Between Writer's Block and Too Much to Say - Story Time With Adoro!

So, this last weekend I returned to visit the religious community I hope and pray with all my heart and soul to enter as a Monastic Sister (and with their welcome and blessing, should God will it), and in returning home, I had a miraculous adventure involving the Wisconsin State Patrol.

But I don't feel like writing about that tonight. Instead, I'm going to tell you about my re-discovery of 21 Jump Street, a show I used to watch in high school (I think I was in High School...or was I in Jr. High? Dunno).

I remember now why I loved Johnny Depp so much and am really happy he has turned out to be such an amazing character actor. And yeah, I still think he's hot.

(Yeah, I'm gonna be a Nun, God willing, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate His work or that I have forgotten my adolescent hots for a celebrity I'll never meet and would probably be totally disillusioned by meeting the real guy. Because let's face it: most people pretty much suck, being of fallen nature and all.)

Anyway....Tonight's Episode: The Parting of the Red Sea:

Watching this show has brought me back to my High School days.  In my town, we had Jr. High, which ran from 7th through 9th grade, which meant that 9th graders were deprived of Title in our town. Titles began with 10th Grade, the Sophomore year.

What really sucked about that was the fact that the angst of being a Freshman was transferred to the know-it-all-year of being a Sophomore in a new place where swirlies didn't reign anymore and all those who thought they had power actually became members of the homecoming committee just so they could have the dubious honor of having their houses toilet-papered by scantily-clad, overindulged cheerleaders with too much makeup, too many hours in the tanning booth and no imagination.

But never mind all that. I was a band geek, and to make it worse, I was on the Flag Corps because it was more fun to wield an instrument of potential weaponry than to tie a huge unwieldy music stand to my arm and play my flute with a bunch of untalented people who couldn't walk and chew gum, much less play music and walk in step.

OK, that was unfair...I really couldn't do that either and actually, still go down in the record books as the only Flag Corps member to create a disaster out of something for which she advocated tooth and nail.

But that's a different story, from Senior Homecoming. Let's just put that aside, shall we?

Back to Sophomore year...

We were new, we were lost, and we were trying to find our way.

Our fall Homecoming game was wonderful and I loved Homecoming as a high school student, in spite of our weird nostalgic uniforms circa 1970.

By then, we sophomores had been there long enough to realize that not only were we mere amoebas on the relative ecological scale, but that mouthing off to Seniors, especially certain Juniors OR Seniors might well end in death.

At that time, I was a mere mouse of a geek, so far off the scale and so far beyond caring that finally, I was beginning to show a little personality even at school.

After the Football Game that night (American Football, for any readers outside the US, meaning "not Soccer")  a couple friends and I were waiting for our parents to pick us up. I was standing on a cement bench, mouthing off or maybe singing some obnoxious theatrical tune as my friends heckled and "danced" below, all of us laughing and joking.

Suddenly some guy came through the school doors and yelled to me to "SHUT UP!"

I stopped mid-note and, indignantly, shouted back, "YOU Shut up!"

Then I saw him stalking towards us, resolute, passing under the single light next to the flag pole...and I realized who he was: the ONE guy NO ONE talked back to in our school.

He was the football player who walked through the hallways quietly, yet even when it was the most crowded, it parted like the Red Sea.

It was at that moment, as he passed beneath the light, illuminating his personage, that he questioned me in shock, "WHAT!?"

I gulped, realizing I was in for it so might as well make it worth it. I stepped down to be at eye level with him...well...sorta.

"You heard me! YOU shut up!"

My friends stared at me in horror. Two of them were Juniors, fellow band geeks-flag-corps-members.

Yeah...as it turned out, I made a new friend that night.

Rick thought I was cool because I refused to back down. We became friends that very evening.

That following Monday, he saw me at my locker and invited me to walk with him around the school, a typical morning tradition for most students. Think of Saturday Night Cruising...but transferred to a High School hallway. (Lame, I know, but that's what kids without driver's licences did at that time).

Me, the geek, holding my books for 1st Hour, went with him, amazed. He wasn't cute or attractive by any means...but he was powerful in that school.  And for some reason, he wanted to claim me as his friend. That made me automatically cool.

