Daddy's Little Girl

I originally wrote this post on November 22, 2006, but it's one of my favorite posts, one that speaks a lot of truth and I think, if I were to write my memoirs, one that would weave a theme throughout my life. And so I post it again, in honor of my Dad on Father's Day. May he rest in peace.

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Tonight I was in the kitchen preparing dinner when suddenly I missed my Dad, 11 years in his grave. I wanted to tell him about Grad school, and all the possibilities. I knew that if he were still alive, he'd immediately be bragging to his friends about his little girl, all grown up and what she's doing. I knew that he'd be proud of me, supportive of me...and that even though I'm "all grown up", I'm still Daddy's little girl. Because that's the way it is.

There is a very special bond between fathers and daughters, and God designed it that way.

When I was a little girl, I used to follow my daddy everywhere. I didn't care what he was doing...I wanted to be with him and I wanted to be like him. When we went to visit his parents in Michigan, we'd go out to the pier and go fishing, and this was our very special time together.

I remember how daddy used to bait the hook for me for a twofold reason; I did not like to touch the worms, an issue that faded with time, and secondly, more importantly, he did not want me to poke myself with a hook. So he carefully baited my hooks, explained the "sinkers", how to handle the line, what to do with the reel...and how to be patient and WAIT for the fish to bite.

We passed hours that way. It was our special time. I'll never forget the smell of Lake Michigan, the breeze constantly blowing across the empty pier, the cement canals, the metal, oval-shaped moorings which never seemed to have anything to anchor. Seagulls soared overhead, piercing the air both with their wings and ther squeals, puncturing the low clouds which were forever present in the northland along the lakeshore. I'll never forget the fish we caught, or more importantly, the time we spent together. They are treasured moments. They are from a time in history when I was "daddy's little girl", from when daddy taught his little girl how to fish. I know for a fact that my dad treasured those moments perhaps even more than I.

I miss you, Dad.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have a Dad, to be able to call him with my successes and failures, to either relish or put up with or reject his advice. I listen with longing to my friends as they discuss their parents, both living, and while I share in their joys, I have to admit that I still feel a twinge of jealousy, or envy, or even sadness for what I don't have. I do not begrudge their moments; rather I wish I could merely identify.

In talking with a friend tonight, though, a big realization hit me; I am not so fatherless as I thought.

We were talking about God, and evangelization, about teaching others the Truth, and I commented that God doesn't need us; rather, he allows us to participate. My friend talked about his own father allowing him to "help" do different things, and in looking back he's realized he was likely more of a pain and a hinderance than anything, and yet his dad encouraged him, gave him tools, and let him "help" things on their way. His dad loved him so much that it didn't matter if he messed things up because Dad could always put things back alright and he knew that as his son grew, so would his skills, his knowledge, and his abilities. And even if he proved to be inept, it didn't matter because he was his son.

It struck me, right around that moment, that even though my earthly father is no longer here, I am still a daughter of God, and he has a true presence in my life. God was there as I rebelled, had my spiritual tantrums, and had later conversations as I began to learn the language of prayer. When I go to Adoration, I am sitting with my Father in Heaven, mimicing the time spent with my earthly father while we waited for fish to bite. During those times, Dad and I would discuss a great number of things, just as, in prayer, Jesus and I discuss a great number of things.

I would not be so presumptive to think that Jesus has been proud of me; rather, I tend to think I offend him and cause him grief more often than not for I am only a spiritual toddler (and even THAT might be too advanced for me!). Yet just because I can't walk a few steps without falling on my face doesn't mean that God is less present...rather, he sees my vulnerabilities and is likely more solicitous, more patient and ready to pick me up, brush me off, and send me on my way.

I've come to realize that in those times where I have been standing in front of an RCIA class, those were "Father-Daughter" moments. I know that God stood there with me, beaming, happy to see his rebellious daughter finally taking up the family inheritance and sharing the wealth. It is a parallel to, perhaps, my first fish. Right now, I'm only fishing off the pier of my home parish...and maybe someday, God will lead me to a boat and we'll go together out to deeper waters and he'll teach me how to drop anchor and fish for the big ones.

It hit me tonight that God is really there as a Father to us all; and as a father beams when his little girl begins to find her voice, so does God stand back, beaming, when we begin to take on the mission he has set us upon. He does not abandon us, but stands there, smiling, his hand ready to catch us because we are only children and thus it is inevitable that we will fall. We will cry, and we will go running to Him to make it all better.

I understood tonight, that as I post on this blog, each post is really me just dropping my hook into the proverbial waters of cyberspace. But my bait is only those nuggets of truth dating back centuries and millenia. God is carefully baiting each hook and handing it to me to drop into the waters, waiting for the next fish to come along. So as I write, God is here beside me, letting me be, whether I am overeager, nonchalant, or even completely oblivious. And funny thing.....even if my attention wanders from the task and I miss a "nibble", God is always there, like a good father, to take up the slack and bring the catch to the light. And like a good father, he always lets me think that it was my idea.

But I'll tell you a secret...all this is God's idea. I'm just his daughter, and proud to say that even today, although I am a full grown adult, I am still Daddy's Little Girl.

Embarassing Moment in the Life of Adoro

I'm thinking of instituting a new feature: "A Day in the Life". Most of it will be things from the past, maybe, but who knows? For now, that's my working title and I'm sticking to it! This last week has had a lot of heavier stuff, (other than the pink-hair stuff from today), so I figured maybe it's time for an Adoro-story from Adoro's past. And this one is one of my most embarassing moments. I wrote it just after the incident occurred, because that's how I handle stress...through writing. And no, I never ordered pizza from that joint again.

This particular story was written back in 2003, if I recall the year correctly, and as it was fresh, it was "present tense". A true glimpse into the person Adoro was at that time. Unforunately, my personality and the constant disasters of my life have not really changed. With no further ado, I offer you:

DON'T CLOSE THE DOOR!

OK. So I'm at my ex-boyfriend's house tonight to take care of the dogs, Phoenix and Saber...first time in a long time. Just for a little background; we broke up over a year ago, we have "joint custody", and I live in an apartment, so when he has to go on a military trip, I come over and take care of the dogs. Just until I get my own place, and can take the dogs with me.

So anyway, I order a pizza, thinking a few things...the restaurant (Shakey's on Lake Street) is a really good one and not a chain, so I can't get it at home; it'll encompass tomorrow's lunch and dinner, and then I don't have to dirty any dishes or anything.

Cool.

So the pizza arrives, and two disturbances simultaneously occur: I give the delivery guy 11 bucks instead of $14.21 plus tip, and when I open the box, it's pepperoni...not sausage and mushroom. So he and I arrive at the front door at the same time...and exchange. He makes a call, re-orders a pizza, apologizes (he already dropped mine off), and leaves. Genuinely nice guy, older than your average delivery guy, (probably a second or third job) and is trying to do what's right. I am very forgiving and just want my order...nothing more. He comes back awhile later with my pizza, I pay him properly, adding to the tip (mistakes happen, we all know), and he leaves.

I have closed the door from the house to the porch as usual to keep the dogs in. They are prone to either taking off out the door or overwhelming the visitor. So I had closed it like so many times prior, making sure the dogs can't push the heavy oak door open.

But there's a problem: the knob unscrews in one direction and doesn't move in the other. I look at the beveled glass set into the thick wood, the two panes into the house to my right, and realize that if the door opens with more pressure I don't have to break the livingroom windows in order to get back inside. So I twist the knob really hard in the direction it's stuck and ram the door a few times with my shoulder, doing nothing more than cause immense pain.

I study the deadbolt lock and realize that Saber probably locked the door when jumping up and scratching on it in effort to see me on the porch with the tasty food.

Uh oh!

So I ram the door again with my shoulder and realize I'm being a guy, so I stop, conceding my defeat. But that didn't stop me from praying desperately for divine assistance. God didn't answer...apparently he didn't care. I envisioned myself well-fed but thirsty and cold in the morning, calling work from a neighbor's home to explain I'll be late because I've been locked out all night...from a home in which I don't live.

I tried again to get in; nothing. I'm locked out. The back door was locked...I remembered locking it when I let the dogs in last. So I was locked out. With a pizza.

(As an aside--there IS something in Hemingway's style!)

So I popped my head out...the delivery guy was standing by his car, still talking on his cell phone. I asked him for assistance and he came back, still on his cell, telling someone he was delivering a pizza. I didn't hear the rest - I was desperately searching the locks on the windows and the stuff on the porch suitable for breaking glass.

Hmmm...skis...ski boots...a chair...picture frames...

Well, we located an unlocked window, and the delivery guy (a father...I'd heard him mention his kids in his cell conversation), suggested I go in head-first rather than step over as I was doing. I was actually trying to be modest. (As IF!)

With the couch hindering my progress, I realized he was right. He was holding up the outer glass, held slightly by an aluminum hinge at the top so that I could get in. So there I was, crawling through drapes, pushing the dogs back, my rear in the pizza guy's face, getting tangled in curtains, getting slobbered on by dogs...realizing that THIS ISN'T EVEN MY HOUSE!!!!

And as much as I need to tell the homeowner (my ex) that his front door is broken, I cannot think of a single way to break the news without exposing HOW I FOUND OUT!!!!! I don't even think my dogs respect me anymore.


