"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?

*

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.
*

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.
*

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!
*

Intervention!

Last evening I was so steamed I was certain I wouldn't be able to get to sleep, even after I'd taken my dog for a walk. (We couldn't go far as it was dark by then).

But as I came back, the neighbor on my other side delivered some news; he was diagnosed with Type I diabetes, and confessed he's pretty angry with God right now. So we talked for a long time outside about that and a few other things, including the neighbor issue. He's had problems with the guy, too, and is ready to go to the Association; especially since it concerns threats towards his "tween" daughter.

By the end of our conversation I felt a lot better about some things, an more concerned in other regards. But one of the things the neighbor and I spoke of was St. Paul's admonition not to "let the sun go down on your anger." We were both ticked off at similar and not-so-similar things, but we have some common ground in our beliefs.

And I found this funny; my neighbor (the good one) last night observed that he's NEVER seen me really angry. He's seen me variously irritated about things, but never really angry. And he's far from the first person to make that observation! And he's right; I don't often get really angry. If I do, others don't see it. Thank God for small favors! As it is, my flash of temper last night against the other neighbor is something that I think should not have happened and I think I went too far.

Well, by the time I went back inside, I was much calmer and went up to go to sleep.

Then it got worse...I had a message from Mom. She got conned by one of those warranty company letters one gets in the mail. She called them, they convinced her that her car was going to turn into dust tomorrow, and she gave them her credit card number so they could charge her with a $3,000 warranty, to 135,000 miles or something. I don't think her entire car is even worth that much! She wanted out, and so I made some suggestions (really strong forceful ones because I wanted to reach through the phone and strangle the person who had taken advantage of my Mom!) Man...if I wasn't ticked off before, I sure was THEN!

But I needed to sleep and determined to calm down and try, so I went upstairs. But something was bothering me...I needed to pray Night Prayer. I don't usually (usually just pray LOH Morning Prayer). But last night I got up, came down to get the book and went back up. And what should I read, but the very verse I'd quoted to my neighbor (on behalf of both of us)..

Ephesians 4:26-27
If you are angry, let it be without sin. The sun must not go down on your wrath; do not give the devil a chance to work on you.

THAT one hit home!

And as a bonus, from the Office of Readings, I found another quote that really stood out, applicable to my entire life:

Your best servan tis he who is intent not so much on hearing his petition answered, as rather on willing whatever he hears from you. ~ St Augustine, Confessions

Amazing how God does that! So I ended my evening by praying for BOTH of my neighbors, hoping that someone was praying for me, too.

And this morning is better. I do feel better, still ticked when I think of my neighbor and Mom getting scammed, but the edge is gone. And cool thing; I woke up to grades for two of my classes in my inbox. A- in both! YAY! I'm only awaiting the grade from my New Testament class...and outside of the paper, I believe I have an A...the paper will either solidify that or drop me down, but it can only do limited damage. I will be able to keep my scholarship! Yay!

*

Complacency in the Age of Mercy

I see a lot of complacency in the Catholic world, in this "Age of Divine Mercy." I'm not slamming Divine Mercy...it helped bring me home! And I'm a HUGE fan of God's mercy! EVERY DAY!

Yet for a few years now, I've been noticing a tendency even among the most devout to sort of simply the ideas and almost "excuse" themselves or others with the adage..."We have to trust in God's mercy."

Yes, we do. But we also need to talk about OUR obligations, and we need to discuss the real theology behind what we believe. We are obligated, as Catholics, to know our faith, and even to evangelize! But what message does it send when we can't be bothered to care about the fact that Baptism is NECESSARY for salvation?

FACT: Those baptized invalidly ARE NOT BAPTIZED. Thus, in order to correct the situation, they are notn "conditionally" baptized, but, in fact, they must be BAPTIZED for the first time! Simply "trusting in God's mercy" doesn't correct an invalid baptism. The idea of "baptism of desire" applies to an extraordinary situation. It would apply, if, say, you are en route in desperation to the church to request baptism and a large mosquito picks you up and feeds you to a nest of velociraptors in the swamp behind your house. You'd have the proper disposition and desperation and intention. God can work with that. But you can't go through life and excuse the lack of baptism by saying, "Well..they MEANT well...I'll just trust in God and evetually get around to being baptized again."

