St. Albert the Great

Today is the feast of St. Albert the Great, Bishop, Doctor of the Church, Dominican, and teacher of St. Thomas Aquinas. Even as other students called St. Thomas a "dumb ox", St. Albert knew there was something in him that was not possessed by the other students, and indeed, his faith in his student was not in vain.

I have a special place in my own heart for St. Albert, for I believe he is one of the Saints that helped lead me back home.

At that time in my life I was struggling to come back to the Church. I'd begun attending Mass (although I hadn't been to Confession in about 10 or 11 years by that point), and a church near where I was living was named after the great Saint. It was somewhat of a dissenting parish with very low attendance, but it was close, it was convenient, and there was SOMETHING that kept drawing me. Noting the name of the church, I remember praying to this Saint I'd never heard of before, asking him for his help.

I was so thirsty for God, and had hope, every time I went, that I would indeed meeet God there. Nearly every week I'd be frustrated, though; the readings were great, but the "homily" was most often given by a woman, a Director of Religious Education, while the priest sat down and listened. While I was dying to hear something about the readings of that week, to learn more about Christ and obtain some kind of balm for my aching soul, I was given lessons in social statistics and subject to all sorts of "look how great we are for feeding x statistic of people!"

I wanted to know where Jesus was in all that; after all, I HAD a background in social services and had no problem getting my hands dirty. I had grown up eating from food shelves. But what I needed desperately was to know who God was, and where I could find Our Lord.

The church wasn't well attended, as I mentioned, but there were a few neighborhood elderly who had probably lived their lives in that neighborhood and who faithfully attended Mass each week. I wondered how they had survived. Even I, an uneducated fallen-away Catholic, could see that it seemed the parish had left them behind. Their devotion was obvious, especially during the Eucharistic prayers and the Consecration, when they knelt, sometimes with great difficulty, as perfectly healthy younger people stood. I knew we should all be kneeling, although I didn't really understand why. But something prompted me to follow their devotion, and kneel when they knelt.

A couple weeks later, I noticed that another young-ish type person sitting near me was watching me when I knelt...and she knelt, too. And so did someone else. Then so did a few more. It seemed to be confirmation that indeed, we should be kneeling, and I was thankful for the dear ladies and gentlemen who had the courage to be faithful, showing the rest of us proper reverence even for mysteries we did not understand.

I didn't know what was wrong or why this church was doing things differently than everyone else.

Nor do I know exactly what St. Albert did to interceed for me, but I do know this; that church, in spite of all the dissent and liturgical abuse, in spite of the spiritual malpractice going on there, was a very important waystation in my faith.

It was there that God began to console me through certain words of certain hymns, causing a certain miracle to happen one day at the beginning of Lent; that miracle is maybe for another post. Suffice to say that I knew God had heard my sincere prayer of repentance: Lord, have mercy on me!

That year, I attended the evening service on Good Friday. As of that point, I still had not been to confession, still too terrified to go. But I went forward to venerate the cross, knelt down and placed my hand on the wood. Suddenly I could almost see Our Lord nailed to the wood above me, and I could almost feel his blood dripping on my head. I was certain that, had I looked upward, I would have gazed upon Him as He took his last breath. It was a profound moment as I suddenly understood that this really happened, Jesus had died for me, and yes....Jesus loved me and wanted me back.

I returned to my pew, shaken, in tears, wanting nothing more than to return to the Cross and remain there forever.

Somehow, in spite of all the craziness, in spite of my own sinful life, in spite of my fear, Jesus got through to me, perhaps through the intercession of St. Albert the Great who refused to give up on me.

I didn't know then that he was a Dominincan, or St. Thomas Aquinas's teacher. I had never heard of the Summa. But now, having returned Home, in looking back at that waystation, at the connections made for me, I'm not surprised by any of those facts. After all...St. Thomas is one of my patrons (this blog being under his direct patronage, the name chosen when I didn't know he'd penned the hymn), and of course, I am drawn to the Dominican spirituality. Even more...the thirst to know God even more, and to make Him known to others seems not to abate, even as I drink of the Living Water, and continue to kneel at Calvary every week, sometimes every day.

Thank you, St. Albert, for your intercession. Pray for us!
*

Ice Clinking in a Glass

The sound comes into my peripheral memory in the strangest moments. The sound of ice clinking in a class, a memory from childhood that has echoed through the years, reverberating in dark moments, striking me as somehow only those kinds of memories can.

The sound came to me this afternoon as a co-worker and I discussed some of the "protecting children" curriculum came into our conversation. Not all of it is bad, but I have great concerns about some; and one of my greatest concerns is that it seems to place responsiblity in the hands of children. Resposibility that they don't and shouldn't have.

I will not go into detail about this; those who work with it know of what I am speaking, and those who have lived out such responsibility in different ways will hear the same echoes as I, and shudder at the coldness that robs us of our sense of security.

Weekend at Dad's

Mom and Dad were separated by then, and Dad was living at his sister's house, so on weekends, my brother and I were packed off to stay for the weekend. It was summer, I remember, because on that weekend we were celebrating my birthday and Father's day, so our Grandparents were there, too.

As she sent us off, Mom told me, "Now, remember that your Dad isn't supposed to be drinking when he has you kids, so don't let your Daddy drink, and don't go anywhere with him if he does."

I remember taking those words to heart. I knew that because Mom and Dad were "getting divorced", I had to be a "big girl" and behave when Mom wasn't around. So if Mom gave me instructions in any way, I knew I had to be obedient ESPECIALLY then...and in my heart, I thought it meant I had to be responsible to take care of those around me. I had to "grow up" and not be so shy all the time. I had to have the same courage Mom did.

I had to be like Mom. A grown-up.

My brother and I arrived at our Aunt's house, where the kitchen smelled of something wonderful, the lights were bright, and there was a festive atmosphere in honor of the occasions being celebrated. We were ushered into the dining room where the adults were laughing and talking, exclaiming over us, and sending us off to drop off our weekend bags.

When I came back downstairs, they were all pouring drinks for themselves, and even Dad had one in his hand. I could hear the sound of ice being scooped and dropped into tumblers, the sound of adults walking past with the liquid and frozen water making "tinkling" noises around me.

I was becoming alarmed; I thought that everyone knew what the rules were, and the rules meant that Dad couldn't drink. It didn't seem right that everyone else was...or behaving as though he was supposed to be doing so. I remember how Grandpa said he didn't want anything, refusing. My eyes fixed on him, hoping in him. I was offended for and with him as my Aunt, Grandmother, Uncle, and even my Dad pressured him to have a drink.

Finally, to my great disappointment, Grandpa gave in and agreed to have one, and everyone rejoiced. My brother was dispassionate; maybe he was absorbed in the TV by then, immune to the goings-on in the dining room. But I realized my last ally had fallen and that left only me.

Where did a little girl like you learn a word like THAT!?

I didn't know what to do; I knew that I was responsible for whatever was happening, but I was even more aware that I had no authority, and didn't understand why I was expected to stand up for what was right. But there it was, and I knew that I had a job to do, whether I liked it or not.

Mom expected it of me.

I think I said something to Dad, but he ignored me or made a joke. So I thought maybe Grandma was the best source; after all, maybe she knew the rule and had forgotten it. In any case, if she knew the rule, she was Dad's Mom, so she could tell him to stop, and order would be restored.

I knew that order did not rest in me; somehow, even though I felt responsible, I thought maybe I was only a messenger; the role of enforcer was someone else.

Grandma, while moving around the room, finally came near me, so I tugged quietly on her sleeve, wanting to be discreet. I knew that what I had to say to her was "no one's business." Besides, I was shy and didn't want to speak up, anyway.

I can still remember what she was wearing, how it matched the color of her kitchen back in Michigan but seemed out of place here in our Aunt's dining room. It, like everything else about that day, was completely out of place.

Grandma bent down to hear me, smiling, her lipstick bright against her teeth, the ice clinking in the glass she held in her left hand, condensation forming already as she shook it, stirring it up.

I hesitated, so she asked me loudly to tell her whatever I wanted to say.

Gathering up my courage with everything I had, I whispered, "Mommy says Daddy isn't supposed to drink 'cause he gets drunk."

Grandma stood up quickly, taken aback, a scowl on her face, her ice clinking again in her glass. She moved so quickly I think she might have lost half of whatever it contained.

"Where did a little girl like you EVER learn a word like THAT!?"

I cringed at her exclamation, realizing immediately that my plan had failed, and that my trust had been in vain.

Her cry caused silence to descend upon the dining room, and even my brother poked his head out of the TV room to see what was going on. Grandma repeated what I had said, to the complete and utter shock of all present. My brother shook his head and went back into hiding. He was the smart one.

I stood there, cringing as Dad alternately laughed and belittled Mom, Grandma and our Aunt chewed me out for having learned "bad words", and then launched into a criticism of Mom for having said such things in our hearing. I looked to Grandpa, and he looked sympathetic but remained silent, perhaps having lost this battle long before.

My defeat was utter and complete. I think I was too shocked even to cry.

When my public humiliation was over, I slinked off to join my brother, who told me I shouldn't have said anything at all. I already knew. He told me to hang out with him, let them do what they were going to do, and we could watch TV and stay out of the way.

***

To this day, when I hear ice dropping into a glass, a part of me cringes. There are often responsibilities "given" to children that they aren't supposed to have, and which no one intends for them to embrace. But every time it happens, that child is scarred. Some are worse than others. In the end, with everything we do, we have to remember to whom information is being given, how they understand it...and if we are unwittingly putting the innocent in a place where they have no authority, yet making them believe that they do.