Here's what I learned today:

1. Go through the doorway, but don't close it behind you or you might lock yourself out

2. Pizza delivery guys may be your only hope, so tip well.

3. If you don't tip well, then at least be ready to show them your rear as you go through the window into the house you are occupying.

4. Don't tick off God. He'll lock you out of your house.

5. Make sure the locking mechanism can't be locked inadvertently by your dogs.

6. Learn to be humble...there's nothing to teach humility like locking yourself out of a house and asking for help from someone who happens to have just delivered a pizza to you twice in the same night (and in REALLY crappy weather at that!).


I don't think I can recover from this one.

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Update from June, 2008: I never did tell my ex-boyfriend about the broken door. I ended up renouncing my claim to Phoenix and Saber, which broke my heart. Saber died a couple years ago unexpectedly (that was the last time I've spoken to my ex), I adopted a German Shepherd and a Greyhound, and put the latter to sleep last summer. I take a key with me everywhere I go. And I always tip well when a pizza is delivered!

And the pizza place..it closed. That's one of the reasons I ordered that pizza that evening, as I knew I'd never be able to do so again. And I was almost relieved when it closed, even as I was sad as it was a Minneapolis staple. Minneapolis residents who knew the place would understand.

I HAVE PINK HAIR!!!!

Yup. I "splurged" today. And it's not actually pink. It's actually a really BRIGHT Fuscia! (This example doesn't even come CLOSE to comparison!)

I got a wonderful haircut from a girl named Lindsey, and then I spoke with Bridget and she braided in an extension or two. And man, does that HURT when they do that! But I have little peeks of that bright color, althoughI completely don't look like the kind of person who would get streaks, but there they are, and I love them!

She said they'll last anywhere from a week to a couple months, so I imagine that it will depend on how I treat them.

But...I got home to an email from a friend telling me about a girl who needs client points for graduation, so I'm going to call to check on her pricing for real hair color. If it's reasonable, then maybe I can still do something fun with color...something that won't involve synthetic extensions. I can only do cheap fun things these days. But today, this color is a gift to me.

Somehow, pink hair just makes everything better.

How's your Friday going?

(Photo Credit: VINCENZO )

A Year in the Life

In one week, I turn a year older. People in our society are so paranoid about age. They want to be older or younger. Myself, I stopped having birthdays when I was 25 because that was a good age. Well, I've got gray hair now, but they still card me if I order a drink with dinner or if I pick up a bottle of wine at the shop down the street. But why be coy? I'm 33 now. Who cares if everyone around me knows that? It doesn't change anything. Why be coy?

In one week, I'll be 34. I used to think 34 was old. But I don't feel old.

This last year has truly been a grace-filled year in which God really answered many desperate prayers and opened my eyes. Last June at this time I was just swallowed up in darkness; I was watching my career crumble around me, I was miserable, I had nowhere to go. But I had Jesus, I had a tiny hope, and I knew I was going back to school. And finally I placed my trust in Him and I jumped...and as other things crumbled around me, I did not fall. Because the Lord was there to set me on another path.

It's been a difficult year in so many ways, but new beginnings usually ARE challenging, and they should be.

But today...today is my day. I have to work next Friday, and all weekend, and throughout all the week after, so this is my only time to celebrate the end of one year of life and the beginning of another.

What am I doing? I'm getting my hair cut. I really really want to get it colored, too, but that's expensive and I can't afford it. Not unless I find a REALLY REALLY good deal! Which isn't likely. The kind of bottle-job I want (which isn't blonde!) is fairly complicated as I first would need overall color (black), and then they'd have to bleach it and then color the bleached areas with the bright red streaks I want.

Yeah, I like to play with my hair. I'm 33 and I'm still not a grown-up. I admit it.

But unfortunately I'm wiser now and more practical and would prefer to spend the pittance I have on paying bills and not frivolous dye-jobs.

Still, it'll be nice to get a hair cut today. It's been almost a year since the last one! And oy, I'm looking raggedy! Not cool!

So it's time to end this rambling post and be on my way. Hope it's as beautiful in your neck of the woods as it is here today in Minnesota!

It is a WONDERFUL day to be ALIVE!

The Role of Fatherhood in Spiritual Formation

Maybe I shouldn't post this on Father's Day weekend, but I'm going to anyway.

My parents divorced when I was eight, and among their many differences was religion; Mom was Catholic, Dad was Lutheran. Dad's parents HATED that Mom was Catholic, and Dad was not in love with Mass, to say the least. But he agreed to raise us Catholic, and Mom, at least, was faithful to that promise. Thank God for that! Dad gave a pretense, but it was always obvious that his heart wasn't in it.

And yes, children see this. Children are young and innocent; they're not stupid.

We moved to Minnesota, and a couple years later, Dad followed. And so it was that we didn't attend Mass on weekends we had with Dad, although he lied and he encouraged us to lie about going. We didn't care that it was one of the custodial obligations of our being able to go with him on his weekends, which is why he was so insistent on not telling Mom that we weren't going to church.

As I got older, though, this became more and more of a problem for me. My brother never really cared, but I did. And I didn't know how to deal with it. I KNEW we needed to go to Mass, even though I didn't understand why. And I did love God..I did! But I was embarassed at my budding devotion, and put off by my Dad's ridicule of Mom for her devotion and insistence on our attendance every Sunday. I didn't want my Dad's ridicule.

Even though I was growing up and apart from my Dad, I always had a bit of that "Daddy's Girl" in me and so the idea that Dad might laugh at me because I agreed with Mom was absolutely heartbreaking. And so I remained silent.

Dad moved to Minneapolis, and Mom must have been aware at some point (likely because she was wise) that Dad was not taking us to Mass. So a few times we went to the Basilica in Minneapolis. It was a beautiful church, as you'd imagine, but Dad wasn't very particular about when we arrived. We'd enter through a side door or something, find the nearest pew, and be seated. About fifteen minutes later, we'd leave. I think that once we got there in time for Communion.

I felt horrible about being late, I wanted to be there for the whole thing, I hated how people stared at us especially after this happened a few weeks in a row, and I wanted to remain at Mass for the entire time. But I had no control, Dad and my brother were clearly on the same page, Dad was making fun of Mom and saying that "she'd never know" and that we really didn't need to go anyway if it weren't for a court order. And he didn't care about the court order. Again, I was sworn to silence.

It's a silence I've never broken, until now. And now it doesn't really matter...or does it? You decide.

Over time maybe I became a bit numb to all of this, and God drew me to Himself in a different way; through music. I believe that at the time we popped in and out of the Basilica, I was involved in my own parish, and was often at Mass once on Saturday and twice on Sunday, either as a musician or a cantor or in the choir. I didn't really understand what was going on at Mass, but I sensed deeply that it was important. And I WANTED to be there. It was my whole life. I do believe it was the ONLY place where I felt any peace at all in my chaotic life. Maybe it was that peace that drew me, but I felt safe there, and really, I WAS safe there.

But I couldn't have articulated that nor could I have explained it to anyone at the time.

It was as I got older that I stopped going to visit my Dad on weekends. There were many reasons, and in looking back, Mass attendance was one of them. I knew where I needed to be, and unfortunately, it was not with my earthly father. Unfortunately for him, and somewhat for me, but truly, in knowing what was happening in those years, I know without a doubt that I did choose the better part; to sing at the feet of Jesus. And He did call me to do so.

This morning I was musing about all of this and considered our trips with Dad to Michigan to visit his parents. I don't think we ever ONCE attended a Catholic church there. We were taken to the Lutheran church, and Dad's opinion was that we could do so as it was his church, he was taking us to church, and it was pretty much the same, anyway.

But I KNEW it wasn't the same, although I couldn't say why. I knew what was happening was wrong. I knew I was being deprived of something, and I sensed that loss very deeply. And still, I had no control. I do think that once I tried to argue to go to the Catholic church, and maybe even my brother had a twinge of conscience in that regard, but Dad was stubborn and we went into the red-carpeted How-Great-Thou-Art singing Lutheran church. And it wasn't the same. At all. Something HUGE was missing...or should I say...someONE?

What's Happening Now? Do Dads Matter?

Sometimes I try to take a step back and I wonder why my brother's and my paths were always so different. I can see some of the reasons on the surface, but there's so much more to us all than what is so readily apparent.

My brother is not practicing his faith...I don't think he has any faith at all. And knowing what I know now, I have to wonder if his Confirmation was valid, as I don't think he was willingly Confirmed. I think Mom forced him. He used to argue up a STORM about Confirmation, and Mom argued back louder and longer.

I'd go to my room and slam the door, trying to get away. He was older than I by two years, and I didn't understand why he didn't want to be Confirmed, but it didn't seem right that Mom was forcing him. Sometimes after those arguments I'd talk to him and ask him why. He didn't know. He just didn't want to be Confirmed. He didn't see the point. He didn't know what he wanted. And I think that some of this was his passive rebellion; if Mom wanted it, he didn't. He was just as torn between our parents as I was, although somewhat differently.

Now I see that he was adopting Dad's lackluster attitude; in spirituality he was like Dad. I was more like Mom, although even I rebelled against her intense devotion and wanted to be NOTHING like her in any way. This made my own faith that much more difficult for I had no one to emulate.