I was almost the Queen Esther of my High School.

So I walked with him, amazed to see the Sea parting in front of us, unconsciously.

Upperclassmen asked me about him, or to speak to him on their behalf.

They noticed.

I was uncomfortable with this. He was nice as a friend, and it was cool to watch the Red Sea parting, but really....I wasn't interested in dating him.

Then he asked me out.

Oh, crap. 

I told him I'd get back to him, and asked the advice of my friends. What I feared was this: retaliation. Would he retaliate?  He was "cool". If I turned him down, what were the repercussions?  If I agreed...um...would I have to ...ick...KISS him?

I learned more than I'm willing to expose here.

Suffice to say my own gut feeling was affirmed by my friends, although they were a bit in awe of the invitation and waited with bated breath my response.

Then one day his recent ex-girlfriend, a girl I knew both from Theater and Band, one of those big-boned girls who carried a lot of her own clout, told me she knew of his invitation and asked me what I was thinking.

I was honest. I told her that I thought I probably preferred to just be friends.  A little sadly, without any animosity, she said, "Yeah...that really is best."

That night when he called me as was his habit, I gave him my answer: I only wanted to be friends, but thought he was a cool guy.

He was fine with that, but our morning walks around the school continued and I therefore continued to marvel at the daily phenomena of the Parting of the Red Sea.

I loved standing at my locker between classes, watching He Who Walks Between The (locker) Rows, the students unconsciously parting before him, leaving him room as he calmly stalked along, looking neither right nor left, giving occasional high-fives and other things to his team members and other jocks.
 
It was like dating-but-not-dating the Mafia.

He graduated, nowhere near the top of his class, and not long after, ended up in the papers in a non-flattering way.

Last I heard he was in prison.

I don't know where he is now, but I am grateful for the friendship we shared and really thank God I turned his amorous proposal down.  I'd say more but I'd prefer he keep his criminal record to himself. He has a right to it.

No matter what, I still remember him fondly and occasionally pray for him.

That guy had issues most students never knew about and when the news broke, I'm quite certain he was disowned by even his own family.

Someone needs to pray for him. Might as well be me, not that my meager efforts mean anything, so I'm asking YOU to pray for Rick, too, wherever he is.

Everyone needs and deserves prayer, no matter what they have done. Our Lord died for them as well as for us.

I never said this was an interesting story. I only claim it as mine and hope the moral is apparent to me as it is to you.

There you have it.

Garlic Soup Recipe

Well, my friends, we are into cold-flu season, so I am re-posting my garlic soup recipe. I recently had need to make it and although I'm thrilled to make this for pure enjoyment, I confess it really is a cure for sickness! 

So...here you go, filed under the category of "Food I Would Serve Jesus"!

Creole Garlic Soup

(the name comes from the spice, not the culinary style)

Read before beginning:  The ingredients are on the consertive end; adjust to your own taste, and don't be afraid to add more garlic! (I usually add about a cup of whole cloves) I would advise using the old adage "less is more" the first time you make it, but once you have an idea as to what it is like, you can better adjust according to your own taste/needs. 


* 1/3 C. whole garlic cloves  (This is IMPORTANT:  note that you may NOT substitute mere minced garlic in a jar!) 
* 1 Tbsp minced garlic
* 1 Tbsp. roasted garlic
* 1 tsp fresh thyme, or 1/4 tsp dried thyme
* 1 tsp fresh basil or 1/4 tsp drid basil
* 4 cans of vegetable broth (or 2 32 oz boxes of Swanson's vegetable broth)
(( I recommend low sodium))
* 1 medium onion
* 1 bay leaf
* 1 Tbsp. olive oil
* 1/3 C. Half-and-Half (I use fat-free)
* 1/3 C. parmesan cheese - shredded
* Creole seasoning
* Day-Old French or Italian bread


1. Add onions and some of the garlic cloves to a large soup pan with the T. of olive oil. When the onions begin to turn clear or brownish (don't over cook!), add the broth, basil, thyme, bay leaf, and garlic. Bring this to a boil.

