Silent Night, Lonely Night - Abandoned

My Dad died on January 3rd, 1995, 15 years ago, and until this year, I couldn't find a Saint assigned to the day of his death.  I learned last spring during Lent that St. Paul of the Cross was born on January 3rd;  a patron who founded the Passionist Order came into the world on the same date my Dad left it and brought me directly into Our Lord's Passion, even though I didn't understand it at the time. He is a fitting Saint for such a terrible loss.

It's usually a hard day for me and I never know how it will hit me. Sometimes I just experience a general sense of unrest, while at other times that bitter sword of grief reminds me that time means nothing and it was only yesterday that I stood at Dad's casket, looking upon him for the very last time this side of the veil.

A few years ago I wrote of my first Christmas, nearly a year later, without him, and republish it here for you all:

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My Dad passed in early January 1995, and it took me MONTHS to really grieve. I didn't know what to do, what to say, how to act, so instead, I was just angry. And sad. And desolate. All those things, and more, yet I lived my day to day life, losing my faith along with the rest of the world.

Even though my parents had been divorced for many many years, for some reason I dreaded Christmas that year with a strange sense of horror. We wouldn't talk to Dad on the phone. We couldn't buy Dad gifts. Nothing was coming from Dad - no cards with his familiar handwriting.

It was Christmas...without Dad.

I couldn't bear to be around my family, for his absence was even more absent, and because I hadn't seen him at all since my high school graduation, about 3 1/2 years prior, my guilt just ate away at me, burrowing into my soul and penetrating even more deeply than the strongest concentration of acid found on earth.

I had graduated early and was working for the college that winter, so I made sure I was on the Christmas schedule. Prior to Christmas I had gone home, celebrated "Christmas", stayed overnight and then headed back to the school. It wasn't that I really wanted to be alone...I just didn't want to be around family.

Then again, I DID want to be alone because when I was with them, I felt even more alone; Dad's loss was that much more painful, and I couldn't handle it.

It was so painful it was like a burn; it left my nerves deadened; I was numb. It was a grief so deep I could not express it to anyone, not even to myself. So I fled civilization for the haven of the school from which I had graduated and I enclosed myself into the darkness of my grief, trying to understand.

I've never felt so incredibly alone in my entire life.

On that Christmas Eve, I couldn't even stand the very room I was in. No one was at the college; no one was anywhere. The dorms were abandoned, the bluffs were silent.

And it was into the bluffs I fled, under the Christmas Eve stars, into the shadows of the trees and the confinement of the snowy creek banks.

I just walked, alone in that darkness, tramping through the snow, wishing I could cry, wanting to scream, wanting only relief from this terrible, terrible pain. I wondered if I was depressed? I considered that seriously, but no...I knew what depression was, I had all the symptoms indexed in my mind for professionally I had worked with truly depressed people. No; I was far too functional to be depressed. Dysthymia? Nope...not that either.

Intellectually, I knew that this was grief, I knew I was not handling it well, and whenever I confronted myself with that reality I shoved it aside in favor of wallowing within the pain, wanting to understand it, needing to purge myself of it, but not wanting to go to anyone else for help to do it. I was far too independent for my own good.

But I didn't care; I just wanted to be alone. Alone with God, seeking my faith again, seeking the God I had grown up knowing. And yet I didn't know Him.

So that night as I walked, I spoke to God. I berated him for this pain, I berated him for taking my Dad away from me, and I cried out to him about my own guilt.

I remember sitting in the snow at the side of the creek, suddenly realizing that I felt completely alone; completely abandoned.

Abandonment.

In the middle of the cold winter wildnerness, surrounded by the frozen forest, unable to even hear the waters gurgling under the ice and snow.

I was numb; I was abandoned. I cried out to God, but He did not answer me, nothing was revealed. Nothing was changed, nothing purged, nothing healed.

I realized that I had gone out to seek God because the futility of my own actions had so far gotten me nowhwere. And yet I was still rejecting the Church which had always been my solace before. Even as I sought God, I was running away from Him.

I remember that terrible, terrible numbness; not just from physical cold, but this strange spiritual numbness; Abandonment.

I remember a couple of tears fell...and froze on my cheeks.

Frozen just as I was inside.

Slowly, I stepped out on the ice, knowing where the little waterfall was. I knew I was being stupid for there was no one to hear my screams. I was not suicidal; far from it! Yet I almost hoped I would fall through a weak spot in the ice, to be partially submerged; water ran under that ice all winter. Even the harsh Minnesota winters would not completely freeze that rushing stream.

I didn't want to die; I only wanted to shock myself into feeling something again. Anything other than this terrible interior pain. Anything other than this hopeless feeling of complete and utter desolation;

Abandonment.

But the ice didn't crack. Even it was silent, refusing to give me the relief I so desperately craved.

I walked back to my room, to the warmth, still numb, still alone within my pain, still bereft of God.

Desperate for God, I tried to go to Christmas Mass the next day, the first time in a long time. Oddly, I couldn't find one! Even though it was a Catholic college, the chapel was closed and I had to find my way to a Catholic Church in town. I sincerely tried, but I must have gone at the wrong time.  I couldn't even find anyone to call to answer my questions as to WHEN I could go!

I knew of one church and thought maybe if I just showed up, even if it was in the middle of Mass, I would wait there for the next one, or find out when to go. That frigid, subzero day when my car would barely run, I found nothing but a Catholic Church with large, locked doors.

No one was around. It was only 10 in the morning but I couldn't get in and everyone was gone. The Church was empty, and it was locked and I had nowhere else to go.

Even when I finally went to find God, the door was closed and locked, sealing my complete and utter abandonment. Even when I sought Him out, He wasn't there. I'd lost my earthly Father, and that Christmas, I lost my Eternal Father as well.

I was in a ghost town, literally knocking on the door; and no one answered.

I can't remember how I got through that terrible phase in my life. Probably just fell into the routine of work, but I do know that the terrible sensation did finally ease. I do know that over time, the grief ebbed, leaving mostly only the anger...and finally, acceptance.

Grief is still painful and sometimes catches me by surprise with its razor-sharp edges, yet never since that Christmas Eve have I ever felt that terrible, terrible abandonment.

In looking back, now I see a blessing; a spiritual purging I did not understand. I chose the separation, and  now I look back and realize that it could be a shadow of what is to come. God was right there with me the entire time, likely crying the tears I could not, likely closer to me than He ever has been before or since.

It is in our abandonment, the Saints have learned and taught in their wisdom, that God is closer than ever, and we can't find Him or see Him because He is holding us so closely we are blinded by His love and compassion.

 Even in the snowy, frozen bluffs of a cold Minnesota Christmas, God is there, and sometimes, when it seems like He isn't answering, it is because He is speaking so softly that it takes years to understand His words.

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Author's Note:   A year ago I published, in three parts, the story I wrote about my Dad and his death. The first chapter can be found here, and the other chapters are linked in sequence.  Otherwise click on the tag "Dad" below and you will be taken to all posts pertaining to this topic.

A Little Kindness Goes a Long Ways

Yes, this is another dog post!  It seems "Bear" has a fan club so I am writing this for them, and of course, ultimately for him!  


Every day he is acting more and more like a German Shepherd should.  House training is coming along as he's starting to "get" that when we go out, it's time to "do business".  He's still quite unsure, though, but his happy-go-lucky attitude and obvious desire to please makes up for any aggravation on my part.  


I have been praying for the gift of patience, and I think that God is answering through this poor dog.  When I am tempted to impatience, all I have to do is look at the xylophone that is his ribs and glance at  his questioning upturned gaze and it all melts away.  It's not his fault that he doesn't understand. it doesn't matter that the temperature is at or below 0 and I'm freezing to death. He's probably colder than I am which makes what he is supposed to be learning that much more difficult for him.  


Bear has slept in my room the last two nights and of the two dogs, he is obviously the dominant one.  I am engaging in a big multiple-dog household no-no though....I'm not letting him on the furniture or the bed as I do my other dog who is the subordinate now.  


