I do pray, He does not seem to be there.

All the theology in the world doesn't change the experience of this. You can preach at me, you can offer this or that advice, but the reality is this: until God again grants the ability to pray, I have to rely upon all I have left, that being the desire to pray, and even that is a pure gift, and one I lost months ago.

Don't ever put your parish workers on a pedestal; pray for them, because through their work in ministry, they may be so deprived that they may have nothing left; strength comes from YOUR intercession before God.

The greatest holiness is usually found in the simplest of souls..not we with graduate degrees and professional parish employment.

Please pray for us with all your heart; we depend on you.

Thank you.

Like Fireflies

2011-06-19T17:49:00.000-05:00

Summer evenings in June and July, whenever Mom and Dad let us stay up after dark, were dedicated to the capture and containment of fireflies. We had no desire to harm them (we won't talk about what happens when you squish them during a "glow"), but to place them in a jar and use them as natural flashlights. My brother and I tried to "train" them to glow at the same time.

As it turned out, the fireflies weren't interested in being trained, but it didn't matter to me; they were the only bug I ever loved. Other than ladybugs (the REAL ones, not the orange Asian Beetles that have infringed in the last 10 years or so).

Ahh....childhood. The Good ol' days.

You may be rolling your eyes, but for days, I've been in a nostalgic mood.

While I wish I could provide photos, a camera/computer glitch has prevented me from revealing incredible photos of something many of us remember and considered to be a staple of our society. What was it?

A....phone booth. Right. The kind you'd put money into and dial, maybe while holding the handset in a handkerchief, shirt tail, rag, kleenex...etc...depending on your location when using it.

I used to go out always having enough change for a phone booth, because that's the advice given to young women who might be in need of a ride home if her friends either got too fresh or too wasted to get them back home.

Do you know I STILL carry the proper change on me for that purpose?

Even as I watch them fade away, and a point brought to bear: the one I photographed is no longer in existence...I can't help but carry the change in case my pre-paid cell decides to die.

Home

Today at Mass, I don't really know why, I was especially weepy. All throughout, I worked hard to maintain my composure, and didn't realize until Father gave the blessing to Fathers for Father's Day why I was crying.

I weep for what I no longer have and what I can no longer celebrate. You'd think I'd "get over it" after 15 years, but with the date falling so close to my birthday, it's impossible to ignore. The man half responsible for my life is not here to share it with me in any way.

Related Tangent aka God's Sense of Humor

Last night, for my oncoming birthday, my surviving family took me out to dinner at our favorite restaurant, which, unfortunately is in a modern strip mall which as of late began to host a Planned Parenthood clinic. The office next to it advertising some other service had a far more important message, and although they did not have any intent for their message to reflect upon the business next door to them, it was impossible to read without seeing it. I pray any woman walking into Planned Parenthood sees their neighbor's prominent advert: "Permanent Choice".

Yes. That's what stands out. Right next to "Planned Parenthood".

Heh. That business wasn't there a couple months ago; I hope women see it and realize that abortion is, in fact, a permanent "choice".

Meanwhile back in my nostalgic musings...

There's also been another twist in our life: the aunt, my dad's sister, somewhat estranged due to certain actions taken after his death, has invited us to visit their new home, which just happens to be across the river from the neighborhood where I grew up.

There's a lot of history there; much of what we become as adults is contained in our earliest years, and even though we moved when I was only ten, I can't help but remember, fondly, the sunny summer days of running through the woods and joyful winter sledding of my childhood.

Although I look forward to this trip, which I hope and pray my brother and I can make this summer, I can't help but be a bit emotional about it. The last time we were there we were with our Dad, and this time, he will only be a memory.

A part of me knows that when we return, I will be disappointed for the character of the uncommon neighborhood will have changed, and so I will no longer be able to remember it as it was then. Yet another part of me cries out for this vision of "home", in hopes there will be something of comfort there, something that has remained, a sign a constancy, a sign that in spite of the passage of time, some part of our childhood innocence has been preserved.

Yes, I'm weeping today. Weeping for what was, weeping for what (and who) I never appreciated properly, weeping for a world that passes by too quickly to capture.

We all live our lives as though this is all there is, but as I've gotten older there is one thing I lament: we never appreciate what we have until it's gone. Movies and books have been published on this topic to no end, in every genre and form, but still, we never learn.

Our lives pass by like the glow of early summer fireflies; and even when we try to capture the moment, it is gone, and even a mason jar covered with foil won't allow us to keep time from slipping through our fingers.

I guess, though, I'd rather have this bittersweet nostalgia to temper my musings than no memories at all.

You know what? I hope that if we go this summer, I'll have time to wait and watch for fireflies, and capture them once again, only to let them go free in the nighttime breeze.

Heat Lightning

2011-06-17T23:16:00.000-05:00

I didn't grow up with luxuries like air conditioning, and certainly not anything like central air. Summers for us were hot, humid and still, and when the wind blew, like the old adage says...it didn't blow anyone any good. A rising wind in summer was just training for storms, and the heavy pit in my stomach always grew heavier when darkness fell and with it, the wind, for I knew what was coming.

I grew up in a gentler time where the elements had more force but less surprise. Although the setting was Illinois, it wasn't much different than Mississippi in terms of summer heat and humidity, and our version of Boo Radley was an old guy named "Frank" who had a sledding hill in place of a cool tree.

We could go on all day about our respective characters and their motivations, but I have to admit, even having moved north, one of the most disconcerting works of nature, one that is so seemingly harmless, is the very same as that which I watched as a child, certain I would be sick in any moment.

We used to sit at our big living-room window and watch what Mom called "heat -lightening" shuttering in the sky across the river and beyond. Even miles and miles away, it lit up the shapes in the clouds and highlighted the barn over the river yonder, with its silver roof and weathered gray boards holding it up. I can still hear the haunting screams of the tanker trucks rumbling along the highway that ran by the barn, echoing over the stillness of the river to yawn in our still and silent back yard, embracing us with both comfort and warning.

Mom tried to decrease my fear of the storm by showing me her enjoyment of the far-away lightning, a freak of nature and science, natures fireworks appearing without thunder, without rain, without wind. She described it as the sparks we saw when pulling fresh laundry out of the dryer; lightning produced by heat and friction, God having a good time with static electricity.

I think at one point she described it as Angels doing laundry.