2. When the soup begins to boil, reduce the heat and simmer for approximately 40 minutes.

3.  In the meantime, make your croutons: Cube the bread, approximately 2-3 cups, and toast in the oven at 300 degrees. Remove from heat, place in a paper sack, coat with apx. 1 - 2 Tbsp. of olive oil and season with the Creole seasoning. (This is spicy- be conservative at first!). Set the croutons aside.

NOTE: THE CROUTONS CAN BE MADE IN ADVANCE

4. When the soup has simmered for the 40 minutes, add apx 1 1/2 C. of the croutons and stir in with a wire whisk until they have mostly dissolved. At this point, the whole garlic cloves should be "mushy".

5. Remove the bay leaf

6. Add the half-and-half and parmesan cheese and immediately remove the soup from heat.

7. If you have a hand-mixer, use this to blend the soup to a smooth consistency. You may also pour the soup into a blender.

8. Serve immediately and garnish with the remaining croutons, parmesan, and creole seasoning.


SUBSTITUTIONS: 

**** the half-and-half, parmesan and bread can be omitted for a thinner, healthier broth-type soup with all the great flavor!

**** You may also use large chunks of potato if you can't find the low-sodium broth or if your seasoning gets too salty.  Blending the potatoes into it instead of bread may also turn it into a thicker soup. Otherwise if you do use the potatoes, it's a great and easy way to make garlic mashed potatoes if you decide to reserve them to the side.

Any questions or comments, leave them below!  :-)  Otherwise..Enjoy! 

Grace in Humiliation

I gotta admit it; I am terrified to pray for the virtue of humility.

Why?

Every time I made the attempt, I was knocked so hard on my backside that to THIS DAY I still have not been able to recover! Just mention "humility" and I begin to shake and shudder and drool then foam at the mouth in sheer terror in anticipation of what anvil is next to drop.

God, of course, cannot be taken by surprise and so, in seeing such sheer terror, He finds other ways to reveal to us the true nature of humility, and in fact, finds gentle humiliations in order to best reveal to us the divine Grace available through such abjection.

The Unwitting Act of Offense

Recently, in a conversation with others, something I said was misconstrued. I did not know at the time that what I was trying to convey was being taken into left field without my permission or intention, but there it was; that is the nature of human interaction. I remember catching the expressions on a couple of those present and wondered about what bad thing they were smelling, but as they never pulled me aside to explain that I was the source of their sour expressions, I ultimately thought nothing of it.

A few days later, a friend who had been absent that day left me a voice mail, asking for a call back, explaining that party A and B (the same ones who had housed sour expressions) had spoken with her and said that I had dropped her name a few times but not in a pleasant way.

Completely taken aback, I hung up the phone and prayed. I recalled mentioning her name, but NEVER in a derogatory way. I racked my memory, trying to ascertain what had gone so wrong for some people to have taken my intention so badly.

Of course, I immediately called her back to ask what she had heard, and I was thankful that she did not sound angry, only....questioning. In fact, her own tone was joyful, forgiving and welcoming, not contrived but in total sincerity.

It didn't take long to sort out the misunderstanding and as it turned out, she completely understood my original intention and, in fact, AGREED with me!  We had a wonderful conversation, and, a few days later when we met again, she made it a point to seek me out to thank me for calling her back to reconcile the issue.

Humiliation

When I'd first heard of what others I'd thought were friends had accused me of doing (behind my back) I had felt very betrayed.  I wondered...why hadn't they just come to me or called me out on the spot?

Why?  Why didn't they ask me to clarify or even, if they were such good friends to that person, "stood up" for her if they thought I was insulting her?

I was taken aback that they had instead chosen to be subversive, both assuming the worst of me and my intentions, then apparently through their own actions, making it worse through gossip?  And wasn't their own indignant refusal to engage with me, the offender, an outright betrayal to THEIR friend?

It was in speaking with the "allegedly offended" friend and the subsequent reconciliation that I realized the Grace God had provided to us both, especially when we were in each other's company again.

Real Grace

When I had time to reflect upon the events of the previous days, and the links and even disunity in our relationships, I knew that what we had experienced wasn't anything new or rare or novel; it went all the way back to Genesis.