And my brother...neither did he, because I don't necessarily think he really agreed with Dad, either. And Dad himself was so lost in so many ways.

To this day, I'm the religious one in the family. My brother is the apathetic one, and attends Mass only with Mom or if he's at my house on a Sunday. He no longer complains, and maybe he's coming around. But who's to say? Only God.

A Father's Betrayal

I still remember, every Christmas when I'd be playing something special on my flute for the Christmas program just before the Christmas Eve Vigil Mass, I'd hope and pray that Dad would come. But he never did. And he didn't come at Easter. I always hoped that at least on holidays he'd be willing to drive an hour to be with his family. And he was never there.

In his absence, Dad didn't just send a message to me, but he sent it to my brother as well...loud and clear. And for each of us, the message was different, but just as clear.

I KNOW that my brother's lack of faith stems DIRECTLY from Dad's "intervention" and direct actions to prevent us from receiving the sacraments. His derision towards Mom and towards our beliefs had a profound effect on my brother for sons learn from their fathers. And daughters are crushed by such deep betrayals.

I've never spoken of this until now, maybe because I buried the idea and the pain of remaining quiet out of obedience and fear of ridicule.

Dad never knew how these things affected me, and I don't know what his reaction would have been if he did. So I won't delve into that for he can no longer defend himself or his actions.

I do believe that Dad believed in God and that he had a certain faith. But he wasn't interested in our spiritual formation, just as many Dads today aren't interested in their children's spiritual formation.

Fathers are key in children learning about how to relate to God, who is our Father. Fathers are NECESSARY in teaching their children respect for their mothers, respect for authority, and respect for God.

It's not surprising to me that my brother has no faith; is it surprising to YOU?
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Dads, take note; it doesn't matter if you are divorced from your wife and have custody of your children. If you agreed to raise them in a certain faith, you are obligated to that promise. Even if you don't respect the covenant of your marriage, then at least respect the souls of the children you brought into the world and please do your best to see them on the pathway to Heaven. Because ultimately you will be standing before God answering to HIM, not your ex-wife, without whom those children would not exist.

Fathers matter. Everything a father DOES matters! And even what seems like a small lie can disrupt a soul for life and send it spinning off into a darkness it was never meant to experience.
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Fathers, if you love your children, practice your faith, set the example, and teach them that it takes a REAL MAN to lead others to God. Be that man.

Prayer for Christ's New Bride

Right now, 10:00 am CST, my dear friend Mary Gibson, of Veritatis Splendor and Romin' Roman fame, is processing up the aisle in her Mass of Entrance into the Benedictines of Mary, Queen of Apostles, a cloistered community in Kansas City, Missouri.

Please keep her and her new life in your prayers. We will forever be in hers.

Surrender to God...

I don't know how I lived before I began praying the Divine Office.

Each day, especially when I've been as stressed as I have been lately, I find my way to the chapel, to the only source of strength and comfort that I really have in all this mess. And as I open the tome, each day's readings are speaking to me so profoundly that I want only to remain and pray silently in the presence of Christ.

Today I opened to Morning prayer and read, "Surrender yourself to God, and he will do everything for you."

I think I stared at that simple phrase for five full minutes before I moved on.

Psalm 37

Commit your life to the Lord,
trust in him and he will act,
so that your justice breaks forth like the light,
your cause like the noon-day sun

And again,

Surrender to God, and he will do everything for you.

But that wasn't all:

Wait for the Lord to lead, then follow in his way.

Psalm after psalm, reading after reading; it was as though I was the only person in the world, and God was speaking ONLY to me today. Every single word. Never mind that throughout the entire population of the Church, thousands and thousands of people are reading the exact same prayers; and yet, they were the very words I needed the most. Without them, today, I would have been completely lost.

Even the Office of Readings was among my favorite; from a letter to the Romans from St. Ignatius of Antioch as he approached his martyrdom:

My earthly desires have been crucified, and there no longer burns in me the love of perishable things, but a living water speaks within me, saying: "Come to the Father"

I take no delight in corruptible food or in the pleasures of this life.
I want the bread of God, which is the flesh of Jesus Christ, who was of David's
seed, and for drink I want his blood, the sign of his imperishable love.

I certainly cannot live up to that last, for I am so attached to things of the earth. And yet I aspire to be like St. Ignatius of Antioch in his incredible humility and faith. And in his own words, he also speaks to me, saying, "Come to the Father."

Currently I am only at the beginning of an immense project at work, far beyond my capability and each day brings new challenges even as I struggle to knock down the obstacles that have been in the way for months. I am blessed to have very gifted assistants, but they cannot do my job and I cannot step down to do theirs. I am and always have been a "worrier", which is so draining, but I can't seem to be able to let go and let God do the worrying! And so God continually calls to me to come to Him, to surrender, to let Him lead, and still I hold the reins, worrying, terrified.

Another part of the readings today spoke even to this, referencing Jame 2:24-26 and Hebrews 11:31:

A man pleases God by what he does and not by faith alone.

And so it's not enough to just let go...I have work to do, too. And I have to surrender and be willing to let God direct, but as long as I worry so much, I'm not listening. I can't listen in such a state of agitation. Prayer has done so much to help me calm down and see God's hand in all that we are doing, but I'm still not sure how to let go, or let go of how much?

And again I say...how did I survive before I began praying Liturgy of the Hours? It is such a blessing to me as I learn to let God speak so clearly through His directions, as though only to me. I love the prayers, I love the readings, I love building this relationship with God and knowing that Christ awaits me in the chapel whenever I need to retire in silence or to pour my heart out to Him. I could not survive my present trial if He was not there to hold me up.

Surrendering to God

Faith and Abandonment

I'm not very good at abandoning myself to God. I've asked myself all the big questions: Do I believe in God? Really? Do I believe that Jesus died for me, personally? Do I believe that God desires and has a personal relationship with me? Do I believe that God loves me? Do I believe that God is who He claims to be?

I've answered those questions, and sometimes I waver on them. Sometimes I can't believe that God really loves me...because I often find myself pretty unloveable. And I believe that Jesus did indeed walk the earth...but sometimes he just seems historical, and not real.

And here's a biggie: I know that God is a Trinity, and that Jesus Christ, the second Person of the Holy Trinity, resurrected and is seated at the right hand of the Father. Therefore, although I can only see Jesus under the appearance of bread and wine, and I can only read His words in scripture, I can't see Him bodily as He was when He walked the earth. However, Jesus rose from the dead; somewhere, He remains intact, both human and divine. Jesus has a human body. Jesus has dignified the flesh and His flesh remains immortal. Yet I can't get my mind around that. I think I'm Thomas...I need to touch His wounds, to walk His footprints, scoop up His blood...the list goes on. I believe...but it seems even my belief has certain limits. I am ashamed, yet I know that I am not alone in this. And that's where Faith steps in and fills the gaps. Faith is a gift, and also an act of the will. Yes, I choose to believe even these things, even though I can't see them. But that doesn't mean I don't sometimes struggle to believe.

And sometimes I do feel abandoned. A few years ago, a new friend said to me, "It's clear that you've been set aside." I actually misinterpreted his words, thinking "set aside" to mean a version of "pushed aside" or "abandoned", and I was somewhat insulted. Yet he didn't mean it as an insult, and in moments where maybe I'm feeling lonely or lost, his words come back to me. "Set aside" means someone set apart for a particular purpose, and thus, included more fully in God's plan. That's not nearly the same as being "abandoned". And yet, we must all learn to abandon ourselves in order to reach God.

Surrender

Earlier today I wrote of the necessity of abandoning ourselves to God's will. Last Fall, for class we read St. Alphonsus de Ligouri's "Uniformity With God's Will", which is an incredible treasure, as well as a sword of conviction.

This work contains so many treasures, and works so well with Jean-Pierre de Caussade's "Abandonment to Divine Providence", which I am reading now.

Earlier today, after Mass, I wrote of the need for us to abandon ourselves into God's hands. Given that this is my struggle, given that this is the message of today's Gospel, is it any surprise that I took up my place in this book only to read this:

Holy Scripture contains one part, and the workings of the Holy Spirit within the soul do the rest, using the particular ideal reserved for you. Now it is surely obvious that the only way to receive the impress of this idea is to put oneself quietly into the hands of God, and that none of our own efforts and mental striving can be of any use at all. This work in our souls cannot be accomplished by cleverness, intelligence, or any subtlety of mind, but only by completely abandoning ourselves to the divine action, becoming like metal poured into a mold...People often rely on their intellect in their efforts to become holy, but it is not necessary. It may even hinder them. We must use only what God gives us to do and suffer.

The passage goes on, convicting me word by word. I have been fighting God for years, and I continue to do so, seemingly unable to stop. And yet He is ever-patient, ever-present, leading me step by step. I get so frustrated because I'm NOT holy, and so I read here, over and over again, that God is not frustrated with me...nothing I do will ever take Him by surprise. It is HIS job to make me Holy, and all HE asks of me is to abandon myself to Him.