Her timing was bad, though; my brother had taken it upon himself to ensure that any static electricity whatsoever made its way to me at his hands, whether through a snap of a hot towel or feet rubbed on the carpet. As such, for me, such "lightning" was never harmless, but another set of creative torture devised to terrify me anew.

No Such Thing as Harmless Lightning

Perhaps my childhood instincts were correct.

In our culture, we have been lulled into the non-scientific belief that "heat lightning" is harmless. Those faint flashes from far away do seem to be nothing, but sometimes they get a bit close, don't they?

The fact is this: there's no such thing as lightning without a storm. Where we see the flashes of light, someone is suffering the onslaught of thunder, rain, maybe hail and wind. We may not be the ones touched by that particular storm, but we cannot sit back and pollyanna happily about its harmlessness. Not while people are being swept away a county or so away from us.

In recent years, the flashes of lightening have become more and more brilliant, nearly blinding us, and we seem to have turned down the volume to the thunder that accompanies it. That's not to say it isn't there, but rather, that we have chosen to be dulled to the sound, that we have given into happy childhood myths designed to comfort fearful children...not rational adults.

There are many myths floating around our world today most directly with regard to people of Faith: some say that Religion is meant to be seen on one's own time but not heard otherwise. Others say that any revelation of belief in God is merely a revelation of weakness in an individual who refuses to use his or her intellect. Yet the most common bit of cultural heat lightning is this: that we as Christians have no right to "impose" our beliefs upon someone else or society at whole.

Raise your hand if you've heard this modern adage. Raise your OTHER hand if you've stated YOURSELF the following: "I believe X, but even though I am Catholic I have no right to impose my beliefs about X upon others."

Keep 'em up were we can see 'em!. You're busted and about to be convicted of being both illogical and anti-Christian, no matter what you profess to be. Way to be a sellout!

Our OBLIGATION as Christians by our Baptism and the promises that accompany it is that we WILL "impose" our beliefs and values upon the society in which we live. This is a matter of fairness and objectivity, for each and every religion and group does the same.

What is so sociologically and culturally fascinating, and horrific, in our society is this: that the majority (Christians) refuses to carry this out. We have the right and OBLIGATION according to our own fundamental beliefs to impose what we know to be True upon the society in which we live, in order to influence it for the better and more importantly, to save souls.

Yet, the mantra of our age is to stand cowed to the moral minority repeating roboticly, "I really believe in marriage between one man and one woman, and I am personally opposed to abortion, and I know we should keep Sundays holy and not use it for profane things like shopping and unnecessary labor...but I can't impose my beliefs upon others...."

To this I answer:

Why the hell NOT? As long as we refuse to impose the Truth upon our society, we become the whipped dogs of the minority imposing THEIR beliefs upon US...and we don't even have the gumption to bare our teeth!

The fact is this: the stuff we thought was harmless "heat lightning" and lulled us into complacency has become an imminent EF-5, destroying the moral culture of our country with the same efficiency as the real one that laid waste to Joplin, MO only a month ago.

My friends, it is our moral OBLIGATION to impose our beliefs and values upon our culture, politically, personally, through policy, through law, through debate, through education, through any moral means.

Ironically, although we made the promise we will do this at our very Baptism, and sealed to do so at our Confirmation, do you know the ONLY group that refuses to "impose" in our modern world is also the ONLY group losing numbers to religious oblivion is....Christians.

No wonder "gay marriage" (what a misnomer) is on the plate before us; if we had imposed our beliefs with the same conviction the homosexual activists had imposed their beliefs upon us, we wouldn't be in this mess.

Food for thought...

Oh, and by the way...stop chewing your cud and start IMPOSING before it gets any worse!

It's not just heat lightning, folks. Just because it's not striking YOU doesn't mean thousands haven't already been lost to the whims of static electricity from the sky and all the destruction that accompanies it.

Anti-Catholic Bullies Attack the Poor in the Lee of the Basilica

2011-06-14T21:22:00.005-05:00

Some things are so illogical they just BEG to be fisked.

I guess some people forget the importance of not messing your own house, spitting in the wind, or peeing on an electric fence.

A certain mislead group in need of our compassion and in this case, pity, and maybe a bit of eyerolling derision, is out there begging people to boycott the annual Basilica Block Party. To those not familiar with our area, the Basilica happens to be the most "gay-friendly" parish around, of those that come even close to orthodoxy, so the real problem here is that some people continue to be shocked that the Catholic Church continues to insist on being...wait for it...CATHOLIC. Pretty anticlimactic conclusion, isn't it?

Here's the entirety of the article, found at KARE11.com:

MINNEAPOLIS -- Jason Wermager said the idea to boycott the Basilica Block Party came to him at a party last weekend, [Mistake #1: Always ignore ideas that come during parties for obvious reasons. Have you learned NOTHING from Cheech and Chong?] as he was telling a friend with tickets he didn't think supporting an event held on church grounds would be in the best interest of a person in full support of same sex marriage. [Mistake #2: Given the fact that the Basilica Block party goes to Art, Historical Preservation and the Social Justice Goal of the Preferential Option for the Poor, isn't "same sex marriage" a bit irrelevant to people you're depriving of true justice and charity?]

"It really, the boycott, was just to bring awareness that discrimination to anyone on any level isn't right," Wermager said. [Mistake #3: So why should your cause trump the poor, who have REAL problems with basic survival?]

Wermager said he felt compelled to start the facebook invite, Boycott the Block Party, after discussing with his partner his discomfort about going to a concert, at a church, that is a member of the Minneapolis-St. Paul Archdiocese led by Archbishop John Nienstedt. [Mistake #4: Hmmm....You seem to misunderstand Ecclesiology]

Nienstedt is very outspoken on his beliefs concerning gay marriage. [Mistake #5: Archbishop John Nienstedt's role as Bishop is that of teacher and defender of the Faith of the Catholic Church as a whole; it is his obligation to preach about Faith and Morals, and in fact, the Church's belief about the sacramental and fruitful character of marriage between one man and one woman belong to the deposit of the faith and therefore are not affected by the "beliefs" of a few random individuals who choose to disagree because the Truth is uncomfortable to them. The Catholic Church is Catholic. Get over it. ]

Nienstedt openly says gay marriage is wrong and last fall sent out 400,000 DVD's to area churches outlining his position on why same sex couples she be denied marriage calling it a dangerous risk to society. [Mistake #6: This was not "Nienstadt's" position, but his articulation of the official position of the Catholic Church with regard to Faith and Morals...never mind science and anthropological and historical facts regarding this topic. Oh, wait...he inconveniently made sure that was part of the DVD. My bad.]