Sin always drives a wedge in between relationships, and usually that wedge is quite self-righteous. It's very easy for us to justify our gossip to another person about someone else. We claim we are "clearing the air" or informing someone of something they need to know about. (In this case, that applied, although they went in the wrong direction with it and the "offended" is the one who set it right!).  Oh, yes, we just LOVE driving wedges around, we sorry, fallen children of God. It's our favorite hobby, such that we can say it is our second nature to do so!

Think about it, though....when one person starts with something... where does it stop?

Read the Bible: it didn't stop. Even after the Passion, Death, and Resurrection of Christ, it didn't stop.  We were redeemed, but, well....the wound of sin continues even in those who try to be or believe they are holy.

We all struggle. We all fall. We all damage those we claim to love, and what is most horrible, we do so in the name of "Holiness" and "Truth"! What is often lacking there is "Prudence" and "Basic common sense", and actually, the Divine Virtue of, well.... CHARITY.

You know what really stopped me in my tracks, though, in this whole mess?  

The ONE friend, the one who was allegedly the "target" of whatever I had said, and thus the one offended, was the ONLY one to call me and ask for the truth.

No one from the gossipy peanut gallery who was offended FOR her called me out. THEY slunk away like Templeton and took their perceived but not edited-for-truth version to our mutual friend, telling her of my (apparently intended) insult to her.

Thankfully, that "offended" friend knew me well enough to question what she was hearing and was certain there had to be an explanation. Therefore, instead of wallowing in it as our other mutual friends had done, she picked up the phone and...[get this!]...CALLED me to ASK for my side of the story!

I was nearly in tears when I called her back, horrified that I had inadvertently done something to insult her in another's eyes. She didn't see those blinked-back tears, but I know she heard the horror in my voice and was nothing other than gracious.

I can't tell you how grateful I was for her understanding, and even the love apparent in her initial call. I can't tell you how grateful I was to have been forgiven the unintended offense.

The Heart of the Matter

It was beautiful to be forgiven, but what I really have had to take away from this experience was this:  I have to forgive, too. 

This is a message that came to me even in the middle of that mess, from another friend who knew NOTHING of the matter that so plagued me.

This other, unknowing, friend spoke of St. Therese' of Lisieux, who rejoiced upon learning her flaws, and spoke even more of the unexpected humiliations, of remaining silent in the face of unjust accusations and assumptions.

Ah, yes, she was speaking to me.

I was, even then, harboring resentment against those who had so dishonestly and subversively accused me of wrongdoing, assuming the worst of me, and taking that sordid tale to the friend who, according to them, I was TRYING to harm, and quite publicly at that.

It's hard NOT to harbor resentment when accused behind one's back.

Yet even in that initial conversation, it was clear my friend thought the best of them, and the best of me, and in so doing, was taking the advice of the Saints to heart:  to always think the best of others, and speak the best of them.

This is no easy thing to do, and yet, there I was, the offender (if without intent) yet still the recipient of such divine charity.

Who am I, then, to hold resentment against my own accusers?  Shouldn't I, then, think the best of them? Assume that their intent was not one of gossip but of charity, even if they, like me, carried it out imperfectly?

Should I not also be first in line to forgive an unintended offense?

Yet I didn't; I did to my accusers what they did to me, if in a different way.

And because our sins are hidden from each other, they can be reconciled at this point only through God, and healed only through God, and through our behavior towards each other, and our prayers for each other.

Perhaps I must go out of my way to ask them to pray for me; they are indeed prayerful people, good Catholics, people I want as my friends. I only hope they still want me as their friend as well.

Yes, there is grace in humiliation; were it not for this, I would not have recognized the strength of one friendship and the weakness in myself so clearly.

It really, truly takes only a simple act of friendship to save many relationships and to bring us all closer to Christ.

That's what holiness is all about.

I thank God for my friends every day. Whoever you are, wherever you are, please do the same. You never know who has your back until you are the one to be scourged.

Movie Review: Amelie

This evening, via Netflix, I watched the movie "Amelie".

Don't waste your time:  "Amelie" was superficially "artistic", morally bankrupt, plotfully without merit.