In my previous post on this issue, while sitting in class on Sunday I took what I was learning and made it "personal", asking the "what if" question. This solidified everything for me, for it's easy to take an abstract idea and just learn it. But to make it personal and applicable to me, or someone I love? NOW it's a big deal! And I nearly wept right there in class at the very idea of having an invalid baptism. I may have spoken with some hyperbole in order to make my point, but I had a more important point, one applicable to EVERYONE!

LOSING YOUR BAPTISM

Are you aware that, when you committ mortal sin, you completely sever your relationship with God? It's not God that severs anything; He is immutable, unchanging, and basically unaffected. It is WE who change, and in fact, we erase our Baptisms completely!

THIS was really the main point of that post; the reality that we may sometimes CHOOSE to deny our Baptism and sever ourselves from a relationship with God. And it's in the Catechism, folks. Pick it up and read it and let it change your life!

So, in a state of mortal sin, if we recognize we've done such a thing, why aren't we all FLOCKING to Confession, calling up the priest and in desperation asking to be restored? We can certainly have a "perfect act of contrition" but with that we must also have the intention of getting to sacramental Confession as soon as we are able. So what's the problem? Why aren't we desperate?

Simple; because we don't understand the teachings, we don't understand what we've lost, and even some of the most educated Catholics have been drawn into complacency with regard to the true effects of sin. (And yes, even the most devout Catholics may sometimes commit mortal sin, but that's not the point of this post).

We cannot just pooh-pooh sin and losing our Baptism with the adage, "God will understand" or "We have to trust in God's mercy". YES! That's true, we DO, however, we have to take responsiblity and realize where we are wrong and get our butts into the Confessional where God can directly enact His mercy upon us! To do otherwise is to be Protestant! We are not saved by faith alone!

I realize most of my readers probably "get" this concept and I'm probably preaching to the choir. But you've all lamented the short confessional lines. That's good for you when you need to go...bad for the implicantions of everyone who isn't there...and should be!

In a state of grave sin, we lose our Baptism; but in a moment of contrition, there in Confession...we are restored according to our dispositions. Isn't this glorious?

We have to be educated in order to help others understand; because we have to face the fact that most Catholics in this day and age have NO IDEA what the teachings are. They are caught up in secularism and relativism. Yes, teach them about God's mercy and really focus on that...but don't let them wallow around thinking that all they have to do is trust...and continue in their sin. People need to be restored to a relationship with God, and YOU are the one God is sending to reach out to those people and (gently) provide them with the information they need to increase their desperation for God.

Don't be complacent and don't let someone else's complacency keep you from understanding that the Sacraments are a HUGE DEAL, and we SHOULD be excited about them, and we SHOULD have the desperation of the woman with the hemorrhage of the gospels EACH time we receive a Sacrament!

Trust in God's mercy, certainly...but His Mercy still requires us to have a particular disposition in order to receive it!

I can't say this strongly enough; if you aren't excited about the Sacraments, if you aren't receiving them in a state of pure desperation out of love for God...then you simply have no idea what's going on!

*
** (yes, I'm speaking in hyperbole again...but only slightly!) ***

Fear of Storms

I just watched a segment on the news about the affect of the tornadoes in Hugo on the children who survived it. They are described as "clingy", as quiet, very much "not themselves." They are fearful to remain in their homes (of those that were not completely decimated), and, of course, there are likely other fears the parents perhaps can't put to words.

I've written of the intense fear I used to have of storms; I was already afraid of them for some reason, but when a tree hit our roof, right over the room in which I slept in morning daylight in what seemed to be a garden-variety storm, well...my fear went into overdrive. For a long time.