It is because of Archbishop's Nienstedt's statements, those DVD's, and the fact that Minnesota voters will vote on the gay marriage issue in 2012 that led Wermager to the boycott. [Mistake #7: I guess it's inconceivable that anyone could possibly disagree with you and not be bullied into compliance with your own vapid self-popery.]

"I am choosing not to attend this and by doing so I want to bring awareness to these issues," Wermager said. [Mistake #8: Wait! This is a WIN! The Basilica on behalf of the Poor thank you for the free publicity!]

His partner, Alex Zachary, says he hopes this boycott reaches the ear of Archbishop Nienstedt. [Mistake #9: I can hear him rolling his eyes from here. I can also hear his Hail Marys and Divine Mercies on behalf of your conversion. I hope he's praying as feverently for mine.]

"This is sending a message to the whole archdiocese of Minnesota," Zachary said. [Mistake #10: Umm...you seem to misunderstand not only Ecclesiology, but Geography and Hierarchy: there is no such thing as the "Archdiocese of Minnesota".]

Now, the block party has been on the Basilica grounds for the past 16 years.

It started with it's main sponsor, Cities 97.

The idea was to make money to restore the Basilica grounds and any other profits would go to an organization that provides meals and assistance to the city's homeless population.

In a statement today a Basilica spokesperson said that remains true and that the archdiocese receives no money from the block party.

BT, from Cities 97, wants to make sure that is known loud and clear.

"This event has no connection whatsoever to the archdiocese, none of the money goes there at all."[!!!!!!!!!!]

BT has been with Cities 97 for every block party over the years and says its mission has always remained the same.

"We want to open our arms to all people and that is what the block party is about. It is about love, inclusion, brotherhood, sisterhood and fellowship," BT said.

"The reason we got involved in the first place and continue to do so is about music, the community and nothing else. There is no political agenda and no religious agenda. It is just about the music and our community coming together," BT added.[!!!!!!!!!!!]

(Copyright 2011 by KARE. All Rights Reserved.)

** ** **

There ya have it: a single ticket not sold equals a deprivation of the poor.

all those who have joined Wermager's lame FB page hate the Homeless, hate the Arts, and hate Historical Preservation. Even further, they are uninformed sheep following a leader who has no idea what he's talking about.

My friends, if you are interested in purchasing tickets for the Basilica Block Party for this very worthy cause, or interested in supporting it by volunteering or by donation, visit their web page here.

A few years ago I attended and was able to hear some incredible bands while giving to a great cause. If you're local, do your part! Let's make sure the Basilica Block Party remains profitable especially in the face of activist anti-Catholic bullies!

The Daze of the Life of Adoro

2011-06-13T14:41:00.001-05:00

Where to even start this post?

Perhaps it's best to begin with Mom, who sent me an early birthday gift with the explicit instructions to go shopping for new summer clothing. No, Mom can't afford to send me money, but she did and wouldn't take "no" for an answer, therefore I set out to do as she asked.

First, on Saturday, I went to get a haircut because my mane is way overgrown and resembles something like a worn out mop with weirdly cut bangs. (Hey, I got sick of them and chopped them!) At best, I get my hair cut only once or twice per year, and because of that I used to "splurge" at a real salon and pay $35-40 plus tip. I figured, hey, for as little as I get it done, why not? That way I knew I had a good cut, they'd style it and I'd look awesome and my hair smelled great all day!

Well, given my financial situation, I gave up my salon "splurges" in favor of the cheap places. Fantastic Sam's did an OK job and I thought to go back to them. But while running errands on Saturday I happened to be directly across from Great Clips. Even though I swore I'd never go back there again, I decided to suck it up and go inside. Once there, I had to pay extra for the hair wash (ok fine), and decided on a whim to take off even MORE hair than I had planned initially. You see where this impulsiveness is going, don't you?

Yup.

I hate it. I don't mind the length, but I've discovered my hair is now curly and it's terrible because I broke a rule a friend in my past laid down for me. I used to go to her for my cuts when she was at an Aveda Salon where she was trained. She told me to never let anyone, and she meant ANYONE touch my hair with those nasty layering shears (whatever they're called). She said my hair had to be layered with a scissors and the tool would wreck it.

She was right. It looks awful, won't do what I want and now I just look like a worn out mop with the frizzled edges cut off with a dagger of some sort. Although my bangs look better now.

Well, that's what you get for $20.00, I guess. (Interestingly enough I got a better cut for less at Fantastic Sam's, although it wasn't anywhere near salon quality). *sigh*

Oh vanity, my vanity!

Background info on what is to come....

A few weeks ago I went to the eye doctor for the first time in about 4 years because I received the notice to renew my driver's license. I have terrible vision and live in holy terror that I won't be able to pass the vision test, so I thought it best to stop in at the doc and pay for new glasses or contacts if needed. Coupled with eye strain of late, I was sure I was due for a new prescription. Over $100 later and no real update. Great. And I'm paying most of it, maybe all, out of pocket entirely without hope of reimbursement.

The good news is that instead of getting those nasty dilator drops on a really bright impossibly sunny day, I decided to go for the retinal scan, and that was the COOLEST thing ever! And the doc can see more, and now if I and murdered and disposed of in a weird way my remains can be identified by my retinal scan if my eyeballs are still intact. How awesome is that!?

But I digress....

One of the reasons for my slum-salon visit on Saturday, of course, was this big buildup for my visit to the DMV to renew my driver's license. I figured that if my photo is going to look horrible anyway, I really didn't have to have bad hair, too.

Joke's on me, I guess. Bad pic and worse hair than if I'd just gone in with my self-cut bangs and frizzed out barn mop.

Although I passed the eye test, no problem. *whew* !

Today, and Today Alone

My first stop today was the DMV to fulfill that dreaded task, then on to the rest of my list.

I'm not like other women: I hate shopping with a passion, but I knew I must obey my Mom especially given her sacrifice, so took myself to Kohl's with sincere hope of finding something.