Uses color and filmatography to mimic meaningfulness which in the end, is nothing but smoke and mirrors.

You'll get more money's worth going to Scooby-Doo's famous haunted houses; bring Scooby-snacks. That way at least the dog leaves satisfied.

That's the best I can say about this piece of cinematic nonsense.

Real artists have good taste and create movies from plot, not from a line of film from a mall photo booth.

 The main actress was pretty in a 50's-mask-postcard sorta-way.  Glad no one is judging France as a whole by this disaster.

I'm going to bed, hope I don't dream about this movie; my own regular nightmares are at least entertaining!

Real Women Wear...

So this week, I was really scandalized to read "Pants - A Manifesto", followed by "Pants Pass", although not the posts themselves, but all the insane (and some insanely hifreakinlarious) comments from extreme crazies all over the interwebs.

Seriously, why does the question of "skirts versus pants" bring out all the insane extremists from all corners?

Listen up, y'all, I have a solution to this that should put an end to this "debate" once and for all! 

Some of you may recall the post I wrote some time ago, Real Women Wear Kevlar.  (If you're unfamiliar with it, go check it out so you can get the proper background on what I'm going to say next. And yes, I will know if you only skimmed over it because your comments will be typically insane, much like what poor Simcha experienced with her tongue-in-cheek posts!).

So! Here is my solution to the pants vs skirts debate:

ARMOR! 

There are those who would argue that pants are "immodest" and one really "you have to work hard to be this creepy" suggestion was that on a woman, pants "create an arrow to her crotch".

OK, what if that has merit? Let's consider that, for after all it is the extreme!  And it is related to the claim that pants in general induce men to lust after strange women. (Never mind if he's that fickle he's the one who is strange and sick.)

On the other hand, there are those who claim skirts are immodest and another creepy suggestion was that skirts provide "easy access" and therefore, incite men to lust.

Now, we are excluding from this conversation things such as painted-on pants that are tighter than skin, and we are excluding rubber-band skirts that are shorter and tighter than underwear. I think we can ALL agree that these things are not fit to be worn in public unless covered by a burqua.

OK?  OK then.

So! Armor it is!

Ladies, for your fashion pleasure and for the safety of men who apparently feel entitled to "enjoying your beauty" such that they forget about "custody of the eyes" being a part of THEIR responsibility, let me offer you a line of clothing that will satisfy everyone on all extremes!

ARMOR!

First, we will have a cotton-lined, Kevlar-covered iron chastity belt. The covering over the iron will allow "breatheability" but we'll also be using a new, revolutionized process to create it out of ironwood with a lead core, ensuring that even the strongest of chainsaws cannot cut through it!

A special code will be programmed into it (in the most modest possible area) allowing for replacement, cleaning (only with a team of handmaids to protect privacy) and of course, upgrades and adjustment for size.

Married ladies will have a model that will allow only one person to have the code, that being her husband. He'll never have to worry that she'll cheat on him again!

PANTS! 

Now, for those ladies who prefer pants to skirts, the armor worn by the Knights of yore would work very well. The addition to be made is a longer "skirt" of metal to cover down to the knees, but designed in such a way that she won't even realize that she's wearing anything resembling a skirt!

And the good news is that there will be no need of worrying about whether the pants are too tight or if they reveal too much, because metal is opaque! And...no worries about "plumber butt" with those problems we ALL have with buying pants:  you know, if it fits in the hips it's monstrous in the waist, so if we sit down we reveal our butt-tattoos!

Bah! Those days are OVER with Pants of Armor (tm)!

These warm, comfortable Pants of Armor come in different sizes and with different types of inner padding, or, for you mothers, outer padding or spray-on coatings to ensure that your wet, sticky children don't become inextricably stuck to you on those frigid winter days. On the flipside, if that's the best way to get them to go somewhere, you can carry them around hands-free!

SKIRTS! 

Now, for you ladies who prefer skirts, the solution is, of course, the Chain Maille option! The Chain Maille is handmade, lined with Kevlar and cotton, although it comes with a hair-shirt option for the most serious and penitential.