I'm doing it this way partially because he is still stinky and quite honestly, I don't want his stinkiness on my bed at night for obvious reasons.  I also am concerned about making sure he learns the right things for the household he is going to, where he might not be ALLOWED to sleep on the bed.  As it is I have a futon I "gave" to the dogs a few years ago and find that it's a perfect place for them. It gets them off the cold floor, they can see me, they can look out the window, and I wouldn't use it for human use anymore anyway.  (It's not the most comfortable thing.) 


Anyway, as dog people will tell you, you have to let the dominant dog be dominant. Animals do not think and feel as people do, they don't understand our preferences nor can they learn them and respond to them. Over time, all we do if we disrupt the hierarchy set by the dogs (or cats, horses, etc.) is cause further competition and strife among them.   


If Bear was a permanent resident, once the stinky issues are gone, he'd have full "Beta" (I'm Alpha) status over the other dog. But he's not. If he stays for much longer I will give in and fully acquiesce to his place in the household.  


Now, on to the fun stuff:  the cute things he's doing!


This morning when we went on our walk, Bear bounded ahead with my dog, and for a time, took her leash into his mouth. I wasn't sure if it was just happy chewing or if he was telling me he was ready to take HER for a walk!  It took only a little verbal correction and he let go, but his puppy-like enthusiasm made me laugh.  He often takes his own leash into his mouth and I hope maybe in the future to get a picture of him taking himself for a walk (but only if I can contain him!)


Most dogs of his age (8-9 yrs) are pretty bored with the world for the most part and see their walks as a necessary if fun part of their day.  But this guy is like a little puppy in a big dog's body. He's discovering the world and finding it to be the most hopeful, interesting, and fun-filled place he's ever been!


He's learning how to play with toys, is having fun stealing my dog's favorite stuffed animals, and tearing them apart. Just like a typical big brother!


I often praise Bear by stroking his side and he curls around my hand, tucking his head, wagging his tail, and sometimes even BOUNDING around joyfully as he accepts the love and attention I'm giving him.  


When I go into the kitchen to cook or do something, he goes into his kennel and lays there, watching hopefully yet never seems disappointed that I don't have anything for him when I'm done. Unless, of course, it's his breakfast or dinner, which he is just THRILLED to accept.  


I'm really hoping Bear goes to a home in need of a little playful and joyful hope.  His enthusiasm is enough to bring a smile to even the most dour of expressions, especially when his story is known.  


I'm constantly amazed, when I deal with neglected or abused animals, their capacity to spring back, to respond to kindness, and bond with such trust even when they, by rights, should want nothing to do with humanity ever again. Granted, that DOES happen to many animals, and they must be put to sleep because of it. They become dangerous.  

I have held for a long time and hold now that there must be a special place reserved in Hell for people who abuse and neglect animals. 

God told Adam to dominate, and it was Adam who named the animals. God placed the animals here on earth for our use, but that "use" does not extend to cruelty.  Animal cruelty is a sin, and in some cases, is a mortal sin. It is a direct offense against God who willed the animals into existence, loves them as part of His creation, and does not will their needless suffering.  These dear animals are ours, and when we give them what is due to them, such as food, shelter, and generally decent treatment, it glorifies God in His creation. 


I thank God for the pets I've had, and the pets I have now.  I know my new buddy "Bear" is destined for a wonderful loving home, and perhaps because he has been so mistreated, he'll have even MORE loyalty for the one who takes him in for the rest of his life.  


But for now, he's a contented member of my household, is learned how to be a regular dog and is experiencing the puppyhood he should have had long, long ago.  


Please send me an email (available through my profile) if you are local and interested in adopting this dog. Otherwise, share the links I'm writing about him with others you know who may be looking for a great pet.


I'm a huge fan of animal rescues; every pet I've had has been a rescue. If you desire a particular breed, know that there are breed rescues (that's why I have a German Shepherd foster...I went through a breed rescue website), but there are some for EVERY breed out there.  Unfortunately, AKC papers don't prevent people from neglecting or giving up their pets when they become inconvenient to them. 


That's all for tonight, but be assured I'll continue to write about the Adventures of Bear!   :-) 
  

2000-2009 Full of Sound and Fury Signifying....WHAT?

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

~ Shakespeare, Macbeth Act V Scene V

I wish I had some wisdom to offer. I don't. I have a story, but it doesn't contain wisdom. It's just a story,  as Shakespeare said, "full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

Ten years ago I had a boyfriend I thought I was going to marry, I wasn't practicing my Faith although I was seeking God in all things, but like Augustine, seeking Him "without" instead of "within", and within the Church that has always been my Mother.

Late have I loved you, O Beauty ever ancient, ever new, late have I loved you! You were within me, but I was outside, and it was there that I searched for you. In my unloveliness I plunged into the lovely things which you created. You were with me, but I was not with you. Created things kept me from you; yet if they had not been in you they would not have been at all. You called, you shouted, and you broke through my deafness. You flashed, you shone, and you dispelled my blindness. You breathed your fragrance on me; I drew in breath and now I pant for you. I have tasted you, now I hunger and thirst for more. You touched me, and I burned for your peace.
~ St. Augustine of Hippo, Confessions 

The last ten years has been tumultuous, amazing, heartbreaking, astounding, successful, a complete failure, and still...incredible. 

In 2000, I was still on the ski patrol, training hard physically both for fun and for a Fire Department test, which, the closer the date came for the test, the more I wanted it although I hadn't been interested at the outset. I passed the test with flying colors, shined like a star at the interview, and was hired the following April to start in May 2001 as a cadet.

That fall, September 2001, we were at the dreaded Training Tower, perfectly in place to realize exactly what it all meant as we watched the World Trade Center collapse in the terrorist attacks. We excused the tears of our Deputy Chief as we wept our own, we watched the local police department dogs sniff our cars and the entire training facility realizing we might be next in a way we could never predict.  We were invited to quit, having watched 300 firefighters in New York lose their lives that day, doing what we were being trained to do, and yet, we all came back. Not out of heroism of any sort, but out of a sense of practical reality, a work ethic instilled in us, a desire to do something good even if it meant our own lives in the end.

And I'm going to say what no one has said, in all that I've read and experienced. Here's why we ALL came back:   Because even though we'd seen something horrible, we were all in our 20's and didn't really, at heart, believe it could happen to US.  Not that.

Well, I did, and it took the wind of my sails, which, by that time were already patched, fully of other holes and not accepting any more breezes.  But I digress.

A week later I was injured in training because of another bullheaded cadet with more muscle than brain. I tried to get by and finally had to report the injury, fearing someone else would be hurt if I couldn't hold up my end of the work. They put me on light duty and I had surgery on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception under general anesthesia, without benefit of the Sacraments, my first surgery ever. I still wear scar and am a bit proud of it, just wishing I had a better story to explain it.

The Department let me go (with references from the top) in May of 2002 at the same time they dismissed several other firefighters on light duty, near retirement, and a class in progress.  I spent that summer looking for a job, a fish out of water, wasting time to appease my Work Comp rep who didn't seem to understand I wasn't qualified to be a Police Chief, a wilderness counselor, or a sous chef.  Or all three at the same time.

When I finally did find a job I was grasping at straws and she asked me if it was what I really wanted...causing me to nearly reach through the phone and strangle her!  But work in Insurance I did,  bought a house in early 2003 at the age of 30, was promoted to an Investigator position the following November, handled my first fatality, my first couple fraud cases, and for awhile...loved it. It was my dream job (except for the fatality, which I will NEVER forget!)

It didn't take long for me to begin to hate my job and my life, although in the meantime, my conversion was taking place, I found a home at my parish, became involved in a few things and began to hear God's voice in my heart and soul, asking me to consider Him as my soul focus in life.  Was He calling me to become a religious sister?

Although I don't properly consider the year that Call took place, I know it happened, probably in February of 2004,  and has been an undercurrent, has been the force of a waterfall and has been as painful as rapids in a drought for the rest of the  first decade of this current century.  Although right now it is at a trickle at best, given that my Vocation is far from decided, this decade leaves me painfully raw.

My search for God and the encouragement of a friend led me to look into Graduate school, a desire of my heart ever since college.  I'd long given up on the idea until his words of wisdom combined with a fortuitous attendance at a Catholic Conference made me both realize how thirsty I was for knowledge and thus to ask the question:

"Why NOT me?"