It is clear to me that I don't trust God, and I do believe that not trusting God is a sin. It's a sin I can't seem to overcome, I don't know how to overcome it, and the ONLY answer is to do that which makes no sense...abandon myself to Him. In other words, take a leap hoping against hope that I will not fall into some abyss.

Abandonment seems so easy, but when we realize our true attachments and our true fears, we realize that this surrender is so impossible that only God Himself, working in and through us, can ever bring us to the pinnacle of true surrender.

It is not surprising, then, that God became Man, for it was Jesus who revealed the true meaning of Surrender! He went to the Cross, and asked us to "Follow Him", to embrace our crosses, which alone is a form of surrender, and by necessity, abandonment. We MUST be "abandoned" with our crosses, for if we are not, then we cannot be purified and we cannot be united with God! He revealed how to die to ourselves and, as Hebrews 4:15 states so succintly, "We do not have a High Priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses...." Jesus was fully human, and yet abandoned himself to unspeakable torture, even unto death.

If ever we need a measure of our own holiness, we need only look to Christ and consider His sacrifice. We cannot measure up. Not through will or intellect or any other attribute; we can ONLY approach the Cross if we are called...and more importantly, if we answer that call. We all have a choice; surrender to the call, abandon ourselves to the love of God even unto the Cross...or resist God and try to make our own way, which leads only to death.
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"Follow Me"

Gospel
Mt 9:9-13
As Jesus passed on from there,
he saw a man named Matthew sitting at the customs post.
He said to him, “Follow me.”
And he got up and followed him.
While he was at table in his house,
many tax collectors and sinners came
and sat with Jesus and his disciples.
The Pharisees saw this and said to his disciples,
“Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?”
He heard this and said,
“Those who are well do not need a physician, but the sick do.
Go and learn the meaning of the words,
‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’
I did not come to call the righteous but sinners.”

This gospel today is so meaningful on so many levels. Every. Single. One. of us is called to follow Jesus, and He knows us all intimately, personally, even more deeply than we know ourselves. And still He calls us.

Some of you may remember the post I wrote just over one year ago, in which one of the priests at my parish asked me if I'd considered becoming a religious sister. At that time I told him that I had, I didn't think I was called, and admitted to him that I really felt very lost. (He's the one who brought that up...I just agreed!). I was actually very touched by his encouragement and the fact that he'd even asked me that question, and admittedly, being that it was coming from him, I did think about it some more.

Today, that same priest gave a wonderful homily on today's readings and the gospel, and in so doing, also told his Vocation story. He's had an amazing and tragic life, and yet one so joyful and filled with God's presence and guidance throughout. I hadn't heard his story prior to today and was myself thrilled to finally hear it. But somewhere in the middle, I realized that this priest is the only one at my parish who doesn't know about the door I've cracked open again. And he's the one maybe with the most right to know about it!

I usually pray for awhile after Mass, so it was that by the time I left, Father was greeting the last few stragglers, so I had an opportunity to talk to him for a bit. I asked him if he remembered our conversation, and immediately he did, and his eyes just lit right up. He remembered his invitation to me, and he remembered my response. So today he got the update, and when I told him, he looked so joyful I thought he was going to burst! I also told him about the Lay Dominican chapter we are working on, and that I don't know where either of these things is going. At all. He just said that God would guide me, and he's right.

Truth be told, I'm back to thinking I do NOT have a religious vocation as the pull seems a lot stronger to work on the Lay Dominican route, yet I do still intend to visit the Sisters this summer, for an overnight or a weekend, as my schedule allows.

I don't know where any of this is going, or why. But I do know that today, during Mass, (and even BEFORE Mass), I knew that Our Lord is calling me to follow Him, to sainthood, even by way of martyrdom should it come to that. I realized that I have all the tools necessary to become a Saint! We are given SO MUCH, so many paths to holiness! I considered all the wonderful and holy people in my life and throughout the Church, I sensed the unity with friends and strangers all over the globe, attending different Masses in different places, and I considered the Communion of Saints, there as we knelt beneath the Cross, together.

Today, I realized that it is within my grasp to truly become a Saint, and all I have to do is cooperate with God. Our Vocations are really just pathways to holiness, and they are the paths specifically and personally chosen by God Himself, for us, individually. We may not know the next waystation on the path, but if we keep placing one foot in front of the other, and are willing to abandon ourselves into Jesus' hands, we will never be lost.

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The Belmont

I follow horseracing (when I can!) and have since I was about 12 or so, thanks to Walter Farley.

This year was the first in many that I was not able to watch the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness. I was on the edge of my seat when Funny Cide ran in the Belmont...would we have a Triple Crown winner? Nope. Not then. I rooted for Smarty Jones, for the others who followed. Each year a horse would win the first two legs of the Crown...and fail in the Belmont. Barbaro was on my list of great horses, of course, but his tragedy at the beginning of the Preakness didn't even give him a chance to prove he could win at least two. (For the record, I thought he would have taken it.)

I would LOVE to see Big Brown take the Belmont today, but his trainer's cockiness just rubs me the wrong way, and as they say...pride goeth before a fall. I am hoping and praying to, for the first time in my life, witness a Triple Crown win. Although I think the trainer will be eating humble pie, I'm still rooting for Big Brown and I hope he does it. And I DO think he has it in him.

This is one of the reasons I love the sport; the stories behind the horses, the people and who they really are in all their humanity and all their hope. It's a sport that has so many factors influencing the outcome that it makes it nearly impossible to predict what will really happen.

But given all the tragedy in past years, and even this year at the end of the Kentucky Derby where Eight Belles was put down on the track, well, I am praying hard that this race is a safe one for all involved, both human and animal.

For now...if I were at the races, I'd be betting on Big Brown. No question.

More later after the race.

UPDATE: Yup. Trainer Rick Dutrow Jr. is eating humble pie. He's not talking to the media. I'm certain he's embarassed...anyone with any sense would be embarassed.

And I love the fact that Big Brown's jockey, Kent Desormeaux, pulled him up, taking care of him when he realized his horse wasn't "there". They don't know of anything medically wrong, and I don't think anyone would dispute that Big Brown is a special horse. I do think he had it in him to win, but something happened that affected his performance. In any case, congrats to the winner, Da'Tara, and to runner-up Denis of Cork (who is named after an Irish priest!)

My First Rosary

Well...I have completed my first knotted cord rosary. It's blue...and made of knots! I had Adoration today so spent the time praying my way through the knots (less praying, more focusing on knots, unfortunately). It's a bit misshapen, though. While the spacing on the decades is ok, the spacing between the Our Father knots and the decades leaves a great deal to be desired! It's uneven, some of the knots are just awful, and I messed up at the end so I have 2 Our Father knots at the beginning.

But two Our Fathers is better than one! He who prays twice...prays twice1

So we'll see if the next one gets any better. I think I'm done for today, though.

Congratulations Father Schenkel!

Please go over and congratulate Father Dennis Schenkel, who was ordained THIS MORNING in Memphis, Tennesee. Please keep him in lots of your prayers!

Uncle Jim, a frequent blogger and commenter is his very proud uncle and promises to share more information on the ordination when he is able.

Knots Save Lives!

Knots are really important. I remember learning how to tie my shoe; it was a traumatic affair and I simply didn't understand how those laces could become a nice bow.

I remember sitting in our hallway as Mom tried over and over, over days, to teach me to tie them in a bow, but it never worked. Finally, one Saturday Mom stood up in frustration and told me that I could not come outside until I learned to tie a bow.

I sat there, weeping, unable to tie the knot. Actually, that was the problem...the only thing I COULD tie was a knot! (Apparently I made wonderful square knots, enough to make a Knot Master proud.) But a nice bow? Fogeddabodit!

Somehow, though, after practicing and practicing, and crying and concentrating, a bow appeared. I tried it again..it worked! Joyfully I ran outside to show Mom and Dad and my brother the beautiful bow (which was HUGE and misshapen).

That was my first experience with knots, and it was an important one...to this day I know how to tie my shoes!

Life-Saving Knots

During my candidate year of Ski Patrol, we learned a few knots necessary to our work, such as the bowline, which figured prominently into chair evacuations as well as self-evacuation. Each year during our refresher, we practiced these knots, and it was REALLY IMPORTANT to get it right. Why? Because we'd either be tying a knot to save ourselves and get ourselves out of a stopped chair so as to be able to help others, or we'd be using it to tie the equipment used to get people out of the chair lift should the lift break down completely.

Then I went to the Fire Department, and as a cadet, we had to learn all sorts of knots: the bowline, the half-hitch (used in raising and lowering tools), a figure-eight, a figure-eight follow-through, fly-tie, etc. Our Chief was HUGE on knots so we worked on them a lot, and in fact, when we were approaching graduation, the Chief came to visit us and hand us our assignments. I was on light duty at the time (as I was injured in training), yet I was still called foward with my anticipated assignment. We all had to tie knots before the Chief gave us the written note containing our new Captain and station. I went forward and was asked to tie a half-hitch, and I had to explain when and why it was used.

Every knot we did was for the purpose of saving lives, if even indirectly. All of us found it both funny and disturbing, however, that our reality conflicted with our training. And not a single Captain gave voice to this reality.