The delicate chain work flows quite naturally but as it clinks against your chastity belt, it will remind all men anywhere in your vicinity that you are most certainly not "easy" and, in fact, given that you're wearing armor, you can easily brain the nearest overzealous suitor with simply a practiced swish of your skirt!

Still not convinced?  

Then let me advocate for you the fitness benefits of this clothing line!

You know how easy it is to gain weight in that simple, light fabric we're so used to in this day and age. Everything "stretches", allowing us to "let ourselves go".  Not armor! Not only does it squeeze everything in, making it impossible to breathe or eat if we gain too much weight, but on hot days it becomes a sauna, helping to sweat off the pounds! Besides, given that each clothing item weighs anywhere from 15 to 80 pounds each, you'll have the strength of ten Wonder-Women within a week of wearing it!

Say goodbye to those expensive and prohibitive Health Club or Spa memberships - YOU WON'T NEED THEM ANYMORE!

But WAIT!  There's MORE!

Objection:  I can't wear chain maille - I don't shave my legs!

Answer:  That's OK!  If you leave off the Kevlar leggings for only a day, you'll never have to shave your legs again! The Chain Maille acts much like a day at the spa, but without all the heat, wax and immodesty!  Simply walk or move about as your normally would, or even when sitting in your chair you'll find that the maille will be able to reach even the most difficult places!  The Chain Maille used on the inside layer of the skirt is the finest and most delicate and you won't even notice when the inside of the skirt turns into a hair-skirt! Great for wear during Lent and Ember Days and all Fridays throughout the year especially when your legs are smooth as a baby's butt!

So! There you have it!  Are you ready to make your purchase?

If so, just go to www.modestwomenweararmor.com and buy your new clothing line today! 

Ladies, whether you prefer pants or skirts, once you're clad in armor, you can be seen as "easy on the eyes" without ever been seen as "easy" ever again! 

Call 1-888-MODESTARMOR today! 

Exaltation of the Holy Cross

Psalm 57:1

Have mercy on me, God have mercy, for in you my soul has taken refuge. 

In the shadow of your wings I take refuge till the storms of destruction pass by.

Why I Will Never Forget

This is a re-post from September 11, 2005, my first year of blogging. It tells the story of where I was that terrible day in 2001. Everyone has a story but back on that day, I was a Firefighter in Training, and on that day, we didn't just get a lecture on sacrifice; we became witness to it.

Let us remember in prayer our brothers and sisters whose lives were lost on this historic day.

Let us especially pray for mercy for those terrorists who are responsible for so many lives. Let us pray that those who plan similar events be converted and instead, lead people to Christ and heaven instead of the eternal damnation they are choosing.

I will never forget this day only 9 years ago. 

That Tuesday morning, I was a firefighter cadet at the ominous Training Tower, only a few weeks from graduation from the arduous course. The city that employed me had a long program of academics, followed by six weeks at "The Tower".

The tower days consisted of roll call and SOP's (Standard Operating Procedures), maybe a quiz in the morning, and a synopsis of the day's activities to come. On that morning, September 11, 2001, as we sat discussing "high fires", which refer to skyscraper fires, and the procedures utilitzed to fight them, the Deputy Chief of Training burst through the classroom door, carrying a TV set.

He apologized for the interruption, stated that a plane had just flown into the World Trade Center, and hurriedly set up the TV until there was reception. All of us sat transfixed as we watched the South Tower burn. Then, before our eyes, another plane hit the second tower.

We had had trainng in Weapons of Mass destruction, terrorism, and from our EMT class, lessons in triage. We'd practiced different types of rescues, but nothing prepared us for what we saw that day.

The training captains, recognizing in the midst of the attacks that this was indeed, a teachable moment, used this as an example of what we were to cover that day. They explained what the New York Firefighers were going to do as they approached, as they set up, etc. One captain emphasized the need to coordinate the evacuation of citizens from the towers, the mass response due to the 2 planes, and the understanding that this was a terrorist attack...this was no accident.

All of us realized that if this was no accident, there might be more attacks to come. What was the next target?

I remember asking the Deputy Chief, "At what point do they determine that it's time to leave? Who makes the decision that a structure should be evacuated?" I appraised the heavy fire showing in the upper floors of the tower, the fuel from the jets, the obviously collapsed floors which were directly affected by the planes.