I began my first graduate course through Ave Maria University thanks to a priest at my parish who told me about the open enrollment for that class, and  that May, 2007, after much angst and agony and uncertainty as to how I was going to pay for it, I applied formally to the program and was accepted for that Fall...with a scholarship to pay for one third.  The rest...through unsubsidized graduate loans.   I decided to trust God and went for it. Finally...a grad student...in Theology no less!

In July that year, I turned in my resignation to the Insurance Company that employed me, having no place to go, certain I would lose everything. I was ready for that, sure I'd be in a box of some sort by winter, whether on a corner in Minneapolis or one in the ground, having frozen to death.  It didn't matter; I knew that life was too short to waste in a job that went nowhere, meant nothing, and truly held no security of any real sort. Not given what I saw happening as the most important and loyal people in that company fled for greener pastures.

But God answered and only a couple weeks after I started school again, I was employed at a parish in a job for which I was grossly under-qualified, inexperienced and....totally lost.  Yet it was fruitful in many ways, I met some religious sisters who thought I might have a Vocation and encouraged me to consider it again. That took me into 2008, where I visited Ohio, where God hit me with a 2x4 during Mass at St. Sebastian's in Akron, asked me again to look at Him as my sole lover, the Lover of my Soul...and so I did...quite seriously, and this time, finally ready to do so.

It was another year before I was FINALLY able to visit convents, which only came about because of the time God had provided to me, and the finances provided to me both to travel and to pay my bills...just last summer.

  2009

The last year has kept me on edge constantly, certain that I would lose everything, even as I gained more than I ever requested, expected...or deserved.

It has been a year of outright terror, surrender, confusion, joy, friendship, dependence, rejection, rebellion, restoration, connections, darkness, depression and ultimately...apathy.

The last months of this year have been a "wall" I hit hard, not really caring about anything anymore. As I studied the Immaculate Conception, I didn't care, all while I was also dealing with my Vocational crisis, certain maybe my life had no meaning at all. It was a complete act of the will to get through nearly every day of the last few months.

I have ended the year grateful to be through another semester, nearly certain I am NOT called to religious life yet sure there is something I still don't know, something else I need to explore before I can resign myself to a life of committed singlehood...and that itself will involve its own discernment.

I begin 2010 not with real hope, for I'm not sure there's much left after the last decade and the last soul-wringing  year that was 2009.

Still, there is always a glimmer, as long as God is involved, and so I invest myself completely in that glimmer, hoping for the best as I am preparing my heart and soul for the worst, for I have nothing else to expect.

I begin 2010 as a perpetual pilgrim, realizing this state may never change and may be the state that finally brings me to sanctity;  God in every moment, living on the shores of Divine Providence as the world threatens to tear me away as I claw at the wet sand, trying to cling to the Rock.

There is a tide in the affairs of men.

Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;

Omitted, all the voyage of their life

Is bound in shallows and in miseries.

On such a full sea are we now afloat,

And we must take the current when it serves,

Or lose our ventures.

~ Shakespeare - Julius Caesar, Act 4 Scene 3

Welcome, 2010. You can't do much worse to me than 2009...or do I speak too soon...?

Life With "Bear"

I hope you will indulge me another dog post while I continue to cook up one that's more serious and in line with my regular blogging. It's a new year now, it's a Holy Day, and certainly I have more to say. (Then again, blogging is largely just, what, a narcissistic grandstand? So maybe I shouldn't be apologizing....you decide! lol)

Anyway, here is a "Bear" update, and with good news!

"Bear" is doing well. He's calming down, getting used to things and his real personality is starting to appear.

Last night, because he hadn't messed in the house since his first night, I let him loose in my room in hopes he'd settle down. I'm a very light sleeper so every time he moved, I woke up and looked to see what he was doing.  Only once did I have to turn on the light and take something away from him:  an old sock I'd worn and given to him as an appeasement toy, but as it seemed he was actually trying to EAT it,  I took it away.  He pouted and went to lay down.

I'm finding "Bear" also seems to understand the command, "Go lay down!" although not the command "down" itself.

While he's not house trained, he is seeming to begin to understand what to do when we go out, and is further understanding praise and patting.  In fact, when he does his business I have been praising him with many enthusiastic pats, rubbing his side, and he is joyfully eating it up! And even last night although loose in my room which HAS been marked at one time by a visiting male dog, he hasn't actually marked anything himself. I did catch him prepping for "the pose" but the verbal command to stop was sufficient to deter him.  The benefit to living in a small house is apparently contributing to the success of his house training:  he can't do anything as long as I'm watching!  As I've had a couple male dogs in my life, I know the behavior so can read the general "language" before the "accident" happens.  It's paying off now!  Although I'm certain we are not out of the woods....I'm nowhere NEAR ready to let him out of the kennel unsupervised or out of my sight for any serious period of time!

Bear's coat is already softer and shinier, probably both from regular attention and the food I'm giving him (regular dog food, mixed heavily with hamburger and rice in hopes of staving off or minimizing possible gastrointestinal problems), a touch of olive oil, and many treats!  He may have already gained a pound, but in his condition, every little bit shows.

He is still quite stinky and I brought him into the bathroom to look around in hopes maybe he would find the bathtub a place worthy of exploration.  Nope. He shied away from that with the first invitation!  So my guess is that he's experienced a bath before and didn't find it to his liking.  Just confirmation my trying to get him into it might not be the best idea at this point.

So...I'm being sneaky.  I've brushed him a few times, and took an old towel, wet it and have run it over his fur a few times. This afternoon I got it wet enough to "penetrate" a little, got one side wet, then added a little soap for another pass.  Then went to him again for a "rinse". He was contentedly stretched out on a dog bed at the time and not real interested in moving around, so I was just taking advantage of his "doggie down time."  No doubt he enjoyed it immensely.

When I brush him with the flea comb (an awesome tool every dog owner needs), I'm picking up a lot of mats, dead hair, etc, and at least one side of him is now cleaner than it was. Now...the next time he lays down hopefully it'll be on the "clean" side so I can go after his dirtier half!

This isn't anything like a real bath, which he continues to desperately need, but it's a marked improvement and I, for one, am pleased with every little bit!

Just a few moments ago Bear commandeered my dog's favorite stuffed toy so I got it away from him, substituted another he can readily destroy as it was already "rejected" so can go into the trash when he is done "playing" with it.  It's good to see him coming out a little, playing a bit, and showing his personality. Dogs naturally need something to "tear apart" as they are carnivorous animals and in fact, this kind of play is good for their teeth.  Now, for him, he needs several teeth extracted and a major cleaning, which will happen when he's neutered. But still, I want to see him engaging in normal "doggie" behaviors as it's a great sign of adjusting to a new life.

"Bear" may be an older dog, but he's got a LOT of life in him and I look forward to presenting to his future adoptive home.  Even though he's only been here a few days, he already seems like an entirely different dog!

Now...hopefully my next post will be more typical of my blog, but for those of you who love animals, I hope you're enjoying the "Bear" interlude!

Happy New Year and Blessed Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God!

Dog's First Vet Visit

En route to Minnesota, the dogs, including "Bear" were checked out and given shots at a vet clinic.  But last night I saw a pool of blood which was clearly coming from a very sensitive area of the dog, who, as you recall, has not been neutered.

I was thinking it's a good chance it was a urinary tract infection, maybe something worse given the fact it was BLOOD, and quite a bit of it!

So this morning I called the placement coordinator, she got ahold of the vet clinic they use and they decided they DID want to see the dog. So I called them and drove all the way across town to get him to the vet.  They gave me some "Harmoneez" for his kennel anxiety, and I drove BACK across town to pick up the prescription for antibiotics from the Rescue group's main office.  They also gave me valerian for him, to be given about 30 minutes before I go anywhere. Hopefully the combination of things will help him settle down a bit.

Gotta tell ya, I am so thankful that this week I have some flex in my work schedule and ability to do some of it from home. But I'm still having to take some time off work, unplanned, to deal with all of it.

And I'm going to be perfectly honest:  once "Bear" is adopted, I probably won't be fostering again any time soon. It's turning out to be a much greater commitment than it seemed and given that this is going to be a VERY tough semester in school AND a spring from Hell at work....I won't be able to do this kind of thing for every dog that comes along.