The bowline, which we used predominantly in Ski Patrol as basically an all-purpose knot (for the important life-saving stuff) was also used in firefighting for the same purpose. We used it especially with regard to evacuating the tower via the "life safety rope" as an emergency evacuatio procedure. In the cement tower, they built in anchors to the walls so we could affix a rope to them for training purposes. I remember being the first to use it, and remember tying the bowline knot which would be used to support my weight for 4 stories, and later, 6.

A fellow cadet was directed to check the knot...because we'd all be using it. Did they trust my knot? Each inspected it and said it was fine, and they'd watched me carefully as I'd tied it. (No pressure...Adoro's mistake means you might go home in a bucket!)

I was the first one down. I wrapped the rope around my carabiner as we'd learned, took the rope in my hand, and looked at my knot. Now or never. And the knot held. All of us, one by one.

Yet here's the irony; we learned officially in training and in the manual that the bowline was NOT to be used as a "life-safety" knot...EVER. And yet, it was the knot MOST used for life safety in several different situations, and we used several different versions of the knot! (bowline, double-bowline, triple-bowline...)

And as an aside and another thing...the rope we used in training, and did frequently inspect both as part of our training and for necessity, was referred to as "life-safety rope." Officially, Life Safety rope can not be used more than once. That was a test question, and if I remember correctly, it's a national standard. So if you're stuck in a burning building and high-angle rescue is using a rope to save you from the situation, it's a rope that has never been used before, thus has no frays, no breaks in the core, etc. And this is important!

But what did we, as cadets use and upon which did our lives depend...over and over again, used by how many classes before us? Yup. Used Life Safety rope.

To be fair, it was expensive and heavy rope, it was fine, we did inspect it and knew what to report to the Captain, and it could be taken out of use if we found flaws. However, it was a bit scary to realize that our lives were depending not only on amateur knots, but on rope that wasn't up to code.

Knots That Save Eternal Life

The other day, I mentioned in the combox below my rosary post that I wanted to learn to make knotted rosaries. A dear friend sent me some links, and an anon commenter sent me another resource (although rosary army's page doesn't provide links to directions currently). However, I had enough info to start. Today I picked up a couple of crucifixes and some craft cord, and so far I have tied 6 knots. I've tried two more but for some reason they won't work so I quit for the evening.

My plan is to try making some of these rosaries, and to pray while making each knot...thus, I'll have prayed several rosaries, made during leisure time or even Adoration.

Well, this evening I began and while the directions I found say to practice first, I really just started in. When I had success with the first knot, I decided that if I tie a bad rosary, I'll still be praying a rosary. Except that I haven't said a single Hail Mary, and I quit at 6 knots (and I'd tied the 6th knot twice!)

In musing on the knots I did do, however, I realized that these knots were not like my practice knots from ski patrol or firefighting; these knots mean something. These knots each represent a rose to Our Lady, a single prayer that together with the others forms the story of the life of Christ. Knot by knot, I am (ideally) praying the gospel, getting to know my Mother, and contemplating the life of Jesus Christ. And whoever gets these knotted rosaries will receive a physical prayer into their own hands, a manifestation of intercession for prayers heard by God alone, yet the comfort of which can be given in a physical sign.

In ski patrol and in fire training, I tied knots to practice saving my own life, the lives of my fellow cadets, and the lives of strangers who might also need to depend on us to save them.

But when I'm tying knot after knot for a rosary, it's different. No, I can't use this to evacuate a burning building, and the cord is too small to save my life in any situation. Yet these knots are ever more powerful than any knot tied to an anchor using approved life safety rope. These knots lead us prayer by prayer to salvation. Each knot is a conversation unto itself. Each knot is a Word of God. Each knot brings us and others closer to eternal life.

Each knot does not only save lives, but actually saves souls. Each knot...a prayer for someone. Rosary, Divine Mercy..choose your chaplet.

Amazing to think how a child who hated praying the rosary suddenly becomes such a huge fan that she wants to make the prayer a project.

Knots save lives...what kind of knots are YOU tying?
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God's Little Connections

Something amazing happened today, and as it was happening, it didn't even seem weird, although it should have.

I had to run some errands for work and stopped at Wal-Mart. I drove around the lot looking for a space near my partner in mass-event shopping, and as I stepped out of my car, saw an SUV waiting in the aisle behind me. The woman had her window down and signaled to me; she was obviously waiting to speak to me.

For a moment I wondered if I should recognize her from somewhere? She didn't look angry so I figured I hadn't inadvertantly cut her off or something. I wondered if she was going to tell me I had a flat tire? (That happened to me when I was 16...)

But no, that wasn't it. She indicated my "Relevant Radio 1330" (a local Catholic radio station) bumper sticker and gestured for me to come closer to listen as she turned up her radio. Indeed, she was listening to Relevant Radio, and she explained that she saw my bumper sticker and so HAD to follow me around the lot in hopes of speaking to me.

It was strange; I should have been maybe a little weirded out by a strange woman following me around a parking lot just because of a bumper sticker for a station she liked. But for some reason, I wasn't, and in looking back, she seemed a bit bamboozled by her own behavior of following a stranger around a parking lot with regard to a bumper sticker!

But it wasn't strange and I can't explain why. It seemed perfectly natural. And it was. She went on talking, as though seeking an explanation for her reason for wanting to speak to me, explaining that she used to have that bumper sticker and had bought a new vehicle and no longer had one.

Immediately, almost as though someone whispered it in my ear or even more, to my heart, I remembered that I'd picked up some extra bumper stickers from church thinking I'd run into someone who needed one. Not really sure if they were still in my car or any good if they were, and seeing that a car was patiently waiting for us to stop blocking the way, I asked the woman to wait a moment as I thought I had some extras. So as I went to my car, she pulled aside to let the other car pass.

I opened my back door, looked in the pocket behind the passenger seat, and initially found nothing. I was about to go to the trunk when something told me to look again...and immediately they appeared between some map books! I grabbed a couple and chose the better one, victoriously returning to the SUV and handing it to the astounded stranger.

She was amazed, but for some reason, I wasn't. I'm certain that this woman doesn't regularly follow strangers around mega-store parking lots in order to chat about random things. I'm certain she was surprised at doing so. My guess is that this was something on her mind for some reason, and God or maybe her Guardian Angel prompted her to follow me, knowing that I had what she needed, and knowing, of course, that I'm not a psychospaz. (My friends may disagree....)

The woman literally stared at my car, at the bumper sticker and at me, thanking me, saying "God bless you!" and I said the same back to her as I went on.

I wasn't surprised for some reason. This seemed perfectly normal to me, yet still extraordinary for I realized God had just connected two strangers over a simple item. And yet, I am surprised, even flabbergasted. It's not like I could make this up!

It's Happened Before...

I was once on the receiving end of such a grace, and so I understand this woman and her behavior.

Several years ago, when I was really seeking God and really lost, I had one good Catholic friend. She attended a decent parish and one at which I was comfortable; it wasn't wacky. I didn't go to Mass often, but I was beginning to attend more and more often. One day I arrived early for Mass and as usual, went to the back of the church, on the left side, and knelt down, praying. I was really lonely for some reason that night, and was even near tears. I wanted to see my friend there, but I wasn't sure if they attended that Mass. I was tired of being a stranger every time I went to Mass, although I didn't want to go somewhere that was "in your face" about "welcoming". (I've always been a bit of an introvert.)

Something told me to look up, so I did, and there, walking down the aisle, was my friend, first with an expression of confusion, then recognition, then joy as she saw me. She invited me up to sit with her and her family. They always sat in the front row as she had a little boy with special needs and if he could see what was going on, he was wonderfully behaved during Mass.

Happily, I walked with my friend towards the front, although somewhat sheepishly as I was so accustomed to seating myself anonymously at the rear.

Later, after Mass, my friend explained that they'd arrived as usual, took their usual pew and as she prayed, suddenly she was prompted to get up and walk down the center aisle towards the back of the church. She had no need to go there for anything...even the bathrooms were in a large hall to the side of the sanctuary. But the feeling wouldn't go away so she obeyed, feeling very confused. Then, as she neared the doors, she saw me and realized what she was supposed to do.

GOD IS AMAZING

He hears the smallest prayers, and answers the tiniest desires of our hearts. He gives us what we need. That day, although I was accustomed to being alone and unnoticed and usually liked to be so, and lacked courage to sit closer to Our Lord, He sent a friend to invite me. And that invitation, no less, to be seated in the very front row.

Although the gesture was simple, it was profound for it told me that God knew I was there and He desired that I be closer to Him. While I was content with remaining far away, afraid to come closer, He desired that I be a part of His family in a very real way. So God spoke to me through my friend, revealing His love, both through prayer and through human friendship.

I don't know why God sent that woman to follow me today, and I don't know what our exchange means to her. Maybe she needed a sign of God's love, just as I did in that moment so long ago. Or maybe it was a simple thing that goes far beyond that exchange.

We never know how or when God will call us to do something, but today He revealed to me a profound example of the connection between members of the Mystical Body of Christ. I immediately recognized the woman as a friend, as she had a rosary similar to mine (even the same color) dangling from her rearview mirror. It was as if we knew one another, and it didn't matter that we'd never actually met.

Yet I'm amazed, and humbled, that God would connect two souls in such a way, and even make it seem to be so natural.