To do this is disaster, and no child should ever have to experience it. I can honestly say that because of my experience that weekend, there were other things I did not report to my parents that I should have; because I thought I was responsible. I thought it was my fault.

It wasn't Mom's intention to do any such thing; her words were out of concern, and were completely thoughtless as to how I would take them. I believe she was only "thinking out loud".

Everyone...watch your words, watch your thoughts, and don't ever do anything to make a child think they are responsible for the behavior of an adult. They will take that responsibility to heart, for out of their innocence, they will do anything to please you...and will meet with disaster.

*

Loving Our Enemies

From today's Office of Readings from a homily written in the second century:

(Note that the bold is my emphasis, as well as some of the italics):

My name is constantly blasphemed by unbelievers, says the Lord. Woe to the man who causes my name to be blasphemed. Why is the Lord’s name blasphemed? Because we say one thing and do another. When they hear the words of God on our lips, unbelievers are amazed at their beauty and power, but when they see that those words have no effect in our lives, their admiration turns to scorn, and they dismiss such words as myths and fairy tales.

They listen, for example, when we tell them that God has said: It is no credit to you if you love those who love you, but only if you love your enemies, and those who
hate you. They are full of admiration at such extraordinary virtue, but when they observe that we not only fail to love people who hate us, but even those who love us, they laugh us to scorn, and the Name is blasphemed.

Therefore, brothers, if we do the will of God the Father, we shall be members of the first spiritual Church that was created before the sun and the moon; but if we fail to do the will of the Lord, we shall be among those to whom it is said in Scripture: My house has been made into a robbers’ den. We must choose then, if we want to be saved, to be members of the Church of life.

You surely cannot be ignorant of the fact that the living Church is the body of Christ; for Scripture says: God made man male and female. Now the male signifies Christ, and the female signifies the Church, which, according to both the Old and New Testament, is no recent creation, but has existed from the beginning. At first the Church was purely spiritual, even as our Jesus was spiritual, but it appeared in the last days to save us.

For the spiritual Church was made manifest in the body of Christ, in order to show us that if we uphold its honour in the outward, visible form, and do not defile it, we shall, through the Holy Spirit, be made its members in the true, spiritual sense. For the body of the Church is a copy of the Spirit, and no one who defaces the copy can have any part in what the copy represents. In other words, brothers, you must preserve the honour of the body in order to share in the Spirit. For if we say that the body is the Church and the Spirit is Christ, it follows that anyone who dishonours his body, dishonours the Church. Such a man will have no part in the Spirit, which is Christ. But if the Holy Spirit is joined to it, this body can receive an immortal life that is wonderful beyond words, for the blessings that God has made ready for his chosen ones surpass all human powers of description.

***
The message is clear. If we are not living our lives with reference to God, remaining aloof from the temptations of popular culture, choosing instead to be like others in hatred of our enemies, then we are blaspheming the name of the Lord.

We claim to love, and then fail to even try.

We criticize our enemies with ad hominim attacks, just as those who hate us do to us. We sometimes join into these attacks, justifying our actions by saying, "Well, they deserved it."

Whether they deserve spite or verbal retribution is a moot point; if we aren't holding up the command of Christ to love our enemies, and instead we take on the methods of common culture in literary, verbal, or technological discourse, then we are not only disobedient, but we are blasphemous through our actions at the very least.

Mea culpa, Domine, Mea culpa.

Book Review: Vocation in Black and White

Book Review: Vocation in Black and White

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Many women, however, have been called to the Dominican Nuns’ contemplative way of life. In honor of 800 years of Dominican ministry, twenty-three nuns share their stories of how God invited them to this way of life in Vocation in Black and White: Dominican Contemplative Nuns Tell How God Called Them. The stories are amazing. It is so interesting to read of the various ways God speaks to a soul. There is no set blueprint, no formula by which someone can be certain that they have a call to contemplative life. Sometimes it was an interior voice that spoke in a woman’s heart. Other times, it was the simple unfolding of circumstances that led a woman to the Dominicans’ door. There is no set background a woman must have had.

Read the whole thing! That book is HUGELY on my reading list (when this semester ends mid-December...)

Sad News

Please keep my friend Father Schnippel and his family in your prayers.

He recently lost his grandfather and the funeral is on Saturday. You may read Father's touching reflection about his Grandpa here.

Eternal rest grant unto him o Lord;
May your face shine upon him
And may he rest in peace. Amen.

Réquiem ætérnam dona ei Dómine;
et lux perpétua lúceat ei.
Requiéscatin pace. Amen.

Let My Cry Come To You

I can't understand how I can be so surrounded by sacramentals and theological tomes, prayer books...and prayer itself...and still be running from God. And feeling so abandoned by God.

All day long, other than my rosary en route to work this morning, I have been avoiding God. I left work in order to return home, still struggling with the papers that are due this weekend, and not ONCE did I open my Liturgy of the Hours. Once home, I simply chose not to leave again, favoring my solitude, choosing not even to invite God into the work I think I'm doing for and with Him.

One of my papers is nearly done; it needs only a conclusion. The other needs approximately 500 words...and much better organization. I'm going to call that class a wash. At this point I barely care. And my other class...well, that one won't be a well-done assignment, either. Such is life.

En route to work this morning, as I prayed, the familiar doubts crept into my mind. Who is God? Where is He, really? Do I REALLY believe all this stuff? Do I really want to give up my entire life for these beliefs?

I reminded myself that faith, while it is a gift, it is also an act of the will. Yes, I choose to believe, even when it's hard. Even when I "get nothing" out of it. Even when God's voice is silent, both personally and through the voices of others.

So all day, although I normally pray the different hours (some days better than others), today it remained in my bag, untouched. Finally, this evening, knowing that there is a reason these volumes were gifted into my hands, I opened it up. The feast days STILL confuse me, but 1130 was indicated so I opened to that page and began to read.

That reading quickly turned into the prayer I haven't been able to formulate today.

Psalm 102

O Lord, listen to my prayer
and let my cry for
help reach you.
Do not hide your face from me
in the day of my distress.
Turn your ear towards me
and answer me quickly when I call.

For my days are vanishing like smoke,
my bones burn away like a fire.
My heart is withered like the grass.
I forget to eat my bread.
I cry with all my strength
and my skin clings to my bones.

I have become like a pelican in the wilderness,
like an owl in desolate places.
I lie awake and I moan
like some lonely bird on a roof.
All day long my foes revile me;
those who hate me use my name as a curse.

The bread I eat is ashes;
my drink is mingled with tears
In your anger, Lord, and your
fury you have lifted me up and thrown me down.
My days are like a passing shadow
and I wither away like the grass.

I'm constantly amazed at how the psalms speak so clearly in the voids where we cannot. Even if the words aren't exactly right, the tone, the sentiment, everything expressed so often fits the situation.

When I was a teen, I remember opening the Bible to the psalms, and I remember, over and over, reading this exact psalm. The situation was different, I didn't have the same understanding, but then, as today, I know that God drew me to those words...and into them. It is not so much that they express my deepest thoughts, but more, that God communicates something to us through them, and draws us to willingly reveal ourselves more honestly to Him.

God already knows our inmost being, far more than any of us ever will. And yet, here I am, as usual, running away from Him. Avoiding Him. Knowing that He knows all, He understands all, and yes, even that I believe in spite of the doubts.

Here I am, having been delving deeply into different facets of theology all day (and I'm not nearly finished), still trying to escape. But I can't. And you know...I'm tired. I'm tired of running, and of having nowhere to flee. I'm tired of seeking, not really knowing my goal. And I'm tired of watching my life pass by, day after day, not really sure why.

Today, I'm withering away like grass, and my life is a passing shadow.
Lord, let my cry come to you.

*

Applause at Mass

Fr. Pelletier does it again, in his post Parish the Thought: Pope Benedict XVI quotes.

“Wherever applause breaks out in the liturgy because of some human achievement, it is a sure sign that the essence of liturgy has totally disappeared and been replaced by a kind of religious entertainment. Such attraction fades quickly - it cannot compete in the market of leisure pursuits, incorporating as it increasingly does various forms of religious titillation.”

This EXACT QUOTE came to mind this very Sunday at Mass. My parish is a good one, but there is this problem that seems to have insidiously infected nearly every parish in America...the idea that everyone who does what they are supposed to do must be thanked with applause.

In the case I will describe, it's slightly more understandable, but still denotes a disorder in the focus of of the congregation. You see, once per month, the children's choir performs at Mass. (No, I did not use that word by accident.) They do a good job, but the Music Director thinks it necessary to bring certain "soloists" to the forefront, in order to "highlight" their "talent" during the Mass. Now, mind you, this is not the same thing as using a Cantor as a soloist during the Psalm, which is entirely appropriate. No; I'm speaking of almost every song being used as a type of obvious performance.

In Liturgy, there is a difference between "leading worship" and "performing". Our Music Director is leading the children to believe that this is a "performance", for the attention is being called to them, and away from God, through both the type of music being used and the apparent need to "highlight" them. And I have to say, at my parish, several of the musical groups seem to have the idea that this is a "performance". I'm not entirely certain that our own Musical Director has ever learned to lead worship; her own strength seems to be in performance, and that seems to be where she belongs.