As it is, if I can't get him to settle down in his kennel so that I can actually go away to work for 8 hours, I'll have to ask that they place him with another foster home.   He's an awesome, sweet, easy-going dog in every other way, rides perfectly in the car and just wants to be your buddy.

So here's to hoping the stuff they gave me for him today works!  (it'll get a test tonight when I go to Mass!)

The Saga of the Foster Dog Continues...

For those of you who read my blog for the spiritual topics, I'm certain those will make a return. In fact, I can't do anything in life without looking for whatever it is God is trying to tell me. For those of you who love animals (I know many of you do), maybe this is fascinating to you so I will continue to write of my new friend "Bear".  Be assured, at some point, maybe even tonight, I will write of God's influence in this situation.  His fingerprints are ALL. OVER. this endeavor!

As I write, I ask you all to keep in mind that this dog is a FOSTER. That means he is up for adoption and I am only serving as a temporary home. This really means I'm serving the family (or single person) intended by God to have this dog.. It IS a daunting task and I admit I'm intimidated.

If you are interested at some point in adopting this dog, please send me an email so I can put you in touch with the rescue organization.  Please do not hesitate to do this:  one of the reasons I decided to try my hand at fostering is because I cannot afford a second dog, my own dog is happier as an only pet, and I decided that sometimes it's worth putting one's heart on the line for a greater good.  (Don't worry, my dog will "speak" to me again eventually.) There aren't enough people out there who are willing to even TRY fostering...so I hope my writing about "Bear" (my blog name for him) ends up encouraging others to try this role for themselves. Recall that God created animals for a reason and a service such as this glorifies and serves Him, too.

So....First Night and Day with Bear....

In speaking with the placement coordinator while she was at my house last night, I asked for some advice/recommendation on kennel usage based on what she knows and her experience. She did recommend I kennel him at night instead of letting him run loose in my bedroom, for fear he might decide to "mark" everything I own while I sleep. As this was also my line of thinking, that's exactly what I did.  Bear went into the kennel with only a little hesitation, but didn't seem to be interested in the treat I offered him.

In general, he doesn't seem to understand what treats are about.  I actually pulled out the "big guns" last night; freeze-dried liver, used for training.  He turned it down!  Yet, when my dog snarfed it down, he decided to give it a try.   I've also seen this behavior before, in a dog who had been very abused.  The fact that he is eating them, albeit with hesitation, is a good sign. He's willing to trust...a little...and accept treats.

Well, so, I went to bed, my dog came with me, and Bear remained in his kennel downstairs. He wasn't pleased. In fact, he sounded a lot like Chewbacca complaining, making me wonder if he's got some Malamute in him somewhere!  (Yes, German Shepherds can be "talkers", too, and Bear is DEFINITELY one of them!) Unfortunately I could hear him scraping and pulling at the kennel door, he was barking, and I tried to wait it out to see what would happen.

You see, when puppies are first kenneled, they also go through a period of separation anxiety. (So do human babies, but I'll leave the child rearing to actual parents!)   Typically the best thing to do with a puppy is to let them just cry and howl...it doesn't hurt them and eventually they learn that all is well, their people come back, and they are safe.  If the people decide the crying is too much for them and come down to comfort the puppy, the puppy is then reinforced in the negative behavior. This ISN'T a good thing! It prolongs the training period!

I had this in mind last night, but had to realize that since I am in a townhome with neighbors on three sides, well....I had to make a decision.  I thought back to my greyhound and how I'd given him the courtesy of spending his first night with him downstairs in the livingroom. The first few nights, in fact.  Granted, Bear isn't going to be my dog, but what I did for my grey helped him to settle in a little more comfortably, knowing he wasn't alone in an unfamiliar place, and I never had problems with him.

So I grabbed my pillow and blanket and spent the night on the couch. Bear was a little appeased, but not entirely. He calmed enough to stop barking, although did punctuate the night with a few barks, growls, and Chewbacca conversations.  (He has a very lovely singing voice! If this can be harnessed, he can stand in for any future Wookies as a voice-over!)

This morning when I got up, I decided to forgo the coffee that is usually my primary concern, and just decided to get ready for work.  During the time I took to take my shower and get dressed, I didn't hear a peep out of Bear.  I wondered if maybe it had to do with the lights....was he accustomed to always being in a lighted area?  Is this dog....afraid of the dark? The silence?  Maybe just the lack of a pack of howling dogs to chat with around him?

I went to work but came home early today, bringing things with me to do from home. Thankfully this week I have that ability. It won't always be so.  It's not USUALLY so!

Thank God I came home!  He had bent the kennel door inward and jammed it. The latch had been undone, but the hooks were still in place.  I had to work a bit to get him out!

Now, SOME of this might just be a "German Shepherd" thing.  When I first got my own German Shepherd (my present one), she was an escape artist and delicately opened the kennel gate without doing any damage. I learned quickly that she could not be kenneled. I also learned that as long as she didn't have free run of the whole house, she was generally well-behaved (although a few things were sacrificed as can be predicted.).

I'd be willing to give Bear the benefit of that doubt, except for two reasons:

1.    There is absolutely NO evidence that he is familiar with house training.  Although he has not "marked" anything else since his arrival last night, I don't think he can be trusted yet to know where the potty is SUPPOSED to go.  He seems to have no idea, while on the leash, that he's supposed to be relieving himself.  When he does, it's incidental, more dominant behavior than actual understanding that it's potty time.  Unlike my dog.

2.  He's not yet neutered.  Would YOU let an intact stud canine run around your house KNOWING that he's not house trained yet?


So we are at an impasse...I can't trust him outside the kennel yet, and he clearly doesn't like being IN it!

Now, none of this should be taken to mean he has actual separation anxiety.  Overall, what I'm seeing is general Shepherd traits, and I am finding he is willing to let me go out of his sight as long as he knows where I am. This is typical new-dog behavior.  When I go into the kitchen, for example, he might follow and check to see where I am, but then he'll find a dog bed and lie down on it until I return or peek around the corner to make sure he isn't peeing on my theology books.

This afternoon we took a nice walk since the city finally "plowed" the sidewalks, making them passable.  Bear really didn't seem interested in doing his business, but just kept looking up at me as if to ask, "What are we doing now? Am I good? Am I a good boy? Where are we going?  What now?"

I don't think he's ever been outside of a dog run before.  Bear is absolutely FASCINATED by my TV, doesn't know how to walk on my pergot floor and was hesitant to go up the stairs this morning when I decided to introduce him to the upper level.

But he is sweet, he's willing, and although still very timid and prone to shying away, he's also very much trying to please and seems to be enjoying being curled up on the rug or dog bed.

On the Stinkyness....

He's still pretty stinky. It's not his fault.  I did recall I have some "waterless" dog bath powder I keep on hand, decided to try it. It helped just a little, but he's so filthy his fur is hanging on to the powder so I can't wash it out!  His skin is also very dry and I think I'll be adding some olive oil to his hamburger and rice mash this evening.  When I get his rabies certificate sent to me, I can maybe take him in to the groomer's for a good bath. A REALLY good bath!

He's skin and bones but I hope to get him fattened up, his coat shiny, and see what he's like when he's got some real German Shepherd confidence!

Those of you who have seen the movie "Seabiscuit" might remember Tom Smith's lines, two of which come into play here:

"Heck, he's so beat up it's hard to tell what he's really like!"

and

"You don't throw a whole life away because he's beat up a little bit."

Bear is going to be an awesome pet. I look forward to sharing with you all what he's really like.  Already he's settling down and reminding me that, indeed....lives shouldn't be thrown away just because they're a little beat up.
*

He Has Arrived!

My foster dog arrived this evening and much to my surprise, my current German Shepherd actually let him in! (She seems more surprised than anything else and seems to be sulking a bit right now. How DARE I bring another canine into her house?!)

This poor dog looks like a bear, actually, especially given the scars on his muzzle.  And he IS really timid, very jumpy and if I don't approach him without his nearly making eye contact with me, he shies away.

"Bear" as I think I might have to call him, is just skin and bones. He's obviously been neglected.  Seriously...one should NOT be able to count a German Shepherd's ribs or find the point where the hip sticks out like a sharp rock outcropping.