We have to remember to be open to God at every moment. We never know when He will ask us to do something, and we will never know what small humble thing will have the greatest impact.

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The Rosary

I used to hate the rosary.

Yup. I said that. We learned it as children, but Mom instituted it when we were already agitated. Although, I have to admit that she likely did it at the inspiration of the Holy Spirit and Our Lady herself...and as you'll see, that small thing is bearing fruit today.

I remember Mom teaching us the rosary during bedtime prayers. First just the prayers, and then one day she made us pray a decade with her. We didn't like it; it was boring and repetetive and we didn't want to do it. And I think that over a couple weeks or a month we built up to a full rosary, which Mom explained as we went, and she used pictures. But we resented the intrusion into our playtime. (Parents...start the rosary BEFORE they consider it an intrustion!)

Well, I think Mom got frustrated and maybe "gave up" or maybe it was just that she got busy. In any case, we went awhile without praying it. But we knew Mom's favorite phrase: "A family that prays together, stays together!"

To this day, I can't hear or read that phrase without an instinctive cringe and twinge of resentment.

Then appeared my particular fear of storms, arising out of my original fear and excaberated by the tree falling on our house. We had an evening of storms, some of them severe, and our power went out. I was crying and terrified, Mom was closing windows and trying to calm us, and even the dog was shaking. Mom decided right then and there that it was time to pray the rosary again. And for once, I didn't argue even though I didn't want to do it. But we sat down in the kitchen, watched the storm, and prayed the rosary.

Incidentally, that was ALSO the night that someone called us during the storm. Mom, still leading us in prayer, paused and asked us to wait. She went to the phone, picked it up, and instead of saying "Hello" like a normal person she said, "Hail Mary, Full of Grace, the Lord is with thee...." And then realized she was answering the phone! Talk about breaking the tension!

When she hung up we finished the rosary.

I've written of this before, but of course, I went on not liking the rosary. But Mom had found something that worked; pray it with us when something scary was happening. Maybe she saw something in us that we couldn't see. I've heard many stories from many parents. We one night prayed it while watching fire trucks pass by our house a few times on the highway, seeking the fire in our unmapped neighborhood. Mom lead the charge first in our family rosary, and then left to find the family that needed help. We were old enough to remain alone. Although we were in the middle of a severe storm, Mom found it necessary to make certain that our neighbors were all right. I think my brother and I actually finished the rosary on our own, out of obedience to Mom. My brother was in charge, and he was always the more obedient one as it related to Mom and what she wanted.

That same summer, there was another storm, and in that one, as Mom and my brother rushed around, I was in a panic on the livingroom step. And so I prayed the rosary, badly, but still praying. My brother made fun of me. Mom rejoiced in her distracted way as she battened down the hatches.

Even when I wasn't aware, the rosary has figured nto my life prominently, for Mom was always praying it for me, even if she didn't realize why. Good mothers always pray the rosary; for the Blessed Mother can see what the rest of humanity cannot. Through praying the gospels, Mary always brings us to our Lord and Savior, her beloved Son.

I went years without praying it, and I think one day, struggling in my last job, prayed it on Mondays. And that eventually became a habit of praying it every day en route to work. That lead to a period of Eucharistic Adoration over my lunch hour, which I wasn't able to carry on due to the work situation. But that time of intense prayer carried me through, and often I prayed the Rosary or Divine Mercy during that time, and I wept while doing so. Slowly, my friendship with Mary was growing.

Even now, I usually pray the Rosary en route to work, although some days I do not. Yet, I find that it has become a habit, and if I don't pray it in the car, something seems wrong somehow. And some days I don't "feel like" praying it and think that my prayers are "useless" in my distraction.

It is then that I'm reminded of Fr. Corapi's powerfully-stated words: "THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS A BAD ROSARY!"

I'm also reminded of another Saint, maybe Our Lady herself, who told someone that it's better to say 1 Hail Mary with great devotion than an entire rosary in distraction. And yet the former does not contradict the latter, for any prayer to Our Lady is efficacious, and she can take over where we have become lost. A more engaged prayer is always more efficacious, but if we are struggling, it's better to persevere than to give up. God asks us to struggle sometimes, in order that He can bring about a greater good, and that greater good in that case can become the virtues of fortitude and perseverance, which take us beyond prayer and innundate our entire lives if we will only let them.

I used to hate the Rosary. And even now I can't say I love to pray it "in community" for I find it to be a distraction (the different paces and vocal pitches drive me CRAZY!) But alone, in my car, it becomes a conversation, it brings answers to problems, and it builds the relationship between my Lord and I no matter where I am.

Thanks to Mom for teaching us this devotion, especially in a crisis; for praying it in crisis as a child lead me to praying it in crisis as an adult, and it has lead to praying it regularly as a part of my everyday life.

Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with Thee. Blessed are thou amongst women, blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

A Tale of Two Sofas

It is a far, far better sofa I have than I have ever had. It is a far, far better place the other sofa goes than it should ever have gone.

I'd be calling this "A Tale of Two Couches" but the word "sofa" sounds better.

I'm up late this evening because I can't do heavy labor at the end of the day and just fall asleep as though nothing has happened. If someone made me get up at 1 am and do hard work I'd never get back to sleep. I have a feeling I'll be going in to work late tomorrow. Which is fine...it's not like I have to study anymore.

Back to the couches.

A few years ago, when I bought my townhome, I was leaving an apartment I shared with a roommate. She had a large tannish-colored sectional couch that she likely got from someone else. I can't remember. When we moved, she was going to keep the love seat portion, and asked me if I wanted the other section, which included a sleeper. Realizing that I neither had a couch nor did I have anywhere to put overnight guests (such as my brother), well, I saw wisdom in accepting that section. Even though I realized I'd never be able to get rid of it.

It was a beast; her cats had sharpened their claws on it frequently, it had been moved several times, and while it was a very comfortable couch (before I'd lived there I'd slept on it several times), it was quite ugly. But it was useful, and I was in need of useful things. And I have really not regretted keeping that section. It's been challenging to keep it presentable, for I've had to cover it with sheets (you can't buy a slipcover for a couch missing one arm), so I've done different things to try to make it look nice. But no matter what I did, it never looked right. Yet is has indeed been useful.

Home ownership made it impossible for me to even enterain the idea of purchasing new furniture; most of what I own has been given to me. When I moved in, I was sleeping on a fouton that was about 8 years old. I had a rocker given to me by my mother, and I bought a table my first year. The following year I bought a bed, and gave the fouton to the dogs to wreck. (I also want to get rid of that...any takers? The wood frame is untreated...would be great as firewood!)

I have a few bookcases and other things, but my eclectic mix of stuff has made me feel like a perpetually-poor student. Which I'm back to being now. Although it does make it easier to be willing to walk away and give things away!

Which brings us to the tale of the second couch.

I have neighbors whom I met and became friends with a when I moved in, and I know that God sent me to this home to share a wall with them for they became the first people I met at my new church. When I bought my home I was amidst my conversion, knew I needed good Catholic friends, and prayed for them. God answered. I wasn't even going to Mass every Sunday in the months following my move, but their influence and friendship certainly inspired me. (Note to Fr. Schnippel - the way they lived their faith and offered their sincere friendship was a HUGE instrument of my conversion.)

Well, one of those two women, sisters, (biological) is getting married, and she is the homeowner so she is selling. This makes me very sad for I'll miss her as a neighbor. As she's been renovating and moving, she put a couch outside, but we don't live in an area very good for just leaving decent free stuff around. So it wasn't taken. I walked around it, wondering. I liked that couch, but unless I got rid of mine, I couldn't take hers. So I walked away.

The next day, it was back in her garage. We ran into each other in passing (my friend and I, not the couch and I) so I asked her about it. We spoke of my beastly couch and I said I liked theirs better but didn't know what to do with mine in order to be able to help them.

I'm usually quite the investigator, but with many things in my life I've been feeling quite overwhelmed. So my friend did the research and found out that our garbage company would take it and she told me the cost. She said she'd split the cost since I was taking hers. (About $40.00 with tax)

I agreed, and learned they'd pick up mine on Wednesday morning. Great!

Being that we belong to an Association, we can't just leave junk around, so I figured we'd move it tonight, garbage night. Well she had to work late tonight. So I rearranged my livingroom and kitchen to accomodate moving, opened my garage door, and did all I could. She wasn't home yet, but due any moment. Another neighbor was home, and agreed to help me move the beast of a couch I already owned. We got it out through the garage and to the curb with absolutely no bad language! The other sister (also a friend) was home and opened their garage door so we could move their couch into my house, and assisted in doing so.

Surely enough, at that moment I realized why they'd offered to split the cost...their couch was even HEAVIER and more unweildy than mine!

But it was better looking and went better with my overall color scheme.

By then, my friend the homeowner returned home from work in time to help us move the couch into my house. It literally took 4 of us to fight with it!

Finally it was in place. And that's when my friend looked at me, pushed her hair back and wiped the sweat from her forehead. She confessed that this couch had originally come from the very place in which we had put it. When she moved in 10 years ago, the homeowner before me had given her the couch. And she had helped move the couch from THAT VERY SPOT, where it RESTS RIGHT NOW!