Unfortunately, that attitude does NOT belong in the Liturgy.

I don't fault the children; they are doing what they are told, they are having fun doing it, and musical abilities are being encouraged. These are all very good things. As a former child/teen cantor and musician, and knowing what such experience did for me, I can't entirely condemn it, and in fact, I do encourage the idea of children's choirs at mass. No problem.

HOWEVER!

Again, speaking as a former teen Cantor and musician...I also know the mindset. Children, such as those exploited at Mass on Sunday, are entirely innocent. But they are being taught an ultimately terrible lesson, one that feeds into the very poor theology being taught by some schools; the lateral kind. The "It's all about me and us!" kind. The "Let's celebrate ourselves!" kind. The kind that takes the focus from God and places it on us.

After Mass on Sunday, before the final blessing, Father thanked the Children's Choir and LEAD applause! And of course, after the "Final Song" (What they now call the Recessional).

I understand why he did it, because, of couse, he wants to encourage the children. And they SHOULD be encouraged!

On the other hand, this Priest, who I know to be a very holy priest who has seen much suffering in his life and has great devotion to Jesus, may not realize that this applause, along with the way the Music Director is going about her "ministry" is actually teaching the children, AND everyone present, that Mass is just another type of performance, and that human effort is to be applauded.

Yes, I am an authority on this topic because I inadvertantly received this kind of "education." I have always loved music, and began using my talents at the parish in which I grew up in a very humble and innocent manner. However, as my talent grew, so did my responsibilities...and so did my "fan base". When I played my flute, especially if the Recessional was musical, people would feel obligated to remain behind and applaud. In the choir, we were often applauded....pretty much every Sunday we sang. And in my own mind, I began working on my nerves by thinking of Mass as another "performance'.

My initial use of the idea of "performance" was actually pretty innocent; it was all about my nerves and taking on another persona in order to talk myself into professionalism (and out of fear!). But the applause actually fed my ego, and over time, I developed this idea that Mass WAS a "performance venue", and that's how I responded. I EXPECTED applause. It was no longer about God...it was about ME.

It made me a Liturgical Diva.

So it is that, having gotten away from this and grown up, I am concerned about the use of applause during Mass, or even after Mass. If we are applauding people, then it means we have taken our focus from God, and as our Dear Pope Benedict XVI has noted, it has placed it on human achievement.

Let us realize that applause has NO PLACE at Mass....during or after. Mass is NOT about us. Mass is SACRED, it is about God, and if applause is necessary, it can be done in the "gathering space" when Mass is over. Or if people need to thank the children, they can do so discreetly. (I also know from experience that this type of thanks means a LOT MORE than mass adulation, but doesn't have the same detrimental effect.)

Even now that I work in a parish, it is one where the Pastor feels the need to thank people during Mass. He wanted to do so last spring after First Communion, and I said nothing because my catechists (major volunteers who carry the program on their backs) thought it was nice that Father thanked them publicly. I knew that if I asked Father not to mention us, my Catechists would take it the wrong way; and so I was silent. Father himself is very orthodox, but has been, like so many of us, affected by the culture of latitude, and I think he feels PRESSURED to lead applause.

People have come to expect it. They think that if Father doesn't publicly lead applause, that their work isn't appreciated.

NOTHING COULD BE FURTHER FROM THE TRUTH!

It is Christ's words that reveal where our souls and virtue must lie, if we would only listen. We are all asked to exercise our talents without applause. The Master does not come into his home and applaud the servant; rather, He arrives, sits down and waits to be served. The Servant does what he is asked; how is it right for him to demand or expect adulation for carrying out his expected duties?

If we are serving our parish, we need to be doing so with the proper perspective. We must not do it out of a desire for attention, but out of love for God. Out of a desire to use our abilities to glorify God.

If we are the ones being glorified, that is an indicator of disorder within ourselves, and within those seeking to glorify us.

We don't participate in our parishes in order to be loved; God is sufficient. It's not about us. All must be directed to God.

So please, to all you Music Directors and Priests, to all the Liturgical Directors, as a recovering Diva I IMPLORE you to stop this suggested and...dare I say it...forced...adulation of the different "performers" at Mass? Can we PLEASE be allowed to adore God without being forced to applaud those who are supposed to be pointing us to our Lord and not mere servantship?

VIRUS ALERT!

My gentle readers, it is only through God's Providence and my dear brother's wisdom that I can "speak" to you this evening. And because of this, I'm going to give you a warning in the hopes that you don't get the scare that I did (and still somewhat have...).

This afternoon I was scanning the web while working on my papers, and clicked on a link that highlighted the search term. Something TOLD me not to click on the link...something looked fishy. But no, I didn't listen to that little feeling and as the web page loaded, I can't really say I was surprised when my AVG anti-virus window also popped up, advising me that my computer had just been infected. It highlighted three nasty-looking viruses, and advised me to act immediately to remove them. It gave me instructions to click on "save" or run" in order to erase the damage. (And I was especially alarmed as one of the "viruses" or malware it was naming had the word "porn" in it!). YUCK! YUCK! PANIC! GET IT OFF MY COMPUTER NOW!

But I knew something was wrong. Something didn't seem right. My anti-virus software is up to date; a download seems inappropriate. I remember that when I worked for my previous company, they said that if a virus is detected, to shut down immediately and contact tech support.

Well, I still wasn't sure if this was my own anti-virus, or if it was something else. I wasn't willing to download something I couldn't recognize. I didn't recognize the name of the program it wanted to install in order to clean my computer, even though it APPEARED to be part of AVG. In fact, it APPEARED to be the AVG page and had their logo all over it. It APPEARED to be a reaction to the link I clicked!

So I didn't shut down or disconnect from the internet....I picked up my cell and called my brother. Cool thing; I called his regular number, but apparently he doesn't normally have it on him during the work day. And I didn't have his work number. He just HAPPENED to be walking past his jacket when he heard his phone ring...and picked it up.

THANK GOD!

I told my brother what I did, and what I was seeing. He explained that it was in fact, NOT my AVG anti-virus software reacting; it was the virus itself. And if I downloaded it, I'd have to get a new computer. He deals with this nasty thing almost every day, and quite literally worked HOURS to get the bug off different customer's computers, to no avail. He had to advise his customers that the only way to fix it was to replace the computer, which he was doing for them.

IF THIS HAPPENS TO YOU:

These are the instructions my brother gave me:

* Shut down.
* As the virus-window wouldn't close, he said to hit Alt-F4, which also didn't work.
* I was able to disconnect from the internet with no problem, and THEN the virus-window closed.
* Restart.
* From the START menu, go to My Computer
* right-click on the (C;) drive.
* Click on "scan with AVG" (I imagine that if you use a different anti-virus it will name it as Norton or what have you) The scan took about 45 min.

I had a Trojan type virus, which the software quarantined, and one other problem, which was also "healed" in AVG-speak.

WHY THE VIRUS DIDN'T DOWNLOAD COMPLETELY

My brother configured my computer for me a couple years ago when I purchased it. He was, in fact, my "broker" and custom-designed it for me through Dell. This work he did was part of a Christmas gift for me (I paid for the computer, but his time and effort at a very professional level was his gift.)

It's configured to have a user account and an Admin account. The user account has massive firewalls that require permissions in order to download things. The Admin account has a different type of firewall, and is basically the "permission" account,which he advised me to use ONLY for installs; ie yearly software updates, etc. There are SOME things that can be downloaded on my user account; for example, I can download songs from itunes. I can't update itunes to the next version, however, without logging in as Admin.

The accounts are separate, which protects me from....viruses. I also run a spybot check every so often, and have NEVER had to erase one. So the system works.

Today, the virus was probably "frustrated" because it COULDN'T do the damage it wanted to do; my brother protected me well.

And so, the moral of the story is this: if you are as dumb as I was to click on a questionable link, you better hope your brother set up your system to protect you from your own stupidity.

The nice moral: IF YOU CLICK ON A BAD LINK....shut down, call someone who knows more than you do, and DO NOT be fooled into downloading the virus! This is a nasty, nasty thing, and there must be a special place in Hell for unrepentant virus-progenitors. And hackers. But you can protect yourself and save your computer by simply not allowing downloads that you did not initiate.

I DID have a virus on my computer today, and had I let it download, I might be looking at getting a new computer, in spite of my firewalls. As it was, it was contained by my REAL software and eliminated. It ended well, and I'm thankful.

I don't even want to think about how I would reproduce all my papers due ths weekend...all the work not backed up that I did today....oy....!

God is good. And so are computer-geek brothers!

(P.S. - I think this makes up for all the terrible things he did to me when we were growing up. It's hard to be the little sister!)

A Soul is like a Car Wreck

Sometimes God gives us a glimpse of His Mercy in unexpected ways.

About a year or so ago, when I worked as an Insurance Investigator, I was handling a claim that was very fishy. It was a stolen vehicle claim, the car was really a mess, and was at the shop, waiting for us to complete our investigation. However, I knew the customer was lying and that the car WASN'T stolen. It had a security system that had not been defeated, and his story as to how a thief had allegedly gotten his keys simply didn't ring true. The location of the car made no sense...unless the owner himself had been driving it at the time of the accident.

When I took his statement, I even confronted him and asked him directly, "Are you sure that you weren't just drunk, crashed your car, and fled the scene?"

He denied it. And yet...I knew he was lying. So the investigation dragged on as I continued to interview his witnesses, obtain reports, etc.