Please allow me to be clear: I hate hate hate summer-wear shopping with a greater passion than at any other time of the year because the stuff on the racks is tiny, even the things with sleeves are not really sleeves, and, well, let's face it: clothing doesn't look good on me at all. I'm no fashion bug and if I were rich I'd hire a personal shopper/ private investigator because I'm sure even the highest end stores on the planet wouldn't have anything I could actually wear. In fact, I'm certain they'd forbid me to wear their for fear I might tell someone the name of the store and they'd lose all their business. Designers would flee from me in utter horror.

The only reason I wear clothes is that I'd look even worse without them and more than Designers would flee in terror. They might run then come back with harpoons and throw nets at me while calling me "Moby".

Meanwhile, back at the chain store....grabbing a few items of interest, certain they wouldn't fit but bound and determined to give my shopping experience the good ol' college try, I headed for the fitting room to try them on. Somewhere in the middle of my rejected and soon-to-be-rejected pile, a woman and her daughter came in and entered the stall next to mine.

I heard the daughter say, "Mom, you know that door has a handle."

The Mom: "And how many grimy dirty hands have touched that handle today alone?"

Daughter (pause) "Ew."

The Mom: "Yeah. Exactly."

In my growing irritation and crabbiness I had to bite down hard on my tongue to keep from saying aloud, "Gee, I wonder how many people have tried on these clothing items before we did? I sure hope everyone who comes here showers before trying on clothing, and hope they don't have mites or scabies or lice or syphilis..."

But I remained silent and rolled my eyes at the germophobe instead.

Dang it! Why do I feel so itchy all of a sudden?

So, having no luck at Kohl's, I was cranky and crabby and sad and wanted only to be home reading a book and avoiding people. So I went to Goodwill. It couldn't possibly be a worse experience, right? I had to find SOMETHING, and with my go-to place a bust I needed a shot in the dark.

Well, I did find a couple things at Goodwill and bought them, but they weren't the kind of things Mom had in mind, although they will be useful to me this summer and will probably impress my co-worker with my fashion prowess resulting from her artistic influence. That has limited scope, though, and is not going to pass the Mom-test.

(As an aside: Goodwill is the only place I've ever been where my charm doesn't earn me eye contact and a return in charm from the cashiers. They all behave as though they are working in a naughty store and are ashamed of themselves for working there and for the shoppers who come there. Having been in a naughty store, I can tell you those employees were much more "customer friendly" when they should have been avoiding eye contact at LEAST as enthusiastically as the people of Goodwill try to do. Just sayin'.)

So after failing once again to charm the mysteriously ashamed employees of Goodwill, [and seriously, even the DMV employees were more joyful and personable - isn't that an oxymoron?] I headed to the Library and nearly tripped on a boy heading back in from the bathroom, carrying a huge key and walking along in shoes at least two sizes too large for him. He scuttled (or galumphed?) past me through the door and I couldn't help but watch his gait in those big athletic shoes, wondering what his mother was thinking by providing shoes like that. He was going to wreck his knees!

Then I just shrugged. Hey! Who am I to judge? I just came from Goodwill with my own version of poorly-fitted clothing!

My last stop was the grocery store. For at least two weeks I've been craving a root beer float but without the ingredients, my hands were tied. I didn't feel like dealing with Dairy Queen, so I looked for a small container of vanilla ice cream. Nuthin'. Seriously the only vanilla I could find was in half-gallon and above! With a sigh I bought the cheap stuff and a small bottle of A&W and paid for that and the other items on my list.

Now I'm back at home, staring at a livingroom covered with cotton from the latest toy to have its innards removed by Apollo the foster dog. I'm looking at stacks of junk mail that needs to go away and old things that need to be shredded. I have a sink full of dirty dishes from the last thing I cooked yesterday morning before I rushed off to Mass and work.

Today, in spite of the fact it's my day off, thanks to my failed and hated shopping expedition, from which I have emerged only to have to explain to Mom that no amount of money in the world will provide a good photo of me well dressed for her, I'm crabby and sad and bitter and angry. Maybe now she'll take back the amount I didn't spend between Saturday and today, and give this up as a lost cause.

I think maybe it's time to put on my worn-out cross-trainers, put new batteries in my CD player, grab some tunes, and go for a long walk while daydreaming all sorts of adventures and impossibilities.

*sigh*

Sometimes the life we live in our imagination is the only cure for the hardness and bitterness of life under our feet.

Why Won't They Invite Me?

2011-06-12T14:52:00.000-05:00

I haven't written on Vocational discernment for awhile, but recently a question was posed to me and I thought others may benefit from the answer.

The person in question had been in correspondance with a few religious communities for several months, but after a time, they stopped writing. She was interested in visiting them and wondered why they had not invited her to visit. Was there something wrong with her? Was this common practice with cloistered religious? Should she keep writing to them or was this a "closed door"?

Her questions are good ones, and there are, actually several different answers so I'm only going to choose the most likely given the circumstances she described.

First, she described she'd been writing to them for some time, and they responded. This is a good thing and a necessary step in discernment. Many communities, especially those that are cloistered, do not have an online presence so prefer that potential candidates write to them the old-fashioned way, with pen and paper (although typewritten/printed out is the new "old fashioned"), and sent by snail mail with postage stamp and all.

Those letters are important as they introduce the individual and community to each other. In the meantime that community will be praying for theirs and that person's discernment, and looking to see if perhaps that individual would "fit" with them, if they are serious about discerning or merely "sightseeing", if they have impediments, or if they are truly free to follow the Lord wherever He leads.

In my experience, in this type of correspondance with different communities, I decided on my own (through prayer, through circumstances, etc) that it was time to end the correspondance with a particular place; it wasn't for me. That's not to say it was a "bad" community; simply that it wasn't where God was calling me to go, not even for a visit.

In another case, I also experienced, after one response to my inquiry, they did not respond again. Because I was having problems with a particular email account I re-sent a response with apologies citing the computer issues. They still didn't respond. I walked away, too.

A religious sister I met along the way also had looked at religious communities and one cloistered community she truly wanted to visit would not respond to letters, return phone calls...nothing. The monastery in particular was looking for vocations, so she thought their lack of response quite odd, and ended up contacting another, then ended up meeting members of an active community while she was actively, as in, at an event, trying to find the Carmelites she wanted to join! Well...God always has better plans than ours, doesn't He?

So what does a non-response mean? Sometimes it simply means that particular door is closed. If it doesn't open, there isn't a crowbar in the world to open it. Look elsewhere and trust God.