And you know? It makes my livingroom look MUCH BETTER! Apparently it simply belongs here. See? We all have a home. Even the sofa has a home.

I never said it was an interesting tale of two couches.

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And Back Again...

I haven't mentioned the Lay Dominicans for quite awhile, and for good reason; in my own part, nothing has happened. Nothing. My "partner in crime" has made some headway, gathered some other Dominicans without homes, and followed his leads...and again, they've not gone far.

I was beginning to wonder if maybe this wasn't to be...just yet. And so I let it be, knowing that God will reveal Himself on His time, not ours.

And today, that happened. It happened first when I was praying en route to work as usual, and I realized I hadn't prayed the Dominican Litany of Saints for a long time, and as I'm in need of their powerful intercession, I realized I should remember to do so today. (Although I forgot to do so...apparently they were still praying.)

Then I received a special affirmation from Our Lady today, something I prayed about a couple months ago.

Then, this evening, I went to dinner with Mary, my soon-to-be-cloistered (Benedictine) friend, and on my other side? A possible future Dominican, and apparently Mary had told her about me months ago with regard to this lay community that may or may not come to be.

In conversation, more ideas and connections appeared, and I realized that I was not off the hook. It seems that if a community is to happen here, God has indeed designated me as one of the founders. And what can I do but give my acquiescence to His will in this matter?

I am thankful that things move slowly, for I have no idea what we're doing or really, what we're getting ourselves into. But God does, He is in charge, and I know that if this is part of my mission on earth, well...who am I to run away?

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Prayer

I've been praying the Liturgy of the Hours for several weeks now (thanks to my friend who gifted her LOH to me!), and I'm constantly amazed at the incredible treasures in these volumes! Most often I read the Office and pray Morning Prayer, usually at work in the church or in the chapel, using it as time to get away from my desk and remind myself whom it is that I'm serving. And always, I'm thankful for the time in prayer, even if I'm rushing, even if I don't think I'm "getting anything out of it."

Usually I intend to also pray Evening Prayer at home, but then things get in the way and I don't do it. But tonight was God's evening, apparently. I had some errands and some chores, and then took the dog for a walk as dusk approached. I live near my own church, so often walk around the grounds and back home. Tonight, though, I stepped into the Fatima shrine, and the presence of Our Lady was so intense that each step of the rosary walk leading to the statue touched me in a whole new way.

I arrived home, feeling somewhat...contemplative...and after returning some phone calls I settled down to prayer. I did not pray Morning Prayer today as usual as I had a series of meetings all day, so I sat down on the couch and just began to read.

Each word, for some reason tonight, seemed to leap off the page. And this has been happening more and more frequently as I've become accustomed to praying the LOH. More and more I'm seeing how God reaches out to us on such a deep level, wanting us to understand how intimately He knows us, with a knowledge that far surpasses our own comprehension. And when we realize this incredible intimacy, we cannot help but reach back to Him, immersing ourselves in His own words, and allowing the wisdom of 2,000 years of great Saints speak to us, bringing us ever closer to Our Lord. And it's here that the dialogue of prayer is born; a conversation of a mystical sort, taking place at the level of the soul. We may be intellectually processing words on a page, but something deeper is happening, inspiring us to desire greater holiness.

I'm constantly amazed at the accuracy of the readings as they apply to my everyday struggles; whether it be with life, with sin, with temptation, or, conversely, how the readings likewise correspond to all of my joys and successes!

We have a God who knows us, who loves us, and who has created us entirely for Himself. He constantly extends this invitation in His gentle ways, beckoning us to turn from ourselves and towards Him, and that is the only way any of us will ever find true happiness.

Clinging to the Rock

I was actually going to re-post an old one that seems to take today's readings to heart, but instead, I'm going to re-write it, following the Psalm, which our Music Director found it necessary to ignore today. I don't know what psalter from which she was reading, but the very idea did not even match in the most remote way, the readings for today! And I left Mass feeling somewhat deprived.

Responsorial Psalm
Ps 31:2-3, 3-4, 17, 25

R. (3b) Lord, be my rock of safety.
In you, O LORD, I take refuge;
let me never be put to shame.
In your justice rescue me,
incline your ear to me,
make haste to deliver me!
R. Lord, be my rock of safety.
Be my rock of refuge,
a stronghold to give me safety.
You are my rock and my fortress;
for your name’s sake you will lead and guide me.
R. Lord, be my rock of safety.
Let your face shine upon your servant;
save me in your kindness.
Take courage and be stouthearted,
all you who hope in the LORD.
R. Lord, be my rock of safety.

Back in September 2001 when I was at the Fire Dept. Training Tower, a friend A. and I were the first to experience one of the first evolutions. They "smoked up" one of the buildings and sent us in to fight the fire. It was just he and I and the "charged" hoseline which snaked back to the Engine, which in turn was attached to the hydrant.

We wore our full turnouts; coat, trousers, SCBA (Self-Contained-Breathing-Apparatus), helmets, gloves, etc. I was assigned to the nozzle, so my job was to go in first, keeping my hand on the cement wall and following in until we found the fire. A. was behind me, and his job was to "roll" the hoseline, trusting me to keep us on track. His was the harder job. Indeed, I had to lead inward, but he did more work.

(FYI: In the "real world", the rookie was on the nozzle and the Captain was in 2nd position so as to both roll the hoseline in properly and to push the rookie.)

We began outside, and I turned on my air tank, released the air from the hoseline, and when we were given the signal, I touched the exterior door with the back of my hand as we'd been trained and opened it. A. and I went in, entering into the smoke and pitch darkness, crawling, immediately going up the stairs because there was no other way to go. Step by step, we proceeded, agonizingly slowly. The turnout pants were slightly padded, but not a lot, and it didn't help that I nailed my already-aching knees on the corners of the steps! And I kept my hand on the wall, while behind me, A. was laboring to pull more hoseline, our grunts of effort and muffled conversation encouraging each other in our respective teamwork.

About half-way up, I began to panic. I knew I was sucking too much air. I knew that we were moving too slowly. I knew that somewhere, the fire, and even worse, the CAPTAIN awaited impatiently, and all I wanted to do was leave. I was enclosed in my mask. I couldn't see anything ahead of me or behind me. I had the nozzle in my right hand, the wall on my left, my knees on the hard cement below. I was sweating, breathing hard, and wanting only to escape this terrible blackness!

And then I realized; as long as my hand was against that wall, we were fine. We could follow the wall back out the door, easily. It didn't matter that we couldn't see; it only mattered that we knew our reference point, and that reference point was solid and it wasn't moving. Our scenario may change, our hoseline may even burst and drench us. But we couldn't lose contact with the rock that we followed and that rock would lead us back out the door to safety. No matter what happened, that rock was solid and we were safe.

Realizing this I continued onward, we proceeded to the top, found the fire (with some impatient direction from the dreaded Captain) and put it out. And we followed that wall back out.

OUR ROCK

Life isn't easy. We often don't know where we're going. We don't know if we're going into the fire, or if we're going into a collapse or even a storm. We only know that Christ is our Rock, our reference point, and as long as we don't let go, we'll be safe. Even if our lives are required of us, as long as we cling to Christ, we will never be lost.

I've been constantly amazed by the necessity and the solidity of Jesus and His Church which has remained firm and guided me in the worst life has thrown at me. Even when I didn't realize it, the tether that is the Sacraments, the indelible mark placed upon my soul, has kept me in contact with saving Grace. Even when I looked the other way, I see now that the Sacraments meant that although I had let go, Jesus had never let go of ME. He used everything to bring me back home, and He still does.

Our Rock saves us; we MUST cling to the Rock no matter what winds buffet us and seek to pull us away; but He also clings to us in return, reminding us to never let go, for He desires that not a single one of us be lost.

When we are crawling, painfully through all the darkness of life, we have to remember to never let go of Christ, to never stop believing, to never let us be pulled away. It's not enough to call the name of Jesus; we have to LIVE it. We have to keep working, to keep clinging, for it is not only faith that saves us, but our direct cooperation with saving grace, and our willingness to cling to Christ even if it means we face our own death in a darkness we cannot comprehend.

In my training as a firefighter, I realized that I may be called to give my life. The same applied to my training in law enforcement. Yet, we as Catholics are rarely reminded that we might truly be called to die for Christ.

I was willing to die for a building and the people who might be in it. I was willing to die for that ideal, but at the time, I didn't even consider that there was something far greater; to die for Christ.

In our world today many are dying for their faith in Christ, and all of us may be called to the same thing. And you have to ask yourself...are you willing to DIE for what you believe? Are you truly willing to DIE for the truth?

Eventually I did decide that I was not called to die to save buildings, but rather, I was called to consider something that transcends all of us; Jesus Christ. Am I willing to die for Him? Am I willing to die for His Church?

As long as I cling to Him, I think so, and I pray, if that time comes, that I won't ever let go, no matter what happens.
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Free Weekend!

This has been my FIRST free weekend in a LONG TIME! I didn't have to go to a First Commuion Mass at work. I didn't have to attend a Confirmation for work. I didn't have to appear at work to do something after Mass.

I didn't have to do any reading or write any papers.

I was FREE!