Finally it came down to the wire. If he didn't come clean with me, I was going to have to take the claim to a conference call with the big heads and legal, and obtain permission to deny the claim: the car wasn't stolen. It was time to have what we in the biz call the "Come to Jesus" speech.

"Come to Jesus"

It was a long conversation. And over the years, in fact, I'd gotten rather good at these types of dialogues. There are two keys to this: 1. you first have to convince the other party that you do indeed know the truth but need confirmation of it, and, 2. that you do truly have their best interests at heart. That means you have to highlight the bad result and direct them towards the good. In other words, "Come to Jesus."

I'd already given him several chances to tell the truth. I'd given him all the consequences and the possible outcomes, I'd even thrown several bones by way of helping him tell me the truth, indicating that was all I needed. I wasn't the police; I was his insurer, and I needed to know the truth because I wasn't willing to testify in court to a lie should a victim come forward and have a claim to present.

Nor should this guy want to be in court with this story...he'd be torn to pieces.

So, on that last opportunity, I laid it out. I explained that I knew he wasn't being truthful, I suspected the reason why, but if he didn't admit what really happened, the people over my head were going to make a decision that didn't bode well for him. I laid out all the legal ramifications of our denial of his claim, should that be the decision. I gave him dollar values, and knowing there was third party damage, I gave him a quote on that bill, which was destined to come his way.

It was a good conversation; I was matter-of-fact about it, encouraged him to be honest, and did my best to let him know that it was in his very best interest to come clean and tell the truth. I knew that if he did, I could proceed, all would be well, and this entire mess would be done. He was becoming more and more nervous, and more and more interested in our dialogue. He asked questions, hemmed and hawed, and I could hear him take several deep breaths, trying to calm his shaking voice. I knew that SOMETHING I'd said had struck a chord, and he was FINALLY understanding what he was facing.

And then I used a technique I learned long ago in law enforcement training: silence. He agonized in it, and came to a decision. I asked if he needed a moment, said that I could take another statement, but if he had to think about it, I understood, as I'd just thrown a lot of information his way. I also said that I would remain available for questions or other concerns.

More silence. Silence is key.

But no; he didn't want to wait, had no more questions, and didn't want to call back. he was ready. He took another deep breath and told me to start the tape, which I did, giving the standard introduction, and just asked him to tell me what happened in his own words. He admitted that he'd been drinking, he didn't call a cab, he didn't lose his keys, but chose to drive. En route home he lost control and crashed, hard, into something he couldn't identify. (It was a cement median pole...dunno how he hit THAT, but he did. Really hard.) Frightened, he ran away and called his friend (a witness who had given me the key to the real deal) who gave him a ride home. I had only a couple question; did he have any passengers? No. And was he injured? No. (Amazing, actually...you should have seen that car...massive impact.)

I thanked him, turned off the recorder, and said, "OK, that's it. I'll call the shop and tell them to start repairs, cut the check out for the estimate I've written so far, and will call the rental company to accept the bill."

He was shocked. One moment he'd been terrified to tell me the real story, the next moment I simply accepted the truth...and went ahead with what he needed.

"That's it?" He asked, increduously, "That's all? .....THANK YOU!"

And I'd never heard such relief or joy in someone's voice.

What he did was what we both needed him to do, and for good reason. All along I'd known, and knew what to do when he finally came clean...and what would happen if he didn't. But he didn't know, couldn't see it, and was acting out of fear in hiding his sin.

A Glimpse of God's View

That night when I was driving home, it hit me: that's how God sees us. That was an example of His own mercy. When we sin, we do the same thing - we try to hide it. We suffer guilt, we tell ourselves that things will be made worse if we are honest and speak the truth. We expect to be berated, or punished. We steel ourselves against an onslaught of righteous anger.

None of us ever gets over the idea that we're going to "get into trouble". We are forever fallen children.

And that's why God's Mercy is so incredible; for even though we DESERVE the worst punishment, when we come to Him, we experience nothing but love and mercy. All God wants us to do is to come to Him, to be honest, and to stop trying to hide the things in our lives that He already knows about. It is only when we take this action that He can work to restore us to our original dignity. Our souls cannot be repaired without our permission.

I knew the sound of relief in my customer's voice on that day; for his relief, and his words, are often my own. His nervous, shaking voice...also mine. His ducking and denials of what I knew to be the truth...me, all the way. And in the end, his relief, at finally speaking the words of what really happened...that is familar as well. It was followed by grateful joy when he learned that truly, I delivered what I promised all along, and it was over. He could move on. Yup...I've been there, too.

He even exclaimed at how good it felt to tell the truth.

All I did for that man was my job, but I see that even the work that I did operated on the hierarchy of God's Providence, revealing to both my customer and I different facets of God's love, and His ordering of the world. On that day, I got to participate in both God's justice and His Mercy...and my customer was the recipient. And in that participation, I obtained a glimpse into the "other side" of Mercy: that of dispensing mercy; for to do so IS just!

I have to be honest; that customer helped me to see Our Lord, and the blessed Sacrament of Confession through new eyes. One thing that I think we as the laity often miss is that on the other side of the screen, or in the other chair, the guy with God's Authority is also a human being. Maybe Father doesn't know all the details about someone that I knew as an Investigator, or perhaps he does, if he knows the person well. And how he must pray mightily that a soul will "come to Jesus" and obtain the grace he needs.

But how well he must know the interior struggle of that person, and how well he must rejoice when the penitent sitting in front of him (0r behind the screen) exclaims, "That's IT?!", nearly weeping in relief. And that dear Priest, dispensing Mercy in the name and person of Christ Himself, knows the feeling, too.

I gotta say it; we're all a bunch of car wrecks waiting for repair, but if we can't admit where and why we made a wrong turn, there isn't a shop in the world that can restore us. Only Christ can do that, and we have but to ask. Mercy awaits.

What are YOU waiting for?
*

Why Our Country Needs Bloggers...

...now, more than ever.

Many bloggers have posted articles of late of President-elect Obama's plans to start up an American version of Hitler's Youth. But it seems that Obama's own site leaked out the plans requiring this particular "service", and ever since bloggers picked it up, the wording on the site has changed.

Check out this article that goes into depth in its explanation:

The official website of President-Elect Barack Obama, Change.gov, originally announced that Obama would "require" all middle school through college students to participate in community service programs; but after a flurry of blogs protested children being drafted into Obama's proposed youth corps, the website's wording was softened.

Originally, under the tab "America Serves" Change.gov read, "President-Elect Obama will expand national service programs like AmeriCorps and Peace Corps and will create a new Classroom Corps to help teachers in under served schools, as well as a new Health Corps, Clean Energy Corps, and Veterans Corps.

"Obama will call on citizens of all ages to serve America, by developing a plan to require 50 hours of community service in middle school and high school and 100 hours of community service in college every year," the site announced.

Go read the rest!

I don't have time to add my own commentary now, but suffice to say...if we the public don't react to these things, we will truly become the crabs in the boiling pot. We already know the media isn't honest and are falling all over themselves to keep our new President-elect from being questioned too closely. So let's continue to do our own work and hold them all accountable.

At least...until they crack down and we lose our free speech completely.
*

UPDATE: Obama is cleary out of touch, like the rest of the politicians. He clearly didn't have to pay his own way through Harvard, nor did he have to worry about anything during High School. Has he SEEN the schedules of High School students these days? They're so programmed they can barely stay awake in class! And, when I was in college, I worked 2 jobs and volunteered in another (for experience and because I enjoyed it). Maybe Obama's plan would include my volunteer work; maybe it wouldn't. But I can honestly say I had NOTHING ELSE to give. It's completely unreasonable to FORCE community service. Thank God that, for now, it's against the law to require service.

But how long before that law changes? How long before our Constitution is irrevocably altered, and this becomes a Fascist country? How long before Lady Liberty is so defiled that we have to send her back to France...for good?

How long before these very questions are silenced?

Since he doesn't allow comments...

Parish the Thought: Adoro te Devote: Patrick Madrid Has a Blog!

OK, now I'm getting it from all sides. Actually I'm just getting it from Ohio. Maybe Patrick and Adoro have ganged up on me because they are both in Ohio? Consipiracy I tell you, Conspiracy!

Anyway . . . I have enough fun moderating comments every day at the Paris (especially after the Sunday Homilies) so I don't need the extra work on the blog.

Sorry y'all - but it WAS fun to tell folks to change their clocks. Arizonan's don't feel a need to mess with time to make our days productive!

Well, see, since the good Father doesn't allow comments, he now thinks that both Patrick Madrid and I are from Ohio.

I just want to make it clear to him that I'm NOT from Ohio, but from Minnesota, even though I totally agree with Mr. Madrid with regard to the Arizona Father's policy of not allowing comments. It's just that I have some really wonderful friends throughout Ohio, even though I actually inhabit this Great White North, Don'cha know? Although a case could be made that the Midwestern Catholics are forming a conspiracy, if not those from Ohio specifically.

You know, Father Pelletier, if you allowed comments I would have been able to say simply, "Oh, yah, I'm from MN, would you like some fresh hotdish before I head out on the lake to put da house out der for ice fishin?" And that would be the end of it. But it seems we can't even email you to say a simple comment....so there ya go!

Bless yer heart!, as my friends in Kentucky and Tennesse would say.....and a few friends in Ohio who know the phrase....

:-D

Patrick Madrid Has a Blog!