I watched the weather closely, and if the nighttime promised storms, I refused to sleep either with my Mom or even in my own bedroom. Why? Because there was a very large tree directly outside my window, and I was afraid that a strong wind would topple it right on top of me.

So I slept on the floor in the livingroom right by the big bay window that ran from the floor to the ceiling.

It was a stupid place to sleep, but then again...I was so terrified that the slightest rumble of thunder woke me up and prepared me to take immediate flight. I slept by the windows with the drapes open, for that way, I could see what was coming. As long as I could see, I was terrified and shuddering, but I was OK. Because it gave me a sense of control over my ability to protect myself and sound the alarm for my family. I was the self-appointed "guard", and I would be assured of being the first to know if a storm threatened us.

My heart just goes out to all the kids in Hugo, and their families, for guaranteed, never again will ANY of those people be able to look at a threatening sky and go about their business. They will remember the EF-3 that wiped out their homes, took a life, injured several...and destroyed their sense of safety.

Please keep all of those people in your prayers.

Desperation of Salvation

This weekend in class, although we spoke early on about the invalid baptismal formula of "Creator, Redeemer, Sanctifier", it came up again and prompted me to make it personal. What if I had been baptized in this manner? What would that mean for my life now, and for my eternal salvation?

Here I am, an adult, having been Baptised, having received Holy Communion countless times, and having been Confirmed. I have fully embraced our faith, I believe all the Church teaches, and I'm constantly striving to learn more...I have 2,000 years to catch up on!

But I asked myself that question: what if? What if it was a sham, and I was never validly Baptized?

Had I died, as I would still have the stain of original sin, I would not have the Beatific Vision, but I would be seeing God through a veil, for I would have the Baptism of Desire...but that's not what we're made for. We are made for eternal union with God. But I am living; so in my musings I need not think too hard on limbo or purgatory.

I would need to focus on my life as it is...and where I'm headed.

If I was not validly Baptised, it would mean that the Sacraments of Holy Communion and Confirmation would be invalid. I wouldn't really be Catholic. I wouldn't be receiving those graces. But I would have to then be Baptized properly, I'd have to receive First Holy Communion...for real, and I'd have to be Confirmed.

As I sat in class, musing on these things, suddenly a sense of desperation arose in me; I nearly wept at the very thought that I would be so cut off from the mistake of those who had gone before me! I would be angry at the betrayal of the priest and my parents, and I would RUN, not walk, to my Pastor, pound down his door and BEG for the Sacraments, right there on the spot!

I would not be able to live another moment without valid sacraments; I would fear for my salvation, and I would desperately be grasping for our Lord, in that very moment, panicking, realizing that I'd been living a false life.

I have no idea how a priest would handle that, if a fully informed adult would come to him begging for the Sacraments, someone known to him but who had only learned of an invalid baptism. I have to wonder if that has happened, and how the Pastor handled it?

Would he be able to provide those Sacraments on the spot, so to speak? Or would that soul, even the most educated, still have to attend classes for "preparation"?

I'd be begging for instant Baptism, instant Confirmation, instant Holy Communion...because, knowing what these Sacraments mean, I don't think I could live without them. And I suspect my Pastor would be as horrified, or even more so than I in such a situation. Yet...what would he be able to do?

But this musing made me ask another question, one with more universal application.

Are you aware that, if you commit a mortal sin, you lose your Baptism? Literally, you are severed from God. That literally means that you've rendered your other Sacraments not only invalid, but each time you receive Holy Communion you bring judgment upon yourself. Because it's not a matter of someone else's embrace of the heresy of Modalism or some other, but your own personal rejection of God.

So I considered this, and wondered...when I have been in a state of mortal sin, or if I am in the future, or even now, why have I not felt that same desperation to come back to God? Why have I not immediately beaten down Father's door, begging to be reconciled? Because each valid Cofession is akin to being Baptised again, to being Confirmed again, and, upon the reception of Holy Communion, it's like the same one again!