We let him run around my tiny lower level, sniffing, getting acquainted German-Shepherd style, and he quickly found a little bag of garbage, which he decided to claim. Yup...we went into the kitchen just in time to see that he had definitely made himself at home by marking my cabinets. Unfortunately, that also means he marked the INSIDE as well.  Good thing I have enzyme cleaner, to be followed by lysol when the enzyme cleaner dries!

No, we didn't yell, not loudly, just enough to get him out of the kitchen so he could go outside.

Even though he apparently  helped himself earlier this evening to some lemon bars (while on a stop en route to MN), I fed him some dinner tonight;  just a little hamburger and rice, thinking some bland food is good for him. I also tried to feed him by hand as I mentioned earlier. Unfortunately, he doesn't know how to deal with that and tried to actually eat my hand. Realizing if I wanted to keep my appendages, I just put the food in a bowl and decided to be satisfied with holding the bowl for him.

This poor dog seems to walk fine on the leash, probably because he has no idea what it is, and he doesn't seem to know that when he's on it, it means he's supposed to be going potty outside. I'll have to count on my dog to teach him about going potty while on walks, not while wandering around the kitchen.  He also clearly has never been taught any obedience;  we have the impression that he was probably kept locked up in a kennel and just yanked out when it was time to be a stud.

It's going to take some slow work and patience, but I think "Bear" is going to make some family very very happy.

I guess my new role as a foster "mom" becomes clearer to me, and I'm humbled. I hope I really am able to help this dear creature come out of his shell and become the wonderful, loyal friend his breed is INTENDED to be!

P.S. I also hope to find a way to get him to a groomer's....he's really stinky! He has NOT been an "indoor dog!"   Anyone wanna donate a "bath" at a local Petsmart or Petco?  Or somewhere else?  I don't have good dog facilities for bathing and he needs a gentle touch.  Open to suggestions especially if anyone local knows of a place that's willing to help out a dog rescue!

Foster Dog Update

No, he's not here yet. Originally he was supposed to be arriving at my house around 4 pm today, however, things have changed quite a bit. The coordinator has to drop off another dog in another city, and I happen to live on her way home.

She was able to tell me a little more about my new buddy, though. He is a very sweet animal, wonderful gentle temperament, but he is very timid and tends to shrink away from people. He is not real familiar with the leash but apparently he wants to please so responds pretty well to a little direction.  Clearly, he has not been well treated and will need a gentle hand and quiet home...so maybe he's a perfect foster for me!

Given that he's so fearful and untrusting, I think I will take a few days and just feed him by hand so that he will come to associate good things with me...and hopefully then with other people.  Poor guy, apparently he is one who just needs to learn how to be a dog!  It sounds like he is wonderful around other dogs.

So...more info to come, and maybe even a pic later this evening.  I'll admit I'm a bit nervous about taking in a dog especially given the fact that outdoor walking conditions are treacherous and best, but we'll make do.

I just hope I'm up to this task!

Holy Family

Today is the Feast of the Holy Family, and we hear about finding Christ in the temple, we hear that He went home and was obedient to his parents, Mary and Joseph. It is the beginning of the hidden life of the Holy Family, and during the homily we usually we hear about the importance of family in our society.

Indeed, this Feast falls immediately after Christmas for good reason, and isn't it even more meaningful in this time  when we are spending extra time with our own families?  Especially given the fact that the experience isn't usually, well...very idyllic?  It is important for us to recognize that the Holy Family suffered hardships as well.

I have to ask, though:   while we consider our biological families, have we given any thought to our spiritual family? More specifically, have we given any thought or prayer to our spiritual fathers, both those who bring us to Christ and bring Christ to us, and those who SHOULD be doing so but are under lock and key living a persecution many refuse to acknowledge?

Today, I bring you an important article from Charlene C. Duline, published in, of all places, the National Catholic Reporter in 2007:

Throwaway priests


Dishonored and disgraced for their crimes, fallen priests deserve our sympathy


By CHARLENE C. DULINE


Does the Catholic Church remember its fallen priests, the priests who molested children and are now serving time in prisons? Who among us has asked for blessings for them as they serve their time behind bars? The hands that once consecrated the host that became the body of Christ now reek of ammonia from cleaning toilets.


Amid the flurry of accusations, trials, more accusations, payoffs, and dioceses declaring bankruptcy, I began to wonder about the treatment of priests in prison. I wondered how their fellow inmates treated them. Were they revered as men of the cloth or debased as child molesters? 

To abuse a child is a horrific act. I know because I was an abused child. Some might find it astonishing that I, the victim of such abuse many years ago, could feel sorry for these fallen priests. Despite the desire for revenge that still burns deep in my heart, something in me wanted to reach out to these men who had served God despite their failings. I wondered if our church ministered to them in any form.


Through the Internet I was able to get information on the accused priests, their sentences and where they were serving their time. I wrote to some of them. I also posted my desire to hear from them on Web sites sympathetic to the defrocked men. Some of their responses astounded me. They all asked to remain anonymous. Most of the priests I heard from indicated that they had no access to Catholic chaplains or materials, including retirement monies they thought they had a right to. It seems that the church that once embraced them and covered up their crimes has abandoned them. They have been defrocked or laicized and are now treated as pariahs. Their situation in prison is not pleasant.


One priest, now 79 years old, wrote, “Mistreatment by the young inmates is continually horrendous. Insults, curses, spitting and assaults are daily. From one attack I received 42 bruises.”


During the 11 years this priest has been in prison, several close family members, including his mother, have died. Other family members do not communicate with him because he “embarrassed the family.” He believes that he will die a lonely death in prison. He’s probably right.

Read the rest.

Whether they are guilty or innocent, whether they have been dispensed or not, they remain our spiritual fathers, a part of our family. Neither we nor they can undo what God has done. Canonical privileges can be removed, but the indelible mark upon their souls cannot be undone.

I, for one, am grateful for our spiritual fathers, and while I do not condone or support criminal activity, I also abhor how these men have been treated. Having worked with sex offenders in an adolescent treatment facility years ago, I can testify that those kids and even their own abusers have been treated far better than the Church, the Mother of Mercy, has treated her beloved but disgraced Sons. It's absolutely scandalous.

Are we a Church of mercy or are we not? 

The point is not that we deny what has been done and  most certainly we do not deny the reality suffered by the victims.  What we are saying is that justice has its place, and without forgiveness, justice is not done in ANY corner.  There is no mercy without justice, and there is no justice if it is not tempered by mercy.

Yet when we look at imprisoned priests, we see that there is no mercy for them; not from us, their family, not from anyone.

What of the Innocent Priests, Unjustly Imprisoned without their right to Due Process both through our legal system AND through the Church?  

We know of those cases, such as that of Fr. Gordon MacRae, unjustly imprisoned, suffering a purgatory for sins he did not commit, offering those days for we who live in freedom, which we so often take as a "right" to live in ways that are a direct affront to God Himself.

What a disgrace!

Sadly, we don't, in our time, seem to know the first thing about family. We first deny the need for it, we do all we can politically to disrupt it (same-sex "marriage", contraception, abortion, divorce, etc.), and we do all we can to disgrace it.  So it comes as no surprise that we treat our spiritual family with even less regard, especially our spiritual fathers, many of whom are rotting away, forgotten, perhaps forgiven by God but shunned by the rest of us.

Forgiveness does not mean acceptance of sin, it does not mean endorsement of illegal activity. But it DOES require charity, it DOES require remembering that we are all in need of forgiveness, that each life is willed by God, and loved by God.  Those we shun are STILL loved by God, and when they are left in desolation, it is WE who sin...not they.

Today, as we celebrate the Holy Family, recall to mind not just your own family, but your spiritual family, the entire Mystical Body of Christ and most especially those who have been willfully forgotten, willfully shunned, willfully ignored.

My prayers today go out to all priests and religious, throughout the world, who are imprisoned for any reason,  justly or unjustly. They, like we all, are children of God, willed by God, loved by God....and forgotten by the rest of us.

Please join your prayers with mine.

Right now, in this moment, as I write this, Fr. MacRae is offering Mass from his prison cell. If you read this, please unite yourself spiritually to Our Lord in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, and remember whose hands bring Heaven and Earth together in this moment.

In this moment, the Suffering Church, the Church Militant, is united with the Church Triumphant....