Mantilla twitch to Fr. Pelletier who has this to say: Parish the Thought: Patrick’s Back!


Personally, I'm excited, too. I recently heard Patrick Madrid speak at the Coming Home Network conference in Ohio, and, especially given that I had lived in the land of his topic, it was one of my favorite talks. He's both an engaging writer and speaker, so I look forward to following his blog.

Oh, and my dear readers, if you haven't, check out Fr. Pelletier's blog as well. He doesn't allow comments, but I for one have to thank him for posting useful information, such as a reminder of Daylight Savings time. You see, even though he's in Arizona (they don't change their clocks), he had a post that reminded me that we, in Minnesota DO...and I would have been in HUGE trouble if I'd forgotten that detail! Thanks, Father, for that and many of the other things you've written. (You know...comment moderation isn't THAT bad...) ;-)

OK, I SHOULD be trying to finish my paper on analysis of Zephanaiah and St. Catherine of Siena and starting my paper on Dignity...and now I have a blog post to show for what I've REALLY been doing. And now it's time for me to head off to Adoration, maybe Confession....

Vocations Personality?

Can I be honest with you all?

Now that I've "come out" about my discernment to religious life (which I still hope you won't get all giddy and comment upon - I hate sappiness), I have to share with you one of the issues that will likely bother me forever and an age.

I have some wonderful friends who are very holy Catholic women. Yet I feel alienated from them; for some reason, I can't identify with them on some level. This was true even when I was in college, for I had friends then who lived holy lives, exuded holy values, and were wonderful people. Even as I saw their joy, and even their purity, I always felt like I couldn't come into that light, and so it repelled me. I wanted to have what they had, but there was something that made me want to run the other way.

There is a local group of good young adult Catholics that, even though they are wonderful and friendly and holy, I've never felt a part of the group. We see each other on occasion, greet each other, and sure, there is friendship, and if there was a need, this group would respond. They are true Catholics. I do love these people, but they aren't the people I call if I am looking for something to do and just in need of friendship.

Some of them have considered the priesthood, and some have or are considering religious life. Some are married, some are single. All of them are faithful, practicing Catholics. This summer I went to a wedding of a person in that group, and found this group of friends, but still felt apart from it in some way.

Earlier this year, I attended a dinner at a restaurant, very informal, for a friend leaving to join a religious community. It was just a few friends, and I met one young woman, a little younger than I, who had discerned religious life. She was kind, she was considerate, and I liked her. She was pretty much like everyone in the group, and of course, we all got along. Yet I saw in her the same things I've seen in other women I know who are considering or who have discerned they are called to religious life. And there is something about them with which I cannot identify.

This is hard to explain. I can't call it a "dislike" or even a "friction". It's more of a realization that, in comparison to these women, I'm really really crusty. Some of it comes from things that I've seen and done in my adult years. Some of that comes from my own sinful life that some of those women have never experienced (pray God preserve them), and some comes from the things I've chosen that have lead to my own cynacism. My general personality is pretty ditzy and hopeful-seeming, but that doesn't always come out; it's a shadow inside of me. An inherent mistrust, something I'm always fighting in the presence of others.

But I have to say this shadow influences me. Whenever I meet women discerning their Call, I wonder at how I could ever live with people like them. They have a peace about them, and a certain purity, even confidance. They are patient and kind. I can't help but wonder how they deal with my temperment which is one moment calm and reflective, the next impassioned, and the next, completely dispassionate. And yet, they are so constant and dispassionate.

I've met seminarians that make me feel the same way. It's not that they do anything wrong; it's just that I see their holiness and their constance in temperment, and see the parallels to the women discerning their Call. There is something about the majority of people who are called by God that gives them a certain peace, a certain temperment, a certain sense of certitude that I can't seem to emulate.

Where they are calm, I a furious. Where they are constant, I am passionate. Where they are joyful I might be gleeful or cynical depending upon the events.

No matter what, I can't seem to identify. And this has been an issue for me. I look at holiness, and see myself as I really am. They reflect my reality, and maybe I just can't face my own shortcomings. Maybe it is that I fear I will NEVER measure up and I'm afraid to try.

Maybe I'm terrified of rejection. We've all experienced that. Let me tell you a secret; I've NEVER had the feeling, in my entire life, that I've fit in. Anywhere. As a child, as a teen, as an adult. I've never felt a part of this world. Yes, I've always had friends, but it seems that I've never found my "niche". Not through family, not through friendship, not in my career.

Even though I think God might be calling me, I can't seem to truly find identification with any of the Sisters or future-Sisters that I've met. They transcend me. I can't understand them, and I have a feeling that they can't understand me.

I'm rough around the edges, and those largely-innocent souls can't or (believe me!) don't want to fathom some of the things I've faced in my life; things that on my end, I need someone to understand on some level. And yet, I've also had some extraordinary things happen to me, things that are solely of God....but I lack the people in my life to help me incorporate these things and understand them in proper context. And so they float, part of me, but not fully accepted, even by me.

So I wonder if, on this earth, I'll ever find my temporary home, or if I'll be the Pilgrim to Pilgrims, always adrift, forever seeking to be a part of something, getting along with everyone...but belonging to no one.

I know I belong to God, and that the Cross defines me. And maybe that's sufficient. Maybe I am supposed to be a hermit. Even with the friends that I have, a part of me wonders if I've been completely rejected by the world in order to, in solitude, offer myself on their behalf and that of the world so that I may remain objective in my suffering and offering.

Or maybe I just need a good Spiritual Director to give me focus, to help me see were God is leading me. I can't seem to find an SD, and indeed, I'm not worthy of one. Who can be? But life goes on, God is present, God is constant, and if it's not hard, then it's not real.

So for now, there is my Vocation. To wonder. To walk. To inquire. To pray. To offer.

Perhaps that is all that is needed. It doesn't matter if I find a niche; it only matters that God is loved, and that I help others love Him. That is the foundation of the spiritual life, and that is the beginning of humility.

Maybe that's all that is needed for now.

*

Consolaciones de Sentido

In my reading this semester of St. Catherine of Siena, I've become frustrated at not being able to read her words in her original language. Although I haven't studied Spanish in years, I can still speak it to some degree, and know well that translation CAN make a huge difference. One of the translator's own notes has disturbed me such that I wish I could read Italian (St. Catherine's language) to see if the changes he felt he had to make impact the meaning intended in the revelations or not.

So it was balm to my soul today, thanks to Mark at Dominican Idaho, to read the consoling words of St. Teresa of Avila in her own language (and trust me, it's even more beautiful in Spanish):

Nada te turbe,
nada te espante,
todo se pasa;
Dios no se muda.
La paciencia
todo lo alcanza;
Quien a Dios tiene,
nada le falta;
Solo Dios basta.

Below is my own translation:

Let nothing disturb you.
Let nothing frighten you.
All things pass;
God never changes.
All is obtained through Patience.
Whoever is possessed by God
lacks nothing.
God alone is enough.


I'm going to memorize this consoling advice in Spanish. There is something in these words, which, in the original language, is like a balm to my soul, like the remembered words of my own mother when I was sick or fearful. There is something eternal, and I can almost hear the Saint's own voice echoing through the centuries, reminding me of the eternal attribute of our Heavenly Father.

Because, no matter what happens, no matter the generation, the century, the decade, or the most minute moment, God never changes. As dear St. Teresa of Avila has said:

Solo Dios basta.

Amen.

Holy Idea

I just found this post over at Ten Reasons, and felt it worthy to be passed along:

Fr. Hardon said it would only be eucharistic adoration that would change hearts. Fr. Corapi, I believe, has said the same thing.

Why not do an all-night eucharistic adoration on the night before the inauguration (or the Friday before) for the intention of Sen. Obama’s conversion on this crucial point? Set it up in your parishes, and if your pastor says, “Nix,” go to a neighboring pastor and then to the next one and to the next one after that.

And just as important as prayer before the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist is repentance. We are about to go into exile as a nation (I am not saying that Sen. Obama’s election in and of itself is an exile), but this can only be possible because our hearts have already been in exile for a long time. We, each of us, have much to repent for in our lives, our fellow citizens have much to repent for, and as a nation we need to put on the same sort of sack cloth and ashes that our Ninevite forefathers did before us. We are Ninevites, Sodomites, and Gomorahites at heart, and God wants us, His precious children, back.

For our Protestant friends, they can simply have an all night prayer session, maybe before an open book of the Gospels, asking that the word impregnate all our hearts, especially the President-elect’s, in a new and profound way.

Prayer and fasting. Our Lord said only prayer and fasting are capable of driving out the demons that corporately afflict us. Let’s be Our Lord’s instruments for fighting them and casting out their evil.

I'm still working on my paper on St. Catherine of Siena, and of course, still reading and analyzing the prophets for Old Testament. It never ceases to amaze me how relevant are the lessons from the past, for it is only the times that change; not the nature of humanity. What was true for Ninevah is true for us today. What was true for Jerusalem in 701 BC is true for America today. Nothing has changed.

St. Catherine of Siena learned from the Eternal Father that He is "an Acceptor of Holy Desires", and indeed, we have a holy desire for the conversion of souls and and end to abortion. The fact that conversions aren't happening and that abortion hasn't ended is our own fault. It means we haven't done enough. We haven't fasted, we haven't offered enough prayer. And now we are being called not to quit, but to persevere and increase our efforts. Let us do so. For Our Heavenly Father, who is an Acceptor of Holy Desires, will recognize our sacrifices and hear our prayers, for those desires match His own.