We get so locked into our sins that we don't realize how lost we are; we sometimes learn about the heresies, but without understanding that their implications are alive and well today and they are condemned because even our everyday actions might thrust us outside of God's grace! And we're so complacent to that. It's great to talk about Modalism and how awful it is that the feminists have cut so many off from Salvation...but what of all of us who choose mortal sin and sever that relatinonship with God all on our own?

Why are we not so desperate?

We should all receive all of the Sacraments in such a state of complete desperation. We should all be striving for our Salvation in a state of fear and trembling, loving our Lord so much that our fear is that we would be cut off from Him for eternity.
*




** "Creator, Redeemer, Sanctifier" is actually the heresy of Modalism, which finds its way innocently even into common religious ed programs, including RCIA, through well-meaning instructors who use the example of water: vapor, ice, water. This is Sabellianism, or Modalism, as it was commonly called, which mistakenly identfies the Trinity according to "modes" as in different modes of water. To baptise someone according to modalism is invalid for it is not a pronouncement of the Trinity. And to teach others about the Trinity according to the example of water is to indoctrinate heretics....don't do it. It has been oficially condemned in the Early Church. **

Storm Aftermath

The storms that ripped through the area last night caused major destruction and killed a two-year-old boy.

The tornado that touched down near me did do some damage in a local neighborhood, but it was nothing on the scale of the damage done in a suburb to our east, in Hugo. The tornado, which apparently they think might be an EF-3, seemed to follow the street and just tore the homes apart, sending some of them into the pond. That's the very pond where the little boy was found, and those who tried to save him were unable to do so.

I can't imagine what that family is going through; their four-year-old is also hospitalized and in very serious condition. Please pray for that family.

I know several people in that town, and am thankful I haven't seen them or their names on TV. When I get to work tomorrow, hopefully we'll find out who is involved and who isn't, and I suspect the parish will be doing something to help that community.

In the last couple years, it seems that whenever we get storms, they are severe, and they are destructive. I remember the days of hearing of a "severe storm" and it passes over, fairly benign. But for the last two summers, I can't remember a single severe storm that didn't do pockets of major damage, at the very least. And it seems we don't get run-of-the-mill thunderstorms anymore. It's either just rain..or it's severe.

Please keep all those affected in your prayers.

Worth the Price?

Today at Mass, on the Solemnity of Corpus Christi, Father pointed to the crucifix, established just above the tabernacle, speaking of the Body and Blood of Christ, proclaiming, "Jesus sacrificed Himself on the Cross for you because He thought you were worth it."

That phrase reverberated right from my mind to my heart and straight to my soul...and back. Over and over again.

"Jesus sacrificed Himself on the Cross for you because He thought you were worth it."

Jesus sacrificed Himself...for me....because He thought...I...was worth it?

Forgive me, but I really do have a difficult time getting my mind around this. I know that I love Jesus, I know that Jesus died for me, I believe that fully, and I even believe it's personal. But it's still that last part that I can't seem to really grasp.

I want to say that I'm NOT worth it. Not one bit. Not even close. That's different than saying I merit it or don't merit it; we all know that none of us merits such a gift of salvation. For some reason, though, today that phrase really hit me hard.

Jesus thought I was worth it. I gazed at the crucifix suspended above us, unable to tear my eyes away. Jesus thought I was worth THAT. Because, had He not thought I was worth it, He wouldn't have done it. The reality was right there in front of me.

One of our essay questions for this last class dealt with the beatific vision; that Jesus Christ had that eternal and all-knowing vision, that knowledge of each and every one of us, before and even at His conception. Jesus has always known us each individually. When He became Incarnate at His conception, He knew us. And when He sweated blood in his Agony in the Garden, He saw us, the good and the bad, loved us...and decided that we, as individuals, were worth it. He would have gone to the Cross if only ONE of us had been created.

So maybe it's the information I've absorbed throughout this semester that disposed me today, or maybe it was just a pure gift of Grace, another unmerited gift. We often pray, "Lord, I am not worthy..." and indeed, that is the proper disposition of our hearts, because we have to realize that nothing we can do can make us worthy of such suffering, such a sacrifice.