What Adoro Did This Weekend:

Saturday:

Got up, drank coffee, checked email, did some cleaning, went to the gym, quick errand to the store, wasted time, went to Adoration, had dinner with a friend, watched the storm, watched a movie while surfing the internet, went to sleep.

Sunday:

Went to Mass.
Went to the gym - had a GREAT workout.
Ran the rest of her errands, including paying a credit card bill at the store and getting food (fresh veggies) for the week.
Watched a movie, ate lunch, checked email. Responded.
Took a nap. mmmm...Sunday nap.......
Wasted more time doing inane things.
Chopped up cherry tomatoes that need to be used, replaced the insides with basil pesto...mmmmmmm. Baaaassilll Pesto.......


I know I did other things but I can't remember them because they were so inane. I know I dreamed about things that have to be done, like disassembling my futon so I can throw it out or at least give it to someone. (The mattress is now a dog mattress...I wouldn't give it to a human.) I seriously need to give my house a huge and thorough cleaning and get rid of a lot of junk!

And tomorrow, real Hell begins. Please pray for me...you have NO IDEA what challenges I'm facing and I can't detail them here. I did send a prayer request to the Intercessors of the Lamb, however...

Forgotten in the Destruction

KARE11 photo
The tornadoes that hit the local area on Sunday afternoon are still all over the news, and well they should be. But I criticize the media, for they are focusing on only one area of damage, that being the most dramatically hit, while ignoring the area where the tornadoes began. People in lesser-devastated areas are not receiving the same help, and they need it just as desperately, for some of their homes are just as completely condemned. They weren't leveled by tornadoes, but they WILL be leveled by bulldozers and wrecking balls as a result of this storm.

Where are the news stations with regard to their plight?

The other day I had a meeting in Forest Lake and I returned back via highway 61 which took me right past the worst devastation. It's one thing to see it on the news..it's completely another to be looking at it from ground-level, even in passing.

That pile of twigs? Yeah, that used to be a house, just a few days ago. That neighborhood of plywood and 2x4's, disconnected rooves, tarped shingles of structures left standing, and windowless homes...yeah. That used to be a vibrant comunity. Not a decade or so ago...just last weekend.

That same afternoon, en route home, I took a tour through the neighborhood slightly north of me, and observed the damage there as well. It wasn't as bad as the damage in Hugo, but it was bad enough, and too close to home. I was nearly caught in that storm. Had it shifted only slightly south, well, maybe I'd be homeless and waiting for a restoration company.

But let's talk about the people who aren't getting any help. At my meeting, the big topic was the storm, as it had happened in our area and the women there knew a lot of people directly affected. One of the women was late; she spoke of her friend from whose home she had just come. Her friend was in shock, completely paralyzed, living in la-la land. The tornado pretty much touched down in her yard, from the sound of it, yet NO ONE had been by to help her. Her house was not livable; the walls were bowed inward, waterlogged, the pictures were askew, and the woman was simply incapable of making any decisions. Not due to lack of intelligence or organizational ability; she is a person very gifted with organizational skills. But this storm has unseated her, rendered her out of control, and she is helpless to get it back. She needs help...but all the help is being called into the city of Hugo and her area will get "overflow" if there's too many volunteers (a number which has been capped and filled). There is no volunteer organization for her neighborhood. And she's only ONE soul. Only ONE family.

Where is KSTP? Where is KARE11? Where is WCCO? Where is KMSP?

What I really want to know is this:

Where is the media when they can really do some good for people who really need the call for help that they are incapable of making?

Oh, right...they're getting the money shots at Minnesota's version of Katrina, as this is likely to be billed.

If there was true justice in this world, the people such as the woman I mentioned (and the rest of her young family) would have a host of media attention and volunteer assistance to match that of the worst sections of Hugo. I'll not slam Hugo or the help they have; I am only demanding that justice be met and that those who ALSO need help receive it. The platitudes of the media and some other organizations are sickening and speak of corruption and PR-seeking, while many people in need of assistance are being summarily dismissed. Why?

Because their devastation is quiet drama. But they are no less in need. It is just that their needs are less obvious since their homes were not leveled directly, but will be leveled later.

MAYBE they'll have a brief apppearance in an afterthrough-story in 6 months or so, and at that point the spin from the media will be to point fingers at the government, the churches, the neighbors, or any other convenient target. And the only question we'll have then is...Where were YOU when this story was in progress?

Right. You were selling your soul for money shots where you perceived the real action to be.

There's a reason I didn't go into Journalism. I considered it, but in the end, I decided that Journalism, as a whole, had no soul.

I have not once been proven wrong. Except for my commment here, that is; for one cannot sell a soul that one does not possess.
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WORLD DAY OF PRAYER FOR PRIESTS!

Tomorrow, May 30, is BOTH the Feast of the Sacred Heart of Jesus AND the World Day of Prayer for Priests

This is significant, for who is Christ but our High Priest? And who is the Priest at your parish, the one you call "Father", but one chosen by Christ to follow in His steps, who in turn, calls you and teaches you to conform yourself to Christ?

From the website above:

It is timely that we express our appreciation to so many priests who are indeed a daily reflection of Christ's love for his people. We wish to express our love for our priests and provide them with the support and encouragement they deserve. We express great joy in affirming and encouraging our priests as the servants of God's people. We are also encouraging people around the world to stop whatever they are doing at 3pm local time and spend a quiet moment praying in thanksgiving for our priests and contemplating the gift of priesthood.

The priesthood is a gift to us all; it was Padre Pio who observed that the world can survive more easily without the sun than it can without the Mass. And indeed, what happens at Mass? Heaven touches earth. At the behest of whom? God the Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit, through the consecrated hands of the priest.

The world could not survive without the priesthood!

Irony

I used to be terrified of priests. Not because they ever did anything wrong, but because I did. I had a guilty conscience. I had fallen away, and my perception of priests was that they were the holiest of the holy, they'd be able to see right through me, and if they ever met me they'd drag me immediately off to the Confessional to be reconciled to God. Because that was what I needed and I knew it.

But I didn't want to go. God is merciful, though, and through a long winding road, He finally brought me to Confession and made me face who I really was; but more importantly, who He was calling me to be. And I made that 12-year Confession face-to-face to a priest I'll never forget. While I am an affectionate person, I do have a strong sense of boundaries, and after I was absolved, I came very close to throwing my arms around the dear priest who talked me through my distress and revealed to me the true face of Jesus Christ. He had called me the "prodigal daughter" and was overjoyed I'd come Home, finally, and to this day I wish I HAD followed that impulse, for I would have been hugging Christ himself in that joyful moment. I only wish I knew who he was so I could pray for him by name.

I was still terrified of priests for a long time, for it was hard to leave the life I was living; it's aways hard to dig yourself out of pit of your own creation and one the world helps you dig more deeply but has no interest in building steps for escape. But I was serious about wanting to really live a life in Christ, and God did not abandon me and in fact, used His priests in various ways. Since that time, I've come to know the priests at the parish I attend; we've had many as we are a large parish so they send us newly ordained priests for a couple years and then send them onward to be on their own.

Not only have these priests provided me with the Sacraments which I so desperately need, but they've provided me with an example of holiness, encouraged me in trying to be a better human being, and even a Saint (an ongoing joke with one of them...I wore out my "extension", though!). The priests I've known have helped me teach RCIA especially when I began, and remained available for questions as I prepared my talks. Two of them provided me references for two different grad schools, even though they really didn't know me well enough at the time of those letters, but apparently felt that someone seeking to be more Catholic was a good thing! And I was accepted to both schools (so the must have lied for me....) Those same two also provided me with references for my current job (a church), and their references were crucial!

But it goes beyond the Sacraments and Administrative things; these men who have given their lives to Christ really ARE our Fathers. As a woman, maybe it's easier for me to understand the image of the "Bride of Christ" that is the Church, and see truly how these men have given up everything in order to bring Christ to us all! They love children, they love families, and they know they will never have their "own". Yet I have to wonder how often our parish mimics a large family, and how often Father goes home (Fathers plural in our case!) and rubs his temples, willing the headache away, realizing that even adults are his children? And we're WORSE! His work is largely thankless and he goes from a harsh funeral one moment to a joyful parishioner who's been greatly blessed in some way, to a wedding, to hearing Confessions (of even prodigal daughters like myself), to even his own family tragedies. And yet, in all of this, he continues to serve Christ by serving us and leading us.

Every time I say "Father" I mean it. Every time I see a priest, I'm thankful to Christ for calling him and sending him across my path. I'm thankful to the priest who baptized me, who heard my First Confession, gave me my First Communion, and the Bishop who Confirmed me. I'm thakful for all those priests who have ever been there to provide an example, lend an ear, respond to an email, and offer friendship in Christ for a tiny soul seeking to do God's will.


I will be praying hard tomorrow for priests, especially at 3 pm, and I ask you all to join me and the rest of the world in doing so.

Were it not for the priests God has sent across my path, I don't know where I'd be...certainly not where I am now. Pray for priests. Pray for their holiness, their strength in living out their vows, their Fatherhood to us all...and for an increase in many more!

Thank you, Fathers, and maybe you don't hear it enough, so let this resonate with you:

WE LOVE YOU!
And we will NEVER stop praying for you!
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