The Deputy Chief admitted that he and one of the other chiefs had an ongoing agument about this; he believed that the tower would hold...the other chief believed that the load was too much and would not withstand the assault. He gave me a very general answer regarding the evacuation of fire personnel which did not satisfy me.

Finally they told us that we would be watching this for days and weeks to come and it was time to hit the apron to begin our day. Just as we finished our warm-up exercises outside, the Deputy Chief threw open the door to his office in the temporary building in the yard and ordered us over.

He revealed that a plane had just hit the Pentagon, and one crashed shortly after near Pittsburgh. He told us that the towers had fallen. 

The Dep. Chief's face was red; his voice shook with genuine emotion. He had tears in his eyes as he ordered us back into the classroom; our schedule for the day was changing; this was a whole new playing field, unprecedented at any point in history. 

The good Deputy Chief apologized for having initially sent us out as though it were a normal day.  He told us he had no idea this was going to be this big. Tearfully, he revealed to us that he had at least 20 friends with the New York department he knew had just perished beneath the weight of those buildings. He had to sit down as he discussed those he'd ridden with in the past; those NYFD collapse rescuse firefighters who had given him much of his knowledge. He apologized for his emotion, but without need; I think most of us were in tears already, men and women alike.

Others in our class also had friends and relatives in New York, and one of our training captains had family both in the city and in the Pentagon.

Those who were not directly affected still had tears in their eyes whether out of sympathy or just plain shock at what was happening on U.S. soil.

Our city was placed on alert, of course, ready for an attack. Even though we were cadets, for all practical purposes we were considered to be Firefighters, and in the event of an attack they would put us to work. We were not allowed to leave for lunch, but food was brought in for us, and we watched as Police Officers brought their dogs over to sniff all of our buildings and personal vehicles.

We did end up doing some traing that day, each evolution taking on a special meaning. We walked up the cement steps of our 6 story tower, carrying hose bundles and tools, remembering dead firefighters with every step. We sprayed water onto non-existant fires, remembering the futility of the same actions in New York. We dragged wet hoselines down and cleaned up, considering those who had died that day never got a chance to clean up. Indeed, many people would never be found.

We removed our turnouts and hung them in the shed, exchanged our air tanks, and finished our day, preparing to go home, realizing that somewhere around 300 firefighters were not going home to their families that day.

We gathered in the classroom for the end of the day summary, and one of the captains gave us this speech:

"All of you saw today what happened in New York. Consider how many firefighters died today. You will never be able to claim that you don't know what this job is about. Every single day you go out there you don't know what's going to happen or if you'll make it home. Those who responded today planned to go home after their shift...and instead, we're going to be watching funerals of firefighters for weeks. You know what this job is about and you know the risk. So after witnessing something like this, if some of you, or all of you, choose not to come back tomorrow, we will all understand."

With that, we were dismissed and there was never such a somber, silent exodus from the Tower. There was no joking; there were no plans for the evening. There was only the knowledge that many had died that day, and we were wearing a similar uniform and training to carry out the same job...and possibly pay the same debt.

And the next day, all 22 of us returned.

I will never forget where I was that day because I was standing in the very shoes of those who died. I wore a similar uniform and I had similar aspirations. I went through their same movements as we set up a response to a fire in a skyscraper and fought it. But training took on a new tone after that.

I was injured in training about a week later, and as a result, I am no longer a firefighter although I was sworn in with my class. I can't say that I'm disappointed to not be there anymore. However, that said, I will never forget where I stood, how I felt, or the weight of the turnouts I wore when I watched other firefighters die in a city far away. I'll never forget the pride when I saw the survivors respond to find either other survivors or recover their dead.

I will never forget the world turning to prayer, offering condolences, or their realization of the sacrifices real people made right under their noses day after day.

And so to all the firefighters and police officers, paramedics, EMT's, and other responders out there, I salute you, I offer my condolences, and I will continue to pray for your safety. Keep up the good fight! We would not be a community were it not for you. Perhaps I am not called to stand in your shoes, but I respect you so much more for I understand what it takes to be where you are, and to give what you are required to give.