Wisdom

From today's Liturgy of the Hours:

Job 1:21;2:10b

Naked I came forth from my mother's womb
and naked I shall go back again.
The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away;
blessed be the name of the Lord!
We accept good things from God;
and should we not accept evil?

We may be facing trying times, but we have to remember who is in charge.

Freedom

I just heard a random comment from a reporter speaking her giddy piece from the Obama soiree.

"I'm not going to have a voice tomorrow!"


No truer words were ever spoken. And she's celebrating the fact.


As I listen to the voters who have apparently elected a socialist government into being, screaming, toasting enjoying their moment, I realize that we now know the sound of liberty dying.

No, I didn't vote for Obama: Because he doesn't represent me. He doesn't represent my values, and he certainly doesn't represent my need for financial well-being; for under his leadership I will not just fear losing my house; I'll end up in a box on the corner. Even further, by his politics he has revealed that my parents shouldn't exist and I shouldn't exist. He has betrayed not just this country through his liberal policies, but he has betrayed in thought and deed the very people who have already elected him into power.

I'm listening to Senator McCain's humble concession speech; you'll find no animosity from the Republican side. One of the reasons I voted for McCain was that he knows suffering and he knows obedience, and he knows the value of blood and guts. Obama and his camp, for the most part, does not. McCain has quite literally and visibly spilled his own blood for this country; Obama has not.

McCain knows humility, and that this humiliation doesn't even come CLOSE to what he has experienced in the past.

And so, with McCain, the leader I have chosen, I know I must congratulate our new President Barak Obama.

Yes, it makes us an Obamanation, so be it. We knew it was coming, and it only means we must pray harder, especially for the unborn.

On the News, they are saying history is being made. Indeed. And history is being lost. Much is being made of a Black President (he's actually Bi-racial). But nothing is being made of the fact that the race is being lost by a potential female Vice President.

Goodbye America. So long, Freedom.

My friends....are you ready for what is to come?

God's will be done.

To my friends in other countries....don't look to America as shores of refuge any longer. We've just elected a government just like yours. To my Canadian friends....our countries are now the same. If you have any wisdom, please offer it to your southern sister. We've always been friends, and to us in Minnesota, you're like an extension of our hunting and fishing grounds. And dang! It's COLD up there!

While praying this afternoon, I knew this moment would come so offered: God's will be done. This is not like other elections; there were some major issues at stake, things the media has directly hidden. Things some voters thought were just "Republican propaganda" but they will soon learn that THEY were the victims of propaganda. Stuff even some in the Democratic party might be shocked to know.

So...God's will be done. So be it. Our Churches will lose our tax-exempt status, and we are going to lose our right to "free speech"...it'll go the way of the Canadians. Speaking out against homosexual behavior and homosexual marriage will be considered to be "hate speech", and just as Catholic organizations have been forced to close down adoption agencies rather than send dear chldren to homosexual couples, so will churches close for priests refusing to perform homosexual "marriages."

And the children....Obama has promised to sign FOCA. Get ready to clean up the mess, for the women and children to be harmed by this act will be something that has never been seen before in our history.

No, we won't go the way of Hollywood and declare that we are defecting in some kind of temper tantrum. We will remember that for now, we still have a voice, we will exercise it as long as wel can, we are citizens of this country, and if our new President does something well, we will be behind him, and if he does not..we will vote. It's all we have.

People have suffered at the hands of bad government from the beginning of time. Why should America be any different? This just makes the point; politics aren't here to save us. We already HAVE a messiah; no matter where we live, the land we inhabit and which holds us as "citizens" is not our home.

So....are we ready for the next couple years? So let it be...

Don't forget to pray.

The Gift of Life

I just got off the phone with my Mom. Earlier today she left a message that I've decided to save; it's one typical of her in which she rambles off whatever illness she happens to be suffering, the illnesses or recoveries of our various relatives (good news today for my Uncle), and then some random stuff. At the end of the message, she said, "Thanks for calling...oh, wait, you didn't call me, I called you...."

I laughed out loud when I heard that, and decided that even though I'm so often annoyed by her rambling messages, this one needs to be saved. After all, my annoyance has nothing to do with her, and everything to do with my own lack of virtue; and she really is unintentionally funny, which is the very BEST kind of humor. If I can record this message permanently, I will. Mom is a gift.

Tonight, though, she revealed to me what a gift my brother and I were to she and our Dad, and remain to her.

Mom was raised to "know" that her only option in life was to get married and have children. That was her goal, and it was truly what she desired. She also considered becoming a Nun and explored that, but was told she was too "worldly". (This shocks me....Mom is THE most UN-worldly person you could meet.)

However, if I were to disagree with the reality that she was not called to religious life, I would have to disagree with my own existance. Can't do that.

But to make her upbringing very clear, her natural mother was killed before her eyes when she was only five years old, and so she was raised by a loving step-mother who told them all the same thing; they were destined to be wives and mothers. Two of my aunts were talked out of taking careers in favor of having children. (Clearly, Grandma was NOT a radical feminist.)

So it was that Mom saw her entire value in life in becoming a Mother. She got married and desperately wanted children, not just to please herself and please God, but to please her own Mother.

Obstacles

Mom initially couldn't get pregnant. My Dad had Spina Biffeda, and he and his parents were told early on that, because of this genetic condition, he would not be able to produce children. I'm not sure if Mom knew this when they were married, especially considering how much she wanted children of their own.

Mom was also told at some point that she would not be able to conceive. They went to the doctor and Dad was tested, and found that his count was low, but perhaps it was possible. A month after that, my brother was conceived.

While Mom was pregnant with him (this would have been in 1971) random people approached her, seeing that she had only one hand, a hand obviously deformed from birth. They berated her in her pregnancy, saying that she and people like her should never have children, for she and we were destined to be on welfare for life. In these conversations, they made it clear that she also was not worthy of life.

This same thing happened in 1973 after Roe v. Wade was passed. There was Mom, one little boy in her cart, me on the way in her swollen belly....and there she was accosted with the same accusation; that she shouldn't have children, she should abort...for she was destined because of her disability to raise us on welfare.

Mom responded that she and Dad were perfectly healthy, my brother and I were perfectly healthy (I still unborn), both she and Dad were gainfully employed, homeowners, etc...and there was no reason to believe we would be a burden on society.

During this part of the conversation, I remained quiet, for once not saying what I think, and what I know to be true, for our shared history speaks.

It was Mom who voiced what we both were thinking; for it is the place of the Mother to do so. She said, quietly, "Even though that's what happened."

There was a moment of silence as we remembered how we'd gone from being a happy family of four, to a divorced family of three...on welfare. And how Mom ultimately raised us on welfare and due to something totally different in her own life, has not been able to get off of disability.

But tonight I thanked her for giving my brother and I life, for not letting those people interfere, to influence her.

She told me that I was conceived on Dad's birthday, and that the Doctor had actually gotten the date wrong. In April of the year of my birth, he commented that I was too small; I wasn't ready. Mom knew the day God had touched her, infusing my soul, and told him the date, knowing with the certainly only a mother can know through the intimacy of God's love. The doctor agreed, and that April, he and Mom came to the conclusion that my life not only began on the evening of Dad's birthday, but that my presence in this world would be announced somewhere near Father's Day.

And so it was....I missed it by only a couple days.

No wonder I was a "Daddy's Girl".

I wish every child, every adult, could know the story of their beginnings. I thought I knew it before, but until tonight, I did not. Dad passed away in 1995, and I don't think he would have told me this story; what I learned tonight can only come from the heart of a mother, even if it is felt and recognized in the pride of a father. Both my brother and I were miracles to our parents...we were both great gifts.

No, not every child is welcomed by the parents to whom they are conceived and born...but does that make their lives any less special? It was suggested that both my brother and I be slaughtered in the womb based on the imperfections of our parents. What is chilling is that those same accusations and suggestions are made today...and are followed.

I feel guilty that I have life and others do not. I feel guilty that I have not appreciated my parents as much as I should have...and that I can't, now knowing what I know, go up to my Dad on his Birthday and embrace him, thanking him for my life. If I was a father, or a mother, I couldn't consider a greater gift than the conception of a child on my own birthday.

So often I wonder at the value of my presence in this world, but now, after this conversation with Mom, I am grateful for the chance to thank her, truly, for not only allowing my birth, but welcoming it. For giving me life and seeing it through, and in spite of the fact that she did ultimately raise us on welfare, she saw us out of it as well.

We weren't on welfare because of hers and Dad's imperfections, but because of circumstances of our lives. And neither of them ever allowed us to lose our dignity, for they encouraged us to move beyond those circumstances, to not let them define us. and so it is that we both completed college, I am in graduate school, we both are homeowners...and we've ultimately not proven the prophecy given to Mom to have any weight at all.

Thank God for life...and thank your parents. I wish I could thank my Dad...but now, I have a little more insight into why he was so proud of my brother and I: we were miracles of the ordinary kind, and something more to be desired, in his eyes, than any other treasure in heaven and earth.

God rest his soul and deliver him from purgatory into His eternal embrace.

Thank you, Dad. I love you.

Feast of All Souls

I had a very difficult time at Mass today. As we prayed for the dead, my Mother (still living) came to mind, and I know that all too soon, it will be her name read out of that book.