But our Lord looked upon each and every one of us, and He decided that indeed, we were worth it. It was His decision to die for us, His judgment that we were worthy.

But far from instilling a sense of pride in me, it has instilled a deep sense of ...awe. Because when I consider my life and the choices I've made and those I make every day, I can't honestly look at the Cross and think that I am worth THAT. I'm not worthy of such a price. No one should die for me...especially God Himself.

And yet...He did, for it did not end with His suffering and death.

At Communion the choir sang my favorite hymn...can you guess? Adoro Te Devote. They began in English and I read the words, completely undone. It was perfect...the words I could fully understand as I prepared my heart to receive Jesus...and the Latin to aid my gratitude as I moved forward and then returned to my pew to pray. It doesn't happen often anymore, but it did today...I couldn't stop the tears, and they were tears of gratitude and amazement that Jesus would make such a sacrifice for me...because He thought I was worth it.

I can't see my own worth in God's eyes. I can only see my lack of worth through my own.

Thank God that He is in charge, that the sacrifice of the Lamb was not given into my hands, for I would never have allowed Jesus to go to the Cross for me. I would have damned myself to the eternal lake of fire rather than allow such a scandal. But the decision belonged to Christ alone...and He decided that we, personally and individually, were worth it.

Jesus went to the Cross...because HE decided I was worth it.

Thank you, Jesus.

My gratitude is too profound for words, and even tears will never convey what was finally revealed to me this morning at Mass.

Prayers in this Storm!

Please pray for us in Minnesota. We've got some powerful storms moving through, my city is in a lull right now.

But I'm concerned. We finished class around 4 pm, but a lot of people were still there when I left, and a lot of the students are traveling in all directions from our class location, some students have around a 150 mile drive or so to get home.

I arrived home around 4:30, the sky was blackening the closer I got to home so I prayed for the time to let me dog out and get back inside. Sure enough, I walked her around our building, got back to my door as the wind was gusting, closed the door, turned on the TV ,then went to close the garage door. It was POURING out and it looked like we had some hail!

God answers even the small prayers.

That storm passed mostly to our north, but another line is coming this way, and both storms are very destructive. Please pray for us, for those traveling, and for all in the path of these storms!

And there are the sirens for the second round...signing off!


UPDATE 5:48 PM: During the second round of the storm, I opened my front door (sirens were no longer going off), looking at the hail covering the ground. But it looked like maybe something else had dropped from the sky..something that from afar resembled a Miraculous Medal. I bent down to pick it up (as it was literally at my feet) and it was a flat piece of hail, perfectly formed, round, but containing an oval that looked like an eye, with layers of clear and white ice. I put that and similar pieces of hail in the freezer.

They just said on the News that a tornado touched down about 1/2 mile north of my house during the first round of storms. That particular storm went on to cause a lot of other damage, too. Also in my city apparently are reports of downed trees and even cars tipped over on the highway. There doesn't seem to be any damage in my immediate area.

Please keep those affected by the storm in your prayers.

Answering the Master's Call

Yes, it's 5:30 am here in Minnesota and I'm already up and blogging (and having lots of coffee, thank you very much.) I'm up this early for our last day of class, but now I'm diverting my shedule a bit for this very important Public Service Announcement.

I usually watch the news/weather in the morning as I sip my coffee and check email. On Sundays, however, at least when I'm up this early, there is no news or weather. So I flipped to EWTN, thinking maybe they'd have the Chaplet of Divine Mercy or something.

Nope. They had a show on called, "Answering the Master's Call." The info blurb on it (which is usually incorrect with regard to EWTN programming) said that it was "priests talking about their lives and vocations". I found that description acceptable and selected the program. And there appeared before my eyes a Carmelite Sister, talking about her discernment, and then about her life as a Sister. It was a great show.

Why have I never heard of it? So I went to EWTN's website to see if it's on at any other time. Because, let me be honest...I am NOT going to get up at 5:00 am every Sunday to plant myself in front of the TV, even for a show like this.