Moving on to the second part of her question, the young woman wondered about visiting - why hadn't they invited her for a visit?

This is a VERY important question!

I was cued into it because of the context she gave of the letters back and forth.

My most faithful readers will remember my visit to the Cistercians and some of the things that built up to it. The Cistercians are cloistered and somehow caught my attention in a way I could not deny. So I wrote to them (via email as they are online), and a correspondance ensued. They did not invite me to visit at any point, but rather, helped to guide my discernment of them, and in general. One of their suggestions was that I read "The Cistercian Way", which I had to put off because of my graduate studies. I knew I had to focus on each thing in its own time. When I had read the book, we discussed it and I confessed that I would still like to come for a visit.

I had to ask. They were not going to offer. I had to request to come to them.

Why is this?

I've noticed most especially through cloistered communities that they are very careful not to push. They may greatly desire new candidates, but they want to allow that soul and God to comune, so that the soul freely comes, and not through power of suggestion.

You see, especially in American culture, we are all about "politeness" and we are very overly-sensitized to "hurt feelings."

In our day-to-day living, we would not even THINK about just inviting ourselves over to someone's home for a visit. We may call relatives and ask to visit them in the summer, whether to stay with them or drop by if we are in their area - but in that case, we already have a relationship with them that provides an open door to that sort of thing.

When it comes to strangers, however, we do not want to impose ourselves upon them, and that's how we tend to feel about religious communities. We recognize that the convent or monastery or abbey is their home, and they are strangers we would like to meet, but our social taboos make it very difficult to get our minds around the concept that, in the case of discernment, it is acceptable to ask to visit, and in fact, it's necessary.

The other reason the vocation directors at these communities wait for the request is this: some contact them only looking for more information; they may not be ready for a visit. Yet if they are invited, they may feel that it is rude not to accept the request, or they may fear "hurt feelings" if they turn down the invitation. In that case, they may pretend willingness to schedule a retreat, and then go, completely unprepared for the experience - and that can destroy a vocation entirely. Someone who is not ready is not going to be able to properly discern, and a bad experience early on can have lasting effects.

A good religious community is, of course, looking for postulants, but not at the expense of the individual souls who come to them. They desire the good for that person, and see their visit as an opportunity to help them grow closer to God, to know His will for them, and therefore benefit them and their future community, or marriage, or spiritual life in general.

This is why they do not invite, but wait for that request to come; then they know the soul may be ready for what God has in store for them.

I hope this has been helpful for some of you out there in discernment. Know that what I have written here is only in limited scope and addresses the practices of many cloisterd communities. I have found the active religious congregations to be more out front with invitations, but they, too, act with care and concern for the good of the soul that comes to them, and even many of the active Sisters will wait for a request before they throw open their doors to welcome someone for a visit.

Vocational discernment can be a very confusing time, but sometimes, knowing a little about the culture and expectations of the various communities can go a long ways towards easing some of that difficulty. I truly hope that, over the years I have written on this topic, that my own trips and tumbles along this rocky road to Emmaus have made the path straighter and less confusing for someonen else.

God bless you and may the Holy Spirit guide you in your discernment!

Food I Would Serve Jesus - Early Summer Edition!

2011-06-09T13:40:00.001-05:00

Well, it's summer, like it or not, even here in the northlands.

Minnesota was hit with a pretty massive heatwave Monday and Tuesday, and by “massive” I mean that the heat here rivaled that of Hell. Or maybe Alabama. Our high temperature was 103, which, by the way, isn’t a record temp, although it doesn’t often reach 103 here. The last time I recall such high temperatures was about four or five years ago when it hit 100 or 101 on a late July afternoon.

In spite of the heat, though, people gotta eat. What to do? What to make that doesn’t actually involve applying heat?

Welcome back to my “Food I would Serve Jesus” series! Today I bring you a double feature in hopes of helping you to stay cool no matter how hot it gets!

So! Let’s get started with one of my summer fav's:

Gazpacho

If you’re not familiar with it, Gazpacho is a cold, tomato-based vegetable soup, perfect for people who love the garden veggies abundantly available in summer months. The varieties in recipes for this are probably even greater in number than for Mole Poblano. As far as Gazpacho goes, though, although I've tried a few versions, I think the following recipe may be my favorite thus far.

Ingredients:
2 fresh ripe tomatoes, chopped
6 cups spicy V8 juice
1 can tomato juice
1 cucumber (remove seeds)
1 onion, chopped
1 red pepper, seeds removed, chopped
Few dashes of hot sauce like Cholula or Tobasco, to taste
Celery salt
garlic powder
Lemon or Lime juice – up to 2 Tbsp. (to taste – the acid brings out the flavors)
Chopped cilantro (may substitute basil but do NOT combine the two herbs!)
1 avocado, chopped

OPTIONAL: green pepper, additional tomatoes or cucumber, celery, cooked shrimp

Directions:
Combine chopped vegetables in large bowl, stir in V8 and Tomato juice, place in refrigerator to chill for at least a few hours. Serve cold, garnish with additional cilantro or basil (depending on which you used). Buen Provecho!

** NOTE: sometimes Gazpacho is served in restaurants in blended form. I find blending it to be a mistake; if you leave it “chunky” the individual flavors really “pop” and the soup is much more refreshing!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CRAB SALAD

This salad is a recipe I got from a friend a few years ago but since then I’ve made my own innovations.

1 package imitation crab or lobster
1 whole Vidalia onion - chopped
1 bunch green onions – chopped (I cut them with a kitchen shears)
A few celery stalks – add to taste
Hellman’s Mayonnaise (not the kind made with olive oil)
Red wine vinegar and/or lemon juice
Garlic powder
Celery salt (can you tell I like celery salt?)
Cayenne pepper
Black pepper

Directions:
Chop the vegetables and place in large bowl. Add mayo to coat – it should not be too thick. Hit the salad with a dash of red wine vinegar and a Tablespoon of lemon juice, maybe a bit less. Add spices to taste, cover and chill. Taste the salad after about an hour and adjust spices as needed. Should be ready to serve within 3 hours or less. (More time brings out flavors a bit more).

Options:
If you don’t have celery, substitute cucumber and then add Chinese 5 Spice, available in the grocery store spice section.

I’ve never tried it with celery and cucumber both, but believe it would be yummy!
Try adding salad shrimp for a little more seafood oomph!