Return of the Dog Woman

A few years ago, after I'd moved into my town home association, I went to an annual board meeting where I met a few of my neighbors.

As a couple neighbors and I introduced ourselves to each other, we discussed our pets and one of them asked if I was the one with the "two big dogs".

Ayup. "I'm the Dog Lady,"

They both immediately nodded enthusiastically, commenting on how they'd seen me with my two canines.

*sigh*

That's when I realized the truth about myself:  I grew up to be the neighborhood Dog Woman.

*sigh*

Well, then my greyhound got bone cancer and one day as I helped him limp around our building to relieve himself, a neighbor stopped her van and asked me what was wrong with him. I told her sadly that he had cancer and didn't have much time.

And it wasn't much time....a week after that he was gone. And on that day, while I was getting the mail, another neighbor asked me how he was...and I had to tell him I'd had to put him down that very day.

Dang, I still cry just THINKING about it!

For a long time, I've considered fostering as I know I can handle two dogs in my house, albeit within certain limitations.  As you recall, a few weeks ago I wrote about this possibility. I knew back when I lost my greyhound and I know now that I can't afford to adopt another dog, but it costs me nothing but time, space, and a little piece of my heart to foster.

Well, it seems my application has been conditionally approved, although the first dog slated for me apparently never made it to Minnesota.  This weekend, though, I received a call about another shipment, and one dog  in particular the organization thought would work in my little household.

The dog in question belonged to a breeder who decided he was of no more use to him, so he dumped him off at a local shelter. Apparently this discarded stud is sweet, gentle, and shy, just in need of a good home.  As he's older he'd probably do well in my own quiet abode.

Of course I read his story and turned into a big ball of mush, as I do with so many discarded-pet tales.  As it is, I'm the 4th or 5th owner of my current German Shepherd, and seriously don't understand what others thought was "wrong" with her. I know part of her story and even met a past owner (that's an awesome tale), but the rest....BAH!

All I can say is:   What is WRONG with people????

So I said yes to this, and I'm going to try my hand as a "foster Mom" for dogs. 

Now, I know some troll is going to come by and insinuate that I hate children or don't find abused children to be so compelling as I'm not fostering THEM, etc. etc.  (There seems to be one such troll in every crowd).  So let me just head that question off:

 I am a single woman and the fact that I love animals and am available to foster dogs doesn't mean I'd be a good foster MOTHER, adoptive MOTHER or that I'm called to MOTHERHOOD at all.

And the last time I checked, it's not lawful to lock a child up in a kennel and go to work all day.

However, the treatment above is RECOMMENDED for dogs and I'm actually equipped for that.  I also seem to have a talent with abused and discarded animals, so maybe it's time I put it back into use. Some person or family will one day benefit, but for now, I'm making room in my home and my heart for another pet.

This is going to be hard, I suspect, as is anything worthwhile.

The dog in question does have a name, but I always swore that if I got another German Shepherd, and more specifically, a male, I'd name him Benedict after our dear Papa, our German Shepherd.

So from here on out, this dog  to come will be known as Benedict I, or "Ben" for short, maybe to be followed by other "Ben's".  We'll see how this one goes first.

I guess the Dog Woman is back.

** Note: Pictured above is my dog, not the "Unknown Benedict I"

Merry Christmas!

Isaiah 9:1-6

The people who walked in darkness
have seen a great light;
upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom
a light has shone.
You have brought them abundant joy
and great rejoicing,
as they rejoice before you as at the harvest,
as people make merry when dividing spoils.
For the yoke that burdened them,
the pole on their shoulder,
and the rod of their taskmaster
you have smashed, as on the day of Midian.
For every boot that tramped in battle,
every cloak rolled in blood,
will be burned as fuel for flames.
For a child is born to us, a son is given us;
upon his shoulder dominion rests.
They name him Wonder-Counselor, God-Hero,
Father-Forever, Prince of Peace.
His dominion is vast
and forever peaceful,
from David’s throne, and over his kingdom,
which he confirms and sustains
by judgment and justice,
both now and forever. The zeal of the LORD of hosts will do this!

Gifted

Yeah, so...last night when I was trying to wrap Christmas gifts, I broke my toe. Good times, good times.  Can someone bring me some painkillers?  

Stop laughing.

No, I didn't go to the doctor...I don't have time and they can't do anything for a broken toe anyway. And no, I don't have time to ice 20 min on and off. IN fact, I'm preparing to head to my brother's for Christmas, a day early. This is a massive change in original plans, but so be it.  And really, I need to be heading out soon. It's already "flurry-ing" out, the winds are picking up and the atmosphere has that oppressive feeling that tells you some kind of a winter beast is coming.

Let me tell you, this is NOT how I planned Christmas. Really, a broken toe was not part of my plans.

What happened, you ask?

Well, here's the deal:  I had washed a sweater I want to wear to Mass on Christmas Eve. I had to lay it flat to dry and since the rest of my house is in chaos, the only "flat spot" was on my bed. So that's where I put it. I came up later to grab wrapping paper, and when I left the spare room with it, I saw the dog lying on my freshly-washed, still-damp sweater. I rushed in to shoo her off, and that's when it happened. There I was struggling to hold the long paper rolls, and what did I do but  manage to slam my foot right into a heavy trunk that had been in that very spot since the day I moved in to this place almost 6 years ago.

Needless to say I dropped the paper, hit the bed screaming in pain, only to realize now the dog was standing on the sweater as she came to see the cause of my agony, making me have to stop mid-scream to get her off the sweater again. The poor dog jumped to the futon by the window, then when trying to get a toy to offer me, walked all over the paper. I had to stop screaming and shoo her off the paper before she wrecked it all, and then, finally, she found a "safe spot" and offered me her most beloved toy, a coyote that has seen better days.

And so at that point not only did I feel horrible because I was in so much pain as a result of my own klutzy stupidity, I felt horrible for yelling at my very sweet German Shepherd who was only trying to 'help".

*sigh*

I hoped it was just sprained and was SURE it would be better this morning. I slept last night with my foot elevated...all night.

It didn't work. And I gotta tellya...limping the dog (it couldn't properly be called "walking the dog")  was quite an adventure today.  At one point I stepped "wrong" and actually nearly started crying. That pretty much ended my denial...it HAS to be broken.  *sigh*

I still managed to get to Mass, but there was no genuflecting for me...the very thought of even TRYING made me cringe. So I just bowed and sat down. Throughout Mass, each time we knelt, I found all sorts of interesting ways to do so without putting pressure on my toes.  Thank God for those nice kneelers!

I'm telling you, people, wrapping gifts is DANGEROUS!  Be careful out there! It's all fun and games until someone needs X-rays and a cast!

So glad Jesus gave me this little gift for this weekend. It will ensure I don't forget that His birthday wasn't exactly idyllic for Him, either.

Merry Christmas (well, almost...!)

Perpetual Pilgrim Awaiting the Dawn

O Sapientia
O Adonai...
O Radix Jesse...
O Clavis David...
O Oriens......
O Rex Gentium...
O Emmanuel.....

We await the coming of our Savior, waiting to celebrate His birth even as we continue in our own time to await the Second Coming.  

But that is not all. Some of us still await the purpose of our lives, even as we try to live it out as best we can with what we have.  Given this and my incertitude, I have to confess that I'm still looking at religious communities, trying to find out if there's one I haven't discovered. Today I looked again at the Trappists (Cistercians of Strict Observance) given how my taste of monasticism has so taken hold of me and awakened my very soul.

Just as Mary pondered things in her heart, so do I, although without nearly so much depth, without nearly so much silence, without nearly so much holiness.

We recognize in the Church three Vocations, formally:  the Priesthood, Religious Life, and Marriage.

Two of those require Sacraments:  Holy Orders and Matrimony.  Those require supernatural authority and supernatural grace, whereas Religious Life is not gained through a Sacrament because it has all the needed grace from Baptism and Confirmation.  God alone is sufficient, for He is the sole object.

Then we have the Single Life, which some argue is a Vocation unto itself. In a way, it can be, for we have Consecrated Virgins and we have Hermits; but those are a form of Religious Life, not the Single state.