Well, good news...it's ALSO on Tuesdays at 2:30 pm!

Which isn't helpful. I'm always at work at that time. Which is good...to have a job, that is.

I don't know what EWTN is thinking here. I love EWTN. They're incredible. But THIS is REALLY BAD marketing! What audience do they have at those times? I just happened to find it, and would consider myself to be one of their target audience for such a program.

But I'm not going to be regularly available at this time of day, nor at 2:30 on a Tuesday. The funny thing is this: people who have their lives together enough to seriously be discerning something so big as their vocation, and actually considering religious life or priesthood are not home at 2:30 in the afternoon, typically. They're working, or sitting in class somewhere. And if they're up at 5:00 am, they're not likely to have the TV on because they're getting ready for Mass. Or they're praying. (I'm an anomoly).

So....there you have it. The program exists, it's great, and you should know about it. Everyone should know about it. It should be on prime. Or at least close to Prime.

Cool thing about today's though; it was a Sister from the Carmelites of the Divine Heart of Jesus. This was a community I wanted to visit a few years ago, although in a different location; Wisconsin. (Or maybe Indiana?). In any case, I tried to send emails but they didn't go through, and the timing didn't work out, anyway. But a friend of mine gave me a 2nd class relic of their foundress, which I still have.

OK, end of PSA for this morning.

Training Wheels

I mentioned in yesterday's Meme that I miss my Dad, and I do. Thankfully, I have many happy memories of him from childhood, before our family exploded into smithereens. I've mentioned that I was a "Daddy's girl", so as we approach June, I often think of him, of the fact I was nearly born on Father's day (Dad was SO hoping for that gift that year!), and of course, of our happy memories. Even the "disasters" of love gone awry are sweet, sweet memories that pack a punch even today.

My Dad was an unflagging optimist who stubbornly held onto ideas even when they were proven to be wrong...because they had to work! They just had to! And so he would try the same things again and again, making minor adjustments, sure that eventually the "formula" would be right and there would be success.

Unfortunately, sometimes his ideas, with love as the foundation, intruded into reality in ways he did not intend.

As a "Daddy's Girl", I always wanted to be around him and I trusted him implicitly; in my eyes, he could do no wrong. And so, when it came time for me to learn how to ride a bike, Dad was right there for me. I had been riding with training wheels, but Dad felt maybe it was time to give me my own wings. He knew I was afraid of falling, so I wouldn't let him take the training wheels off. Dad understood, so he studied the problem and came up with a solution.

He would leave the training wheels on...but he'd raise them a little bit. That way, as I rode, if I started to lose my balance, the bike would tip down on the wheel, which would be enough to stop it from tipping, and I'd be able to work to right it again. I agreed this idea was logical. Many things operate on such a principal...it was a "safety catch" of sorts. So I let him move the wheels.

Trusting Daddy, I got up on my bike, and started to pedal. And then I lost my balance...and spilled hard onto the pavement. I got up crying, and Dad dried my tears, assured me I was fine, and said he thought he knew what the problem was. He adjusted the wheels again, thinking that he'd put the training wheels up too high...if he lowered them, the idea would still work.

OK.

So off I went again...and crashed! And again, I was crying, and I didn't want to fall again so I told Dad his idea didn't work and I wanted the training wheels back like they were. Dad was very very sorry, but he asked for another chance, because he KNEW this idea would work! So, still trusting Daddy, trusting that all would be well, and his promises that I wouldn't crash, I let him adjust the training wheels again.

You see where I'm going with this, don't you? Yup. I crashed again. It was just like Charlie Brown and Lucy with the football. Over and over again. And that time, I was done crashing. I couldn't handle this any more, and I was really really crying. And this time when I got up I ran inside to get Mom. Because it really DID hurt when I hit the gravel and pavement, and I really was all scraped up, and although I knew Daddy really did think his idea would work, my bruises proved him wrong.

I still remember my dad's stricken expression as I ran away from him, refusing to be comforted, going to Mom, and my Dad turning again to his work, trying hard to help me learn how to ride a bike through proper mechanics.