I couldn't shake the feeling that we won't have her around for very long, and it was all I could do to keep from crying. Even though we should rejoice when a soul goes Home, we here on earth who are left behind sometimes find the agony of loss hard to bear. And for some reason, I am in complete dread of losing my mother, even though I know it must happen.

Some of that dread comes from also knowing that I will have to stand up to my large extended family in order that Mom will be honored properly, and that funeral is within the norms (ie that Lutheran family members won't be receiving Holy Communion, that there won't be an extended Litany of Canonization, poetry, etc....) that typically takes place at our family's funerals. Mom lives a quiet life of everyday holiness, and although she's no apologist, she knows what's proper and what honors Our Lord; and I can't bear the thought of liturgical abuse and sacrilege at her funeral.

There was so much more than this going through my mind, and it makes me realize that now is the time to steel myself against what we will need to do when that time comes. I can't at this time go into depth on the things I've alluded to here, and I am praying hard that the hour comes later rather than sooner.

Today as you pray for those who have died, please also remember those who are destined to go soon....they need prayers, too.

Inspiring Ire

Just recently,while doing coursework for my class in Spiritual Theology, I read an excerpt on Moses from St. Gregory of Nyssa. He spoke of the clothing of Moses being washed clean as a "habit", significant because the exterior of a human being reflects upon the interior. It was an allegory, to be certain, but I suspect, not having done other research, that the term we use for religious garb likely dates back to that usage by St. Gregory of Nyssa.

To Wear or Not to Wear

This topic seems to always get people up at arms, and truly I don't understand why. We all have opinions. We all have clothing. We all have opinions about clothing. Why does the use or non-use of the Habit inspire such ire?

Last spring, I attended an Archdiocesan training event, and shared a table with a DRE from another parish. Somehow, the topic of Vocations arose randomly, and I mentioned a friend of mine who was entering a Benedictine Cloister. The DRE was shocked and stated that she thought women no longer chose that kind of life. She sincerely wanted to know why my friend, and other women, would choose not only to wear a habit, but to live that kind of life?

I responded that it was a Call of Christ Himself, to give herself radically to Him, to pray for the Church, for Priests (their charism) and us all. I mentioned the other communities that are EXPLODING with Vocations, such as the Sisters of Mary, Mother of the Eucharist, and the LA Carmelites, as well as others that wear habits. The DRE's confusion was growing; this was beyond her worldview. She truly wanted to know what would inspire young women to give up all that they had to wear a common form of dress and live in community?

She literally stated, "I didn't think anyone wanted to do that anymore!"

It was MY turn to be shocked. Even though I and the people I knew were well aware of the tide of Vocations to the Priesthood and Religious Life taking place all over America, this woman, a DRE, hadn't a clue. This information completely took her by surprise. She'd never heard of the Sisters of Mary or the Nashville Dominicans from which they had sprung. She'd never heard of the LA Carmelites. She didn't even know that there is a Carmelite Cloister just east of St. Paul!

I did my best not to reveal my shock, but I think I failed, even as I earnestly shared with her my friend's Vocation story, and the reaons for it. I encouraged her, as a DRE, to look up this information and present it to the young men and women at her parish, so that they would see this great opportunity open to them, to give their lives to Christ.

Hostility

That DRE was from a parish known to be somewhat left-leaning, although in our exchange there was no hostility; only surprise. Yet I have made the acquaintance of a woman who was once a Sister with a local notoriously-left-wing-nearly-pagan (if not outright) commmunity...and that meeting didn't go so well. I had innocently brought the use of a habit as a prop into our conversation, and she immediately went on the attack. I was taken off guard until she identified herself. Had I known, I would have made my point in a different way, but as it was the "war" was engaged and I did my best to be diplomatic in response to her verbal and rhetorical attack.

She made some good points, and some with which I agreed; her community was originally formed to look just like the people they served, so as not to stand out. So it was that they returned to this, and I have no quarrel with that.

Indeed, many missionary communities cannot wear identifying garb, for if they did, they would be executed, or at the very least, harassed. I know of one situation where, if the community wore religious clothing they would be misidentified with a certain governmental oppression, and the people would not trust them. These Sisters, then, even if they in other places wear a habit, don't in that location for the habit would literally be a barrier.

While persecuation has been our lot as Catholics from the Cross itself, we have to realize, that in some countries or locales, to obviously identify ourselves could mean that the mission is not spread, and the slaughter of the only evangelists in a thousand mile radius does not bring Christ to that community.

So let us at least be willing to admit that the Habit isn't synonymous with survival of the Gospel. Nor does the Habit automatically signify orthodoxy; there are habited communities that are faithful to their clothing, but not to the Gospel. It is important to recognize this.

Discernment

I'm going to admit it; I'm back to thinking I have been called to Religious Life. Now, don't go getting excited. Please don't comment it on that at all. Even my family doesn't know, most of the people closest to me in my life don't know, and I prefer it that way. I did it wrong the first time around, and I don't need a whole bunch of people giving me their preferences, sending me links, etc. I know what I need to do next, I have communities I want to visit, and I know what I'm giving up. Or not giving up.

I'm further going to admit that the Habit is part of my discernment; for I will not consider a community that doesn't wear it 100% of the time.

Why?

From past experience in discernment. It seems that, consistently, the communities that have entirely left the Habit behind have also left De Fidei issues of the Church behind. I am not willing to substitute contemplative prayer or the rosary or Liturgy of the Hours on behalf of Yoga or Centering "Prayer" or classes in Reiki. I've already gone the route of Tarot and other Occult things...I'm not willing to revisit those practices.

Even further, there is the issue of Discipline; if a community is lax in discipline, without a clear head, clear obedience to that head through a hierarchical system, well, I have to wonder what poison may be introduced...and not confronted. As I have read in the works of St. Catherine of Siena, the virtue of Obedience is the key to Heaven, and if obedience is not necessary, then where is there a foundation of Humility?

I find, objectively, the virtues lacking in many of the Orders that have lost the Habit. I can't speak to the holiness of the women, individually, but I can objectively observe disobedience to the most basic tenants of the Catholic Faith, and I can objectively discern that they have nothing to inspire me to be anything other than a secular social worker.

Yeah. I already have a degree in Criminal Justice. I can already be a secular social worker. I want something more. God wants something more of ME.

TO BE FAIR

I'm not slamming all Orders that have shunned the habit; as I said, there are legitimate reasons for not wearing it. I respect those reasons, (some of them), and condone others outright. The habit does not make one Holy; nor does it make one Naive.

Oh yes, I went there.

Some people level the charge that those Sisters that are now taking Vows in habited Communities are doing so out of naivete, or a sense of romance or nostalgia. Some suggest they are "immmature" or will "grow out of it" and the habit "phase" will fall into oblivion.

I read an account of a young woman who was at a discernment retreat involving both habited and non-habited Sisters. She sat down at a table with some non-habited Sisters and became engaged in a conversation. During this exchange she mentioned the habit, innocently, and that she wanted to wear one...immediately the conversation changed, the Sisters got up and abandoned her. She was confused and hurt by their reaction as she'd never indicated a rejection of their communities or their lack of a habit. The girl was literally not aware that the habit was a point of contention; and on that day, she, a sincere seeker, experienced a definitive lack of charity that could have destroyed her Vocation.

I've read many accounts of people, Catholic and non-Catholic, who have fond memories of Sisters in Habit. I've heard stories of people who have been drawn to these women who wear a visible symbol, even though the people drawn to them may not be Catholic themselves.

Our world today, more than ever, needs a visible manifestation of Christ among us, and the Habit provides that, just as we see it in the Roman Collar of the Priests who move among us. It was Sisters in black-and-white habits who once gave me courage through their presence and idendification alone to ask for help in a foreign country, where I wasn't even sure someone would be willing to help. If those Sisters hadn't been in habit, I would have been lost. And it was their presence that inspired respect in the people who shared our Combi that evening, for I've never seen such charity, even after the Sisters had departed. And that's saying something, for in Mexico, the charity I experienced on a daily basis has NEVER been equaled in my entire life in America.

It's legitimate to suggest that not all Orders began with a Habit in mind, however, the way our Spirituality has developed over the years, and in the way our culture has become so secularized, it is clear that we need "sound bites" in the form of identifiable dress so that people will be able to see a manifestation of Christ before their very eyes.

Just today I read an accusation suggesting that women who choose the habit do it "for attention". I must STRONGLY disagree!

Been There, Done That, Still Have the Shirts

I have worn many uniforms, and can't say I was truly comfortabe in any of them. I knew that my uniform identified me, and indeed, people came to me to address their problems, hoping I had the answer they needed. They also looked judgmentally at my uniform, projecting upon me any problems they'd previously had with someone else in the past who had worn the identical patches. I've been the juxtaposition of being a perceived savior even as I've represented oppression, all while someone else was breathing down my neck, defining me in yet another way.
So it is that I regard the idea of taking a habit through a lens of having been there before. It's much more comfortable to blend in, to not be noticed, to not stand out from the crowd. I am a very ordinary-looking person and I like it that way. I don't like standing out or being recognized. When I wore a uniform, I felt the stares, and felt the depersonalization, realizing that every action I took did not reflect upon me as a person, but upon the entity I represented in that dress.
So is the Habit, although the Entity represented is God, and the standard is much higher.

The accusation of "attention" is another one that astounds me, for it's also one of the reasons I have hesitated. For I almost fear being "swallowed up" in a sea of people who look just like me. I fear to lose my individuality...my own nothingness being absorbed into greater nothingness. On the other hand, I know that in donning a visible symbol, I will again enter a world of discomfort, of the inability to be invisible.