The reality is that the Single Life is not in and of itself a recognizable Vocation. Especially in our culture of commitment avoidance, we cannot give into the temptation to call it such just because there are so many singles.  To do so is to endorse what is so prevalent in our time;  the refusal of the individual soul to inquire of God what He has called them into being to BE.

There are a thousand reasons for being single, but every one is anecdotal, not objective Unlike the Married, Religious or Priestly Vocations, there is no one to ENDORSE with any authority the "call" to be single  for Christ.  Sure, I can cite LOTS of single men and women who live holy lives, but can any of us actually stand in the place of judgment and authoritatively say that those people were NOT called to some recognized Vocation?  Can we? Especially if the Church of which we are a part and look to for guidance has not done so?

Vocational Discernment is the Hardest Thing You Will Ever Do

I've written of this before and really am not free to tell individual stories for fear they would be recognized, but I learned a great deal last summer of the reality of Discernment...and that for some, it DOESN'T end.  I know of a Sister who had made her Final Profession and ended up leaving her congregation when things went south....far, far south.  She didn't leave her vows, but sought only God's will, landing in a cloister where she was greatly aided by those dear nuns, only to find that wasn't her place, either. She struggled, wondering if she should write to Rome for a dispensation from her Vows, but didn't want to do that. At long last, she found her community and although when I knew her she was still in formation there, this Religious of 20-something years (ie in her 40's, having been in religious life since her teens) seemed to have finally found her Home.

I met another who had entered the community of religious that had taught her in school, only to face a major betrayal LONG after having made her final vows.  She was forcibly ousted, was never told why but went, and finally found her true home.

Through speaking with many Sisters, I learned this is common. It's not just common for someone to be a postulant or aspirant or novice in one place and leave only to try a few more: it's fairly common for some to find, even after perpetual vows that they are NOT where God intends!

This knowledge really didn't help me in my discernment, to be perfectly honest. As it is I have problems with trust, but the information obtained this summer made me realize that even if I DO find what I think is "the place" for me, I may face that same kind of total betrayal.

Or, of course, as I think now, I'm not called to it at all.

Certainly, though, my heart goes out to all of those dear Sisters who have discerned so sincerely and found themselves out in the cold with the Infant Jesus.

Perpetual Pilgrim

I have written many times of how I feel like a perpetual pilgrim.  I haven't had a proper "home" since I was 10 and we lost our home to foreclosure, had to lose many of our things, and in fact, I recall even losing the privacy I'd taken for granted for so long.  Instead of having my own room, I had to share a room with my Mom in a tiny apartment. Instead of enjoying the expanse of a huge acre lot with a little grove of trees to feed my imagination, we had a postage stamp of a yard on the edge of one of the busiest streets in town...yet another new experience.

That apartment was never "home" to me. It was where we lived, and I was embarrassed to live there. Of course we all adapted, but having had our own space once, well, it's hard not to see the world in those terms anymore.

Two weeks after I graduated from high school, Mom was hospitalized for 3 months then sent to live in a half-way house for another 9 or so. We lost the apartment and were, officially, without a formal address.

When I came "home" for Christmas that December, I split my time between friends and relatives, trying not to be a bother to anyone. When I came "home" on weekends to work, or on Easter, or that following summer on break, I tried to make sure I was as invisible and out of the way as possible. After all, I didn't want to be anyone's problem.

Even when Mom got her own apartment, it was hers alone and I couldn't formally, by law, live there because of the reason for her housing.  It was only another place to crash for the night. It was never "home".

When I graduated college, I found myself in the Cities, moving from place to place, year to year, lease to lease.  I purchased my town home in 2003 or so and even then, when I signed the papers I knew this was more like a long-term temporary place. This isn't "home". It's a place to crash for awhile.

Even as I laid down the cash to bind the deal, I realized that this box I keep my stuff in is transitional, not permanent.

Eternal Pilgrimage

A couple years ago, when I visited my friends in Ohio, my eyes were opened.  I knew that my REAL home, at least on this earth, is the Mass.  It is only at Mass that I can really let go of everything and be present for God, knowing I am dependent upon HIM for everything.

It doesn't matter WHERE  I go to Mass....because Mass is transcendent. It is the past, present, and future. It is all times, all places. It belongs to God and therefore it is eternity.

Mass is the ONLY place in this world where I KNOW without a doubt, that I belong.

It is the only place where I am myself, fully, unequivocally, without reserve...because none of us can be other than that in the presence of God.

That July, I GOT it.  I understood what it means to be a Pilgrim here on this earth, homeless, in true spiritual poverty.

Our lives are not about material possessions and in many ways I think it's ridiculous to claim any political or national affiliation.  We Catholics far transcend by our very Baptism and Confirmation the governmental structures that try to lay claim to our lives, our attitudes and our spirits.

It is WE who, if we were to really live up to what we have been given, would be laying claim to the government and exerting God's authority for the proper good of ALL!

The Letter to Diognetus, a document I've posted many times, more and more becomes my anthem.  Here is a powerful excerpt:

They live in the flesh, but they are not governed by the desires of the flesh. They pass their days upon earth, but they are citizens of heaven. Obedient to the laws, they yet live on a level that transcends the law. Christians love all men, but all men persecute them. Condemned because they are not understood, they are put to death, but raised to life again. They live in poverty, but enrich many; they are totally destitute, but possess an abundance of everything. They suffer dishonor, but that is their glory. They are defamed, but vindicated. A blessing is their answer to abuse, deference their response to insult. For the good they do they receive the punishment of malefactors, but even then they, rejoice, as though receiving the gift of life.

Today in complete jest while lamenting yet another pair of cheap boots wrecked (they have holes in the sole) I suggested to friends that maybe I have a new Vocation, one unrecognized but maybe I am called to formalize it.

Maybe I should found the Order of the Discalced Pilgrims of the Holy Sacrifice.

Who are we?  Men and Women who realize we are called to be Pilgrims on this earth, Single men and women who WANT to commit ourselves to Our Lord but don't seem to be called into the Priesthood or Marriage, and can't seem to find our home in Religious Life either. Yet we know we are not called to just be "single".

God did not bring us into this world to just hang out as bachelors and bachelorettes.

All I know is that I am God's own Pilgrim Daughter, still homeless, apparently shoeless, and no resolution in sight. I am perpetually cast upon the sacred shores of God's Divine Providence.

If I have any identity at all, even though I've never been on a recognizable pilgrimage, I realize that my very existence is the only pilgrimage that is necessary.  As I seek my place in this world, I have the next as my goal, knowing that whenever I need to come home, all I must do is attend the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.

One day, I will finally go to my true Home, hopefully having accomplished whatever it is God would have me do in this life.

This Advent, I await the revelation of my Vocation just as I await the Second Coming of Christ. I wait, knowing that I am a mere pilgrim, dependent upon God for all things, grateful for our Dearest Lord and Savior, seeking, above all, the pilgrimage into His Most Sacred Heart...for eternity.

I hope, that, when I die, if I can afford it, the following epitaph will be etched into my tombstone:

A Pilgrim No Longer:  I'm Home.

If we do not live our lives (our pilgrimage) on earth with our final end in mind, it is guaranteed we will never find it...for we will never find Him.

Antiphon 3 from LOH:   "When the Son of Man comes to earth, do you think he will find faith in men's hearts?"  

O Radiant Dawn, splendor of eternal light, sun of justice: come, shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.

I am nothing but a Pilgrim awaiting the Dawn...

Transcendent

This weekend, I decided that since I had time, I would drive down to attend the Mass in the Extraordinary Form (EF), going by myself for the very first time.  The first time I assisted at this form of the Mass was just over one year ago, the First Sunday of Advent, the first one in 40 years at the Church of St. Agnes in St. Paul.  

Although I was fairly familiar with their Latin Ordinary Form (OF), I found the EF to be quite different, but even MORE transcendent.

I knew that I had to go today but didn't understand why. God often doesn't reveal His intentions for us.

Although the little clipper that came through last night made driving a bit treacherous, I decided that it was worth it, and so I took my rosary in hand and drove carefully through the Cities to reach the Church that was my destination.  With gratitude I nearly "fell" into the pew, knowing that in a sense, I was on my own. There wasn't anyone there to help me find my place or make sure I didn't stand when we were supposed to sit.