To serve:

Serve on crackers, spoon into a hotdog bun to offer as an East Coast Crab Roll, top a green salad, use as filling in cherry tomatoes as an appetizer – or just eat with a fork on a hot summer afternoon!

I give both of these dishes my highest rating:

***** Food I Would Serve Jesus *****

Annoyance and the Saints

2011-06-05T11:01:00.000-05:00

Hold onto your hats and your pews, friends! This post is going to be half rant half meditation!

Some days I just weep for the state of our parishes and the souls within them - and the very fact that our fallen nature has created our circumstances. Which, ironically, is why we go to Mass.

This morning I attended Mass, arrived early in order to pray. Several others arrived as well, as the church was relatively quiet. Then some families arrived with their fussy children, and more people arrived, and then came a couple who sat behind me, loudly talking to each other.

Recollection gone. I tried to "offer it up" and be patient. I failed miserably.

They continued with mindless chit-chat, almost in my ear. Or both ears, as it were. I was resigned to the fact this is what Mass was going to be like, until I heard one of them comment, "I really don't like children."

To my surprise, rather than being angry, I was overwhelmed with sadness. Dislike children!? I realized many young ones were crying at that moment, and there was a child in front of me actively playing and talking to his mother. But they didn't bother me nearly so much as the couple behind me talking loudly and stating how much they dislike children.

I'll admit I used to get distracted by children, and quite annoyed by them. Over time, though, I have come to not really notice if they are crying, but rather, if they are silent. A parish devoid of children is a dying parish. I thank God my parish is vibrant and filled with the cries of children! Glory be to God! Alleluia!

And then comes this couple desiring to quash that, while their behavior was far, far worse.

Yes, I was annoyed.

I was annoyed by many things today, and struggled to pray. The music was so theologically bad that I missed the psalm and had to page through and read it for myself. As the Feast of the Ascension is transferred to the 7th Sunday of Easter in my diocese, today's Gospel, MT 28:16-20 proclaims: (say it with me!)

Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations,
baptizing them in the name of the Father,
and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,
teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you.

So, did you catch that? Jesus told us to GO FORTH AND MAKE DISCIPLES OF ALL NATIONS, BAPTIZING THEM AND TEACHING THEM TO OBSERVE ALL THAT JESUS HAS COMMANDED US.

Then our communion hymn sang about bread, and our closing hymn was "As A Fire is Meant for Burning", containing the words:

Not to preach our creeds or customs,
but to build a bridge of care,

UM, WHAT!? How in the world does that line up with the Gospel COMMAND to preach our creeds and customs?

How do we celebrate the Ascension, hear the command of Christ to go forth and evangelize, and then leave church having just sung that we just have to be nice to everybody, but for the love of God, don't, under any circumstances, preach our faith or baptize anyone!??????

Folks, it's no wonder Catholics aren't out there evangelizing and living out today's Gospel command: we undermine ourselves before we even leave the building.

Here's the danger in singing such bad music: the Arian heresy spread by music. The Arians were great marketers and spread their bad theology through a catchy tune. That overcame the True teachings of the Faith, thus confusing people and leading them into heresy. The brain remembers and repeats music (ever got a bad earworm? Yeah, exactly). So thousands of people are going to leave today singing all about how we should be nice but never evangelize.

Yes, that annoys me. And it SHOULD. It should annoy YOU, too. It explains a lot about the state of many Catholics today, doesn't it?

Meditation on what it means to be annoyed

Today, as I fought those annoyances, as always, I tried to think about the Saints. People are people in every age, and Saints were people, too.

It is a temptation in our age to glorify the Saints so much so that we forget their humanity. We read their writings and we are in awe of their holiness, seeking to learn from them how to follow Christ. If they can do it, WE can do it, right?

Unfortunately, we fall into this weird trap of thinking the Saints were somehow robotic and didn't get annoyed, or angry. We seem to think the Saints were nice to people all the time, and that's why they became Saints: that they learned not to "feel" anything.

Nothing could be further from the truth. The Saints were all human beings and you know what? They got ANNOYED with people and situations! And I'm really glad I don't have to hear what St. Padre Pio would be saying about the music we sing at Mass in our age! I'm glad I don't have to watch St. Thomas Aquinas roll in his grave. I'm glad I don't have to withstand the fiery preaching of St. Paul or the ranting of St. Jerome.

Did you know that St. Francis de Sales had such a massive temper that after his death, they found GROOVES under his writing desk, where he took out his frustrations by scratching the underside repeatedly in effort to control his anger?

And yet, we read his writings, all of which are so gentle and wise. We are led to believe that he was always calm, recollected, and no, not ever angry.

No, St. Francis de Sales was a human being like the rest of us, and he got annoyed. Without looking at who he was as a human being, we divorce his writings from him as though they could stand alone and be enough. The truth is that St. Francis de Sales, as well as other Saints, wrote from experience, they wrote through their temptations, and they wrote in such a way so as to preach holiness to themselves as well as to others. They were not separate from their spiritual direction; they lived it, too.

It was actually a consolation to me today to reflect upon the humanity of the Saints.

Is Being Annoyed a Sin?

Often I read about liturgical abuses or other things that set people off, and there are always a few jokers in the various com-boxes who suggest there is something wrong with the person who is annoyed. Maybe that's true; we are all sinners, and we do often let our annoyances turn into some kind of personal sin.

I think more often, though, the opposite of that criticism is true: there's something missing in a human who refuses to be annoyed, for they are repressing their own humanity in a false understanding of what it means to be holy.

It is not a sin to be annoyed or irritated. It would qualify as a passion, I think. It's not anger, but can lead to anger, and anger alone is not a sin. The emotion of annoyance or irritation is simply that: something that tells us something is wrong. Compare it to a bug bite: when we are bitten, we are tempted to scratch at it because it itches! It can be really awful, and so we think about that bite and ponder it and feel that itch and then scratch and scratch until it finally bleeds, and maybe we keep scratching even THEN. And then it might get infected.

Or... we could just feel the annoyance, realize it's there and there's nothing we can do about it, or maybe spray a little Benadryl on it to control the histamine reaction. The bug bite is still there, but we've chosen a different way to handle it.

See the difference? Annoyance is nothing more than a spiritual bug bite. We can zap it by embracing it with virtue or we can scratch at it and let it get infected. The latter is a sin. The former turns it into a path to holiness.