Yet I'm willing to do this because in donning a Habit, I am dying to myself, I am putting on Christ...and I am becoming a living symbol to a world that desperately needs a visible sign of hope. It's not about me, but it is all about God, and about His Only Son. God is He who Is...I am she who is not. The Habit makes this reality tangible.

Certainly, God could call me to a community that does not wear a Habit, and I am willing to accept that. Yet I believe that He is calling me to die to myself, to allow myself to be "lost" so that I may become all I am supposed to be, known to the world or hidden forever, to be known only by Our Lord. Or perhaps I will be forced to accept all souls who come my way, responding not to me...but to God manifested through me, identifying me not individually but by whom I represent.

We all have to remember; we are not here on earth to glorify ourselves, but rather, to glorify God. And I would rather be hidden in a Habit through which Christ becomes known to others, than through myself, a pitiful Minnesota woman with an unforgettable name and unforgettable face.

Let us all put on Christ every day, for it is He who lives in us, and He who must reign.
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I have a new hero...

Orthometer: BTW I'm Voting For Mccain / Palin



This guy is my new hero. Can I vote for HIM for President?

Prayer of Surrender

This is a re-post, and a prayer that is much needed for us all.

PRAYER OF SURRENDER

Lord Jesus Christ, I ask the grace to accept the sadness in my heart, as your will for me, in this moment. I offer it up, in union with your sufferings, for those who are in deepest need of your redeeming grace. I surrender myself to your Father's will and I ask you to help me to move on to the next task that you have set for me.

Spirit of Christ, help me to enter into a deeper union with you. Lead me away from dwelling on the hurt I feel:

to thoughts of charity for those who need my love
to thoughts of compassion for those who need my care, and to thoughts of giving to those who need my help.
As I give myself to you, help me to provide for the salvation of those who come to me in need.

May I find my healing in this giving.
May I always accept God's will.
May I find my true self by living for others in a spirit of sacrifice and suffering.
May I die more fully to myself, and live more fully in you.

As I seek to surrender to the Father's will, may I come to trust that he will do everything for me.

With Ecclesiastical Approval

adapted from the spiritual teachings of Rev. Walter J. Ciszek, SJ.

The Father Walter Ciszek Prayer League, Inc.,
231 North Jardin Street
Shenandoah, PA 17976
(570) 462-2270

Official Organization for the Promotion of the Cause of Canonization of REV. WALTER J. CISZEK, S.J.

Ascent to God

We cannot ascend to God without assenting. And yet, how often we fail.

Just this morning I went to Confession, and realized how often I sin, knowing full well that what I'm doing is wrong. Knowing that my actions, my willful thoughts, and my intentions offend Our Lord...and in that recognition I have a chance to reverse my direction and do what is good. It seems that almost always, I choose to do what is evil in the sight of God.

These are typical "everyday" faults, not great, grave matters, yet through frequent Confession and frequently examining our consciences we come to see more and more clearly how these faults build up and become ingrained habits. And we see how often we knowingly and willfully commit our evil acts.

What astounds me is that I can be so aware of what I'm doing...and go ahead and do it anyway. So I am thankful for the advice Father gave me this morning; to rely on God, and not myself, that we can't ascend without His Grace. We can only cooperate, and we can only cooperate when we recognize how we are falling.

God in His mercy continually picks us up and sets us on the right path, knowing we will fall again, through our own wills, our own desires. Yet we have hope, for we know He will be there as long as we need Him...and we will NEVER stop needing God.
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Significance

Our days are as dust. Our lives...not even a blink of God's eye before they are gone. We are nothing before eternity.

And yet, God calls us into being, out of eternity, and holds us in existance. He gives us definition, He calls us to our Mission, and seeks to draw us to Him, into Him, into a depth of being we can't even fathom and few even consider to plumb.

Sea Pacific

Several years ago, when I lived in Mexico, I saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time. Darkness had fallen by the time we made it to the beach, where we removed our shoes and waded into the waves we could barely discern. The faint light of the nearby town didn't touch the vast expanse of beach we had crossed, so I believe the only reason we could see the white foam of the waves as the lapped against the land was due to the light reflected from the stars.

It was as though I stood on the edge of a precipice. The land ended, and before me was an endless void, the last point of earth being the lighthouse far away, signaling to any passing ships.

We couldn't see anything but darkness; we couldn't even see where the ocean met the sky. We only knew where we ended and the ocean began. I can still hear the crashing of the waves when I remember that night.

I've never felt so small and finite as when I stood there on the edge of the ancient ocean. And even though I knew that fathoms away we would find Australia, it was an act of faith to believe it, for the depths of the darkness seemed to swallow up everything and threatened to swallow us, too.

I'll never forget it, and I'll never stop being grateful for the lesson. When I want to remember who I am in relation to God, that was it: "Adoro Meet God 101".

Pilgrims

Often, I've written of this pilgrimage that is our life on earth, and just yesterday I posted the "Letter to Diognetus" that addressed this very thing. We are citizens of Heaven, but for now, bound to the earth. We are to bring the Kingdom of God everywhere we go, and live as these citizens, holding a high moral standard. From the very beginning, as Christians, we have stood out, acting responsibly in our civic duties, but remaining aloof from the winds of change, buffeted about, but refusing to give in to decadent cultures that have come and gone in the last 2,000 years. We have inherited a great treasure, but one that much of the world has chosen to dismiss, preferring shiny baubles that have or will turn to dust, for immediate gratification seems much more rewarding than living a life of discipline and holiness.

I'll confess that sometimes, I wonder why I'm here, and why God chose me from eternity. I remember my teenage years, where my broken family struggled so much. When we first moved to Minnesota after our parent's divorce, my brother and I both faced interior battles. Mine, typical of young women, was turned inward as I contemplated taking my own life, and my brother, typical of young men, turned his anger outward. I only recently learned of the workings of his mind and I pray he never learn those of mine; for I had truly wanted to die. It was a true miracle that kept me from performing the act on the very night I had chosen.

Celebrating Life and Death

Tomorrow we celebrate the Feast of All Saints, and on Sunday, the Feast of All Souls, so it is natural to take this time to contemplate death. It is natural to mourn those who have gone before us and our own mortality as well. It would do us well to, if we can, stand at the edge of the ocean and realize how finite is our being, how temporary our existance...and how eternal are our souls.

So it is natural that tonight, on this Vigil, I have been thinking about life and death and wondering about my own worth in this world. I know I am called to something; were I not, I would not be present. I know that the people I meet every day are called into being and loved dearly by God; were they not, they would not exist.

Yet, I have come full circle in some ways. On one hand, in looking back upon my life, I am excited by what God has done, and on the other hand, I'm just tired of constantly searching. In some ways, I think that if I were informed I had a terminal illness, I'd celebrate the news, knowing that soon I'd be at the end of this pilgrimage.

The earth is not my home; I've seen enough of it and I've done enough to realize that there is nothing here for me. So many fantasy stories speak of people who are or become immortal; all I can think is that these stories must have been written by atheists. The idea of mortal immortality is akin to Hell; for this was the very reason God our Father banished Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden. Have you recently read Genesis? If not, look it over; God banished them so that they would not eat of the Tree of Life, for had they done so, they could not have been redeemed. They would have lived forever in their fallen state!

So it is that on nights like this I both lament and praise my mortality. On one hand, I am happy to be alive, for life is such a gift, but on the other hand, each day of life is another day outside of God. Another day to sin. Another day of struggle. The battle becomes so tiresome, especially when I realize my weakness and inability to overcome it.

I thank God for my life, and the lives of those of all I know, and all those I have yet to meet. And I thank God for sending His only Son to redeem us, and I thank God for the ability to participate in that redemption. To give our "fiat". To bring others to Him. And for the strength to go on as long as necessary, for every day is a testament to God's Glory. Every breath comes from Him. Every heartbeat is shared blood.

No longer do I see death as I did as a teenager; now I see it for what it is, and I both welcome and dread it. For death is violent by nature, but leads to the eternal embrace of God IF we are prepared; and the road that leads to God is a life well-lived. A life that is not about us, but about others, but only lived well in relation to the Cross.

We can't avoid the violence of death just as we can't avoid the violence of life. They go together, and ONLY make sense when we can see how the suffering of Christ united them both and gave meaning to our suffering.

Clearly, tonight I am in a melancholy mood as I wonder about why I am on this earth and what contribution I could possibly have. It is a temptation to me to fall into the despair of my teenage years and think that my life is worth nothing, and that this dust that makes up my physical being should be dispersed. Were it not for the miracle that stayed my hand so long ago, perhaps my thoughts would go there again.

My temptation; the value of my life?

My greatest temptation, truly, is to consider myself through worldly terms; but to consider myself according to God raises the scale and removes it from my jurisdiction. To do so makes me consider others and the value of their lives. We can ONLY know ourselves through knowing others...we can only know God through knowing ourselves. The judgment is objective, outside of us. And who would condemn one's neighbor, or one's friend, when one knows the mercy of God?

Every life has meaning. Every single one. Born...or unborn. Every single life.

Each of us has significance, even if we don't believe it. God loves us.

God loves YOU. If you are reading this, He has brought YOU into this world and holds you in existance because, when His Son died upon the Cross, He decided YOU were worth it. Believe it. Embrace it. And love Him that much more.

God bless you all.
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