(As an aside...I always forget that during the EF at a certain point in the Credo, we SIT for the remainder of it. I don't understand this which is why I can't remember to do so. I seriously need to study this form of the Mass, every move and why we do it.)

I have to admit that as I drove to Mass this morning, praying not to spin out on the icy curves with an arrogant SUV on my bumper to "help" me out of his, no doubt, very busy way, I asked God WHY I was so drawn to brave the roads I hated so much to go to this particular place.  Was it out of a sense of needing to suffer for what I love?  What?

I didn't expect to go to Mass and "feel" something.  In actuality, I knew I was trying to feed my soul, to get away from the campy music that characterizes the Mass at my home parish in favor of something that could really draw me into the Mystery, if only I had the proper disposition.

So often, though, even when I arrive at Mass, anywhere, with a "proper disposition", I find myself distracted by the most minute details of my life...or someone else's life...or some other thing.

Today, that didn't happen. By God's great grace, for the first time in a LONG time I was only minimally distracted.  I only just now realized how miraculous that is.

The Moment

There was a single moment, though, that struck to me to the core, and that truly drew me into the Sacred Mystery.  I was trying to find our place in the book, sometime during the consecration, finding it necessary to read the English translation.  Even though I was behind (I'd heard the bells to signal the consecration), I read the words prayed by the priest, standing up there as a representative Called by God to be there, praying for US, for OUR own sacrifice to be offered in union, for OUR silent prayers to be heard.

As it did a year ago, this reality affected me yet again, perhaps even MORE deeply as I realized yet again that even though during the offeratory I had offered myself as a sacrifice, I had brought certain intentions to be placed upon the altar, there, the priest who didn't know me, my intentions, or anything, standing in persona Christi offered those very things to God...and there I was, in HIS presence when it happened.

It was a moment of abjection as I realized once again that I do not know how to pray for myself or my intentions as I ought. It was deeply humbling, as it should be. It made me, in a sense, "let go", and in that surrender, God took over once again.

In that moment I was drawn forward and upward, taken into the Paschal Mystery, becoming a part of it. I had a deep, deep sense of gratitude that completely overwhelmed me. Gratitude for the Incarnation, for the Holy Sacrifice...for EVERYTHING. At the same time, I had an equally deep sense of absolute sadness for the reality of sin that made the Cross so necessary to our Salvation.  I could not separate the sadness from the gratitude, and even as I knelt at the Communion rail, I had to take many deep breaths, willing the tears away, trying to focus on the moment, on WHO I was receiving.

After Mass I remained where I was, pulling my veil low, hoping no one noticed the tears that flowed so freely. I realized THAT'S why I was called to that Mass today, to finally be fully present, according to my own limitations, just as Christ is so fully present all the time.  There was no one there to distract me. As the crowds left, they went about their business, tending to their families, chatting with their friends.

I was so grateful not to be a part of the Sunday Exodus as usual. I was where I wanted and, more importantly, NEEDED to be.

I wanted to stay there forever. Even as my eyes streamed with tears, I wanted to remain, kneeling, at the foot of the Cross.

What can I say but that I am grateful for today's Mass? For God's Grace, a rare one that took me right into His Most Sacred Heart.  It wasn't mere "feeling", not "emotion", but something deeper that passes beyond words.  It is not something that makes me holier than anyone else, but rather, reveals to me how much I lack. I ask you also not to misunderstand, for it was also NOT a moment of infused prayer, but rather a time of clarity, a gift of love that is probably quite common, just one that is beyond words. As it is, I am butchering it which leads me to believe I should not be writing of it at all.

No doubt the next time I attend Mass, in any form, it will be dry, dry, dry, as it is normally.

I do not attend Mass to be entertained, but because God commands it, I love Him, and so I go to profess my love for Him as well as to know more deeply His love for us all, even if I don't "feel" it.

But today, I was drawn in, taken up, and experienced the transcendence that turned normal people into Saints. It is no wonder they progressed so far. I hope they are praying for us all.

I Hate Shopping, I Love Giving

I hate shopping. 

Stop looking so shocked. It's TRUE! And you know what?  I recently learned one of my friends hates shopping, too....we might form a support group for women who hate shopping. After all, say you hate this or that store and no one cares. But say you hate shopping in general, if people are eating they drop their forks and stare, all conversation tapers off, and every man, woman, and child in the room cease even BREATHING at the revelation, not knowing how to respond. Or perhaps, if you are a guest in their home, they consider ejecting you and your anti-shopping attitudes for fear they may infect someone else.

As soon as the shock wears off, which might take a good 15 minutes, the questions begin, the demands to know WHY, and HOW it's POSSIBLE to HATE SHOPPING! At around this point, some will actually be rending their clothing (so that they can go shopping in reparation for the blasphemy in their presence which clearly taints anything being worn at that time), and tearing their hair from their head.

We've learned, you see, that sometimes it's best to just say nothing at all, although even that is dangerous because by saying nothing, these normal women who enjoy shopping think you're hiding something, like maybe some massive deal. If you don't fess up and just admit the truth about yourself, that you hate shopping, it's entirely possible, especially during this overly-materialistic "Christmas Shopping Season" that you'll be tackled a-la Super Bowl, the contents of your purse dumped on the floor, and perhaps all of your pockets ripped out surgically with a seam-ripper in case you're hiding a secret shopping list and destination in said pocket.

And after all that, then you HAVE to go shopping because your favorite outfit has been destroyed, the one you bought 3 years ago, a classic that you could mix-n-match and thus avoid shopping.  *sigh*

So, yes, I hate shopping.  There!  I said it.

Now, I have to clear up a huge misunderstanding that always occurrs when I make such a shocking statement, so I want you to listen very, very carefully:

While I despise shopping with every fibre of my being, I LOVE giving gifts. 

I LOVE it when my family and friends open the gifts I've chosen for them!  I love it when somehow I've managed to choose exactly the right thing for them! Thus I will go so far as to admit all the aggravation is worth it just to see their happy expressions.  I far more enjoy watching someone open a gift I've given them more than actually receiving one myself.

At Christmas, my brother and I for some reason are often on the same gift-wavelength, and have a few times swapped pretty much the same gifts, and this is a source of great entertainment.

On Christmas Eve, we have a little wine-and-cheese party after dinner, while watching movies and chatting. So one year, although we had decided to open all of our gifts on Christmas Day, that year I found a gift for my brother that DEMANDED it be opened that very night.  It was a really fancy corkscrew that came in its own wooden box.

Now, given this new tradition we'd developed, and given the type of gift, I also picked up some wine for my brother.  I had to work that Christmas Eve, so as soon as I got out of work to head home, I stopped off at a local wine shop to ensure I had what was needed for everyone.  I happened to pass a bottle of red wine with three "x"'s on it, the label of which read, "CHEAP RED WINE".  I strongly considered purchasing it for my brother...imagine! That wine to go with the fanciest corkscrew any of us had ever seen! Hilarious!

But no, I decided I really did have enough and if the wine was bad, then it would just be a total waste of money.

So I left it and drove home. As soon as I arrived I insisted that after Mass and our traditional oyster soup supper, we open certain gifts. My brother had one he wanted me to open, too, so we each chose another for Mom.

And do you know what?

That Christmas Eve, my brother gave me - get this - a corkscrew kit!  Nothing nearly so fancy as the one I gave him (he actually offered to take it back in favor of getting something better. I refused!), and...this gets better....

The wine my brother chose for me....can you guess???

CHEAP RED WINE!

He DID get the gag wine, in addition to the "real" one for me!  And we opened it that night, shared it out and in fact, it was GOOD!

Well, this particular Christmas Eve tradition continues, and we are usually joined by his girlfriend who brings her own and helps us sample our own wines.  It's a very festive occasion of course!

This year, though, I very carefully chose the wine gift for my brother.  You see, he fell away from the Church, only goes to Mass when Mom is at his house, and doesn't see why he needs to go to Confession. He basically has rejected every tenant of the Catholic Faith...and probably every other.  No, he's not an atheist, but certainly he is in need of prayers for his conversion.

So this year, I'm giving him a gift he might not "get" but I'm quite certain our mother will!   The name of this wine?  It's from "Big House" (a vineyard I recommend), a red called "Prodigal Son".

Cheers!