At Mass today, I hold that I was right to be annoyed: by people talking loudly when they should have been observing silence out of respect to others, annoyed by people claiming they hate children (loudly), annoyed by bad theology. If we aren't annoyed by those things, then we are completely unaware of what Mass is about. That's a problem. Annoyance is actually a gift from God. It is what we DO with annoyance that makes a difference.

We will all struggle with that for our entire lives. Mass equips us through the Sacraments and through the experience of other people who are fallen just like us.

How did the Saints react?

It is important to learn from the Saints: how did THEY handle things that bothered them, rightly or not?

When we take a look at their writings and biographies, we witness that they sought to overcome their annoyances through practicing the Virtues. They practiced patience by not turning around and slapping offenders who mouthed off in church. They practiced fortitude by being patient throughout the Mass. They considered how much God loves even the most annoying among us. They resolved to love children and their haters more in order to overcome hatred in themselves. When confronted with bad theology, they sought to educate others so that they would know the Truth about God.

The Saints, when annoyed, looked to God and said, "Dear God I am so annoyed right now I could spit! Most Adorable Jesus, please grant me peace so that I might love others as you love me in spite of my own faults!"

The Saints struggled just as we do. That doesn't mean they weren't holy: it means they learned how to handle annoyance and not allow it to degenerate into sin. They didn't entertain it, but tried to let it change their hearts, not to a position of denial, but as a revelation of Truth and Divine Charity.

St. Catherine of Siena wrote in her "Dialogue" that we obtain every virtue through other people. She knew this well: she was annoyed sometimes, too. She was highly annoyed by the Pope during the Avignon captivity and called him to conversion, and back to Rome in no uncertain terms.

Let us all learn to handle annoyance by following the example of the Saints. We should not fear annoyance, but embrace it and allow it to change our hearts so that we might grow in faith, hope, and charity.

May God grant us all the grace to become Saints through the annoyances in our lives.

Horarium

2011-06-03T00:10:00.000-05:00

VESPERS

A few evenings ago as I prepared for dinner, a robin's solo came to my ears, almost echoing in the stillness, so I stepped outside to look for him. To my surprise, there he was, prominently perched atop a nearby pine, chanting his heart out in the song God gave him. For awhile I paused to listen, and his own song called me to prayer, for I had neglected to pray Vespers thus far that evening.

No other birds were singing but for perhaps, far away, the caw of a random crow or chirp of some other bird; none were joining his chorus. He was a lone cantor, leading Vespers as the sun sank further toward the horizon hidden behind the trees dotting the Minnesota prairie. Even here in suburbia. I can't remember ever being without the lilting, cheery sound of the Robin's praise, so even though I was caught within my own darkness, the music drew me back towards God's Providence. I couldn't help but quietly rejoice in Him through His creation.

LAUDS

The next morning as I arose, the robins were silent in spite of the rising sun, but the haunting cry of a Mourning Dove wept Lauds while I went about my own morning routine.

As a child I was taught to listen to the Mourning Dove's call, for their behavior portends rain. Throughout the years I've often noticed the silence of other birds in seeming deference to her prophesy. Even when I know the rain to come will be mere sprinkles, their mournful cry ties my stomach in knots, for they portend both the gentle and the destructive with the same call. They are the innocent grim reapers of nature and carry out their duty in solemn profundity. Although I have not yet captured one on my camera, they prominently use rooftops as their pulpits then join all the others on the ground in humble acceptance of the event they have just portended on behalf of all who reside in their vicinity.

If it is indeed a sin to kill a Mockingbird, it is an even greater sin to kill a Robin or a Mourning Dove; for one stands as Cantor calling us to joyful prayer, and the other humbly reminds us of our eventual demise.

In the Midwest and Southeastern United States, it's been a tough spring; the storms thus far this season have been monsters especially in the South, and in the North where I live, they have also attacked highly-populated areas. No one is safe, anywhere.

The birds, they know this. As a child, I remember Mom teaching us how to read the weather through nature, a skill she'd learned from her father, a farmer. She showed me how to read the river and discern the bird's calls, the behavior of wildlife...and the proper human response.

She did this after a tornado nearly touched down directly over our home, sparing us with a warning, that being a twisted tree thrown against us in fury abated by what must have been the intercession of the Saints. She tried to help me overcome my fear through knowledge as she recognized my hyper-vigilance. I wanted to know what was coming so that I could find cover, so she, logically, taught me the signs, hoping they would be a consolation, giving me some sort of control over my surroundings.

Unfortunately, her teachings, while proper, backfired to a certain degree, for I didn't understand context. Any sign of a glassy river sent my adrenaline into survival mode, and the second the wind gusted and birds went silent, I had to grapple hard to keep from tying myself to some sturdy structure.

Whenever I heard the cry of a Mourning Dove, I looked to the sky for the next day or that following, certain the wrath of the weather was about to erase us from the face of the earth. I dreaded that terrible, haunting sound, even as I wanted to reach out to them for their sadness.

Perhaps that is where I first learned mercy, for I knew not to hate the messenger. To me, the messenger was always sad and only delivered it for the good of others. I saw the Mourning Dove as a friend who desired our survival. To this day, when I hear that echoing coo, I am overcome simultaneously with the nostalgia of my childhood fear coupled with the sensation of love for my Mother who called my attention to their song.

But Robins...they were always my hope. Although scientific models say that Robins winter in the Northland, I have never, or perhaps, rarely, seen them. When they appear in the spring, boldly capturing their wormy prey, we know Spring has finally arrived. It seems their yearly debut corresponds to that of one of my favorite flowers..the dandelion.

The Hours

Around us, even when we forget to pray, or refuse to do so, is arranged an Horarium of prayer.

While winter is silent, mimicking our spiritual lives either apart from God or at a higher level of purification, the remainder of the year has harbingers of nature reminding us to pray the Holy Hours of the Liturgy, to worship God all of our hours, all of our days.

The birds cannot pray for us, but they can remind us to pray, for their entire being is one of praise for God. They cannot choose this and don't know anything different.

We, as human beings, are the only creatures on earth who must work to praise God, to worship Him, and even, as one philosopher noted...to laugh. We as humans don't find prayer as an undeniable instinct. While it is written within our souls and DNA, it is still left to us to choose. Every day I can choose to pray or not to pray. Every day, I can choose to rise and join the song of the birds, or I can choose to close the window and the drapes and cover my ears.

Every day, every moment, I can choose to accept or reject God.