Mom and my older brother (by 2 years) talked him into putting the training wheels as they were. And finally they all coaxed me out to get me to ride again, and Dad proved to me that the wheels were just as they had been, and he was really really sorry that I'd fallen before. And I accepted his apology and gingerly got on the bike...and rode off into the sunset.

Or at least down to the end of the street and back. A few weeks later, one of my brother's friends observed, "She's just dragging those wheels...she's riding all by herself." But I didn't believe him, as usually, they were always teasing me. I didn't want to crash. It took them a few days but finally I was convinced of their sincerity and allowed my brother's friend to take the wheels off.

I was terrified, but desperately wanted to trust I really could do this. I really did want to ride my bike, all by myself! So I began to pedal...and didn't tip! So I pedaled a little more...still going! I got to the end of the block, turned around, and rode past the house, triumphant, joyful, and proud! And I only wished Dad had been there to see me. It seemed wrong that he wasn't the one to take off the wheels. He'd offered to do so...but I'd refused, because I didn't trust him any more.

It's one of those bittersweet memories, but one I think we all have at some point; that our parents aren't perfect. I laugh even at spilling into the street and my Dad's absolute insistence that this would work. Why? Because I'm just like him, in more ways than I care to admit.

Trust is a huge thing. It's a big deal. It's foundational. And when trust is lost, it messes up a lot of other things, too. That day I learned that I couldn't always trust my Dad, and I followed through with that distrust by allowing someone else to take over "his" job.

I don't think this particular situation applies, as there is a difference in types of trust and "betrayal", which I define as any decimation of trust, big or small. So it was a small betrayal that day, maybe even a necessary one, but larger ones came later on in our lives. Yet it is in us to want to trust, to need to trust, and to really retain that as a foundation of all our relationships.

And who is it most important to trust? Our parents. They stand in for God, so when things go wrong with a family, there's a domino effect that carries the harm far beyond the family itself.

I've often thought about this especially since I started realizing that God was asking me to make a committment to Him..or SOMEONE. I've often lamented that it's hard to let God love me, and even that I don't love Him enough. And I think, as it's all on my end, it's from the trust that was destroyed when I was so young. Not from the bike and the training wheels, but from the destruction of my family.

I used to argue that although I come from a divorced family, I'm totally normal and fine and blah blah blah. Lies. I still remember making my last argument...and in that argument I affirmed the point that indeed, I have been injured by my family's crisis. No, I'm not angry with my parents, and objectively, the divorce was a good thing on many levels. Mom did what she had to do, and her decision protected us from worse harm. But that doesn't mean that there weren't casualties.

All of us. We're all a bunch of walking wounded.

But God is faithful, and over time, He knows how to rebuild trust. And He is patient, because it takes time. He first reveals Himself to us, and then asks us to take a step. And He gives us success. And then He asks for something more and something more. He rebuilds us. He reveals a larger family, and when we're ready, he takes off the training wheels. And even if the wheels fail, He is always there to catch us. We may fall of our own accord and sprawl in the street, but God never causes injury...He binds it.

My Dad wasn't perfect, and no parents can meet that standard. They do their best. My memory of the training wheels actually makes me love my Dad more for his flaws..and for the lesson he unwittingly provided. If he was still walking the earth, I'd call him up today and remind him of that...and of the lessons I've learned since then.

I think that part of the injury of broken homes comes from such a huge betrayal of trust on so many levels that the "walking wounded" don't even know that they have to forgive. But if we look back on the little things and see the small imperfections, it's much easier to look at the bigger ones in a different light. And from that standpoint, forgiveness comes more easily.

I forgave my Dad a long time ago for the little things, and I think that, now, as an adult I can finally forgive him for the bigger ones. Dad was nothing if not human, and if it wasn't for both the good and the bad, I wouldn't be the person I am today.

I miss you, Dad. Rest in Peace.
Requiem aeternam dona ei,
Domine, et lux perpetua luceat ei.
Requiescat in pace. Amen.