The Horarium {scroll down for specific hours of prayer} helps me to love God and praise Him, even when the birds refuse to sing. Even when the oncoming storm causes the Robin to seek the shelter of the nest and the Mourning Dove to stand down in silence, even when the birds have fled for winter or rise too early in summer, I know when to pray, and to pray in the words and voice of Christ and His Church. Eternally.

If only I have the grace to choose to do so...and I do...if I don't reject it.

How Do We Pray for Enemies? And Why?

2011-05-29T09:33:00.001-05:00

MT 5:44 You have heard that it was said, "You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy." But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven.

One of the most difficult things Jesus commands us to do is to love our enemies and pray for those who hate us. Most recently, the "debate", if you can call it that, has been prayer for Usama bin Ladin, the madman behind the mass-murder that was September 11, 2001, among other acts of terrorism throughout the world.

Enemy? Indeed! Persecutor? Absolutely!

Love him? Uh....WHAT!?

PRAY for him? HUH!?

Right. Jesus doesn't flinch at our objections to this teaching, and He gave it with full knowledge of the horrible things humanity did and would do to each other. Yet, He, knowing human nature so perfectly, knew that the only way for us to grow in holiness, to be perfect like our Father in heaven is perfect, would be to cooperate with Grace in order for Grace to change us.

Let us explore a few terms used in this very short passage, so that perhaps we may better understand WHY Our Lord gives us such a difficult commandment.

First, Jesus said to LOVE our enemies.

He is not speaking here of gooshy puppy-eyed sappiness. He is speaking of the virtue of Divine Charity; the very love of God, the theological virtue we are given at Baptism, that is sealed at Confirmation. Divine Love is not the warped idea of "love" we humans have, but it is a supernatural gift from God to will the good of the other. To have it implies a connection with God that is stronger than our own will, choosing an active desire to conform ourselves to Him even though we may not know exactly what He wills for us...or for those for whom we pray. We don't merely love others with our own emotions, but with the fire of Divine Charity. It means we can look upon another who has deeply wounded us and still recognize that human being as a willed and beloved child of God.

We do know that it is God's will that all enter heaven, that not a single soul be lost. We therefore pray for others with this in mind, for ultimately, all prayer is about salvation: for us, and for others. Even if we, in our fallen humanity, do not will certain people to go to Heaven.

Say what?

That's the crux of our human nature, isn't it? We are offended and we stop willing the good for another because we've decided, perhaps unconsciously or even subconsciously, that the one who offended us should just rot in hell.

Well...that isn't God's will, is it? Still, He, in His faithfulness to Himself and His creation, allows each and every one of us to choose, for Hell is not a place, but a state of eternal separation from God. God wills our eternal union with Him but He will not take back His gift of Free Will.

Prayer

You have probably heard many prayers end with "in Jesus' name, Amen".

What does this mean? There are those who misunderstand and think that just the words "in Jesus Name", means that He absolutely endorses what we have just prayed about, and therefore, it must be true.

In fact, to pray in Jesus' Name means that we are praying with the intention to conform ourselves to HIS will...not to bend His will to match our own deformed will. We do not see as God sees, and often, we pray from a position of self-love, telling God what WE want, without giving thought as to what GOD wills for us.

Therefore, before we say, "In Jesus' Name, AMEN", we should be praying, "Not my will, but THINE be done!" In that way, we are reminded that we may be desiring something disordered, but we are still, in humility, bowing to God's almighty will, knowing He will bring about our good with our cooperation, even if that good contradicts something we think we really want.

What has any of this to do with Prayer for Enemies?

A lot.

When we are ordered to pray for our enemies and those who hate us, we are supposed to be praying for their good: their conversion, whether in this life or even when they stand before the Almighty in judgment. We also know that if a soul is not open to God, we desire that their hearts be opened in order to receive the grace we are asking for them.

And you know what? It's HARD to sincerely ask for someone we despise to be blessed with something so great as eternal salvation. It's HARD to sincerely ask for people we can't stand, or hate or want revenge against, to be blessed by God in some way.

It's dang near IMPOSSIBLE!

This is why, when we pray for our enemies, (or any prayer, for that matter), we step aside in humility by intending, "Thy will, not mine, be done", and praying also "In Jesus' Name", for in this way, we are recognizing that we can't forgive, we can't forget, we can't, in and of ourselves, carry that Divine Love we have received to another. It is Christ who forgives, who died for that enemy of ours, and it is Christ who died for us and allows us to struggle to be conformed to Him.

Prayer for Enemies is not Just About Them

It's also about US. Prayer changes US by conforming us to God's will, and the more difficult the prayer, the greater struggle and the greater growth in holiness; if we will allow ourselves to be changed.

Prayer and forgiveness of enemies does not mean "forgetting", but rather, to simply allow God to bring about the good in that person's life (or death), and to purify us by removing hatred from our souls. It is one thing to be angry, it is another to allow that anger to so damage us that we turn into the object of our hatred.

Prayer prevents that. Prayer helps us to see with God's eyes and act with His Love. It conforms us to His will and makes us holy, as Our Father in heaven is Holy.

Always remember: it's never too late to pray for someone. We as humans are bound by time, but God is not, and He knows best how to apply all graces. Grace is never lost. If we are praying for someone we believe to be in Purgatory but they are actually already experiencing eternal beatitude, that Grace from our prayers will be passed to another in accordance with God's will. And yet, we grow in Divine Charity, Faith, and Hope simply through the act of praying for that other - especially if that other is an enemy who has deeply hurt us.

As Jesus said, it is easy to love those who love us. But loving those who hate us calls us to perfection.

Final Thoughts

Because I often explain things badly, I thought I would allow a Saint to speak, and so I leave you with the words of St. Jerome from his Commentary on Matthew:

"But I say to you: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you."
Many who measure God's commands according to their own feebleness, rather than by the strength of the saints, think the things that have been commanded here are impossible. They say that in view of our strength, it is sufficient not to hate one's enemies; but to be commanded to love them, well, this goes beyond what is experienced by human nature. It needs to be known, therefore, that Christ does not command impossibilities, but perfection. This is what David practiced with respect to Saul and Absalom. Stephen too, the martyr, prayed for his enemies who were stoning him. Moreover, Paul desires to be accursed on behalf of his own persecutors. And Jesus both taught and practiced this when he said: "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do."(p. 85)