And for all those who perished on September 11, 2001,  may you rest in peace in the arms of our beloved Savior, Jesus Christ, and may He comfort your families as you continue to grieve their loss.

WE WILL NEVER FORGET.

Réquiem ætérnam dona eis Dómine;

et lux perpétua lúceat eis.

Requiéscant in pace.

Amen.

Eternal rest, grant unto them O Lord,

and let perpetual light shine upon them.

May they rest in peace!

Amen

Contemplation

Recently, my brother and I spoke about our interests as children.

I loved going out to the lake with Dad, and as I've written previously, learning to fish with him. I'll never forget the low clouds scudding across the sky, the gray waters of Lake Michigan lapping against the launches, or, during the summer vacation on the lake when we floated on those waves and I refused to be nauseated in spite of the stink of rotting fish in the rented aluminum rowboat.

I loved fishing. Early on, Dad taught me to be silent, for, he explained, noise scared the fish away.  "They can hear us!" he said, and whenever I exclaimed over something in my childish enthusiasm, he was first to SHUSH! me, and I was always deeply chastised, not so much because I cared about the fish, but because of my love for him.

Over the years, I became, in Dad's estimation, quite the "fisherman".  When we fished at Lake of the Isles in Minneapolis, I staked out my spot and caught fish after fish. Dad, upon seeing my success, would invariably follow me only to experience...nothing. I'd become annoyed and move on to the next tiny "bay", catching far more than I deserved, and again, he'd follow me to the miraculous grotto only to have his worm surreptitious eaten from his hook with nary a scale to show for it.

It became our joke and Dad's unspoken frustration;  he taught his daughter to fish so that she could leave him in the mud of the lapping waves!

My brother though, hated fishing with a passion. The only times I recall his presence, I also recall his complaints. I remember the first time a rod was placed in my hand, a sinker tied to my line, and a worm affixed to my hook.  I was content to sit silently with my line, contemplating the waves and the sky and sensing the movement of the fishing line. For once, Dad and Mom had to spend more time shushing my brother than me....where I was happiest, he was most dismal.

As my brother told me very recently, he found fishing to be a bore and a waste of time. "Why go fishing when I could have been listening to a new album?"

Ah, yes....the active versus the contemplative.

I was always the one given to reading and writing and, well...silence.

My brother was always the one given to action and noise.

I had never really considered it before, but I guess "contemplation" came more naturally to me.  Even the people I know in my professional life don't know my preference for silence and solitude, and this is well, for it is impossible to indulge such preferences in any job I have ever held.

No wonder I have been so miserable for so long.

For years, everything I have done has been against my nature.

I have always sought, perhaps, the solitude upon the eternal waves, the silence of the never-ending wind, and the shadows of the clouds chasing the sun's glow, in every moment.

Holiness and Humility

It's the right time of year for it, so today I watched "Charlotte's Web", one of my favorite stories.  In the more recent film version (2006), Wilbur questions Charlotte about the final word she wrote of him. He questioned whether it was the right word, for truth had always been an important definition within their friendship. In an important moment in the barn at the fair, Wilbur revealed that he didn't feel like he deserved ANY of the words Charlotte had written of him, and wanted this final testament to be, well....right.

"Then it's exactly the right word", Charlotte replied.

Although I've seen this movie more than once, today this scene really stood out to me.

I thought about the importance of humility in a life of holiness, and how few souls are truly humble. I certainly am not one of them!  I thought about my own ongoing pridefulness, my vainglory, if you will.

A spider would never call me humble. Even if said spider was the epitome of humility. (Charlotte herself).

In pondering further, though, I recalled the times I had asked for humility, and the painful experiences of humiliation that always followed. I recalled huge failures, true humiliations that occurred when I didn't even know about the virtue or that it would even apply!

I recalled how many times I have been knocked down, and I admit that when I think about "humiliations", I recall most often to mind the disasters in life, such as the day I turned in my badge and my gun and walked away from law enforcement forever.

It was a humiliation that sent me into a tailspin.

I recall the day I left the Fire Department, albeit with references, but it was still a humiliation as I had not been able to reach the goal I'd had since I was a little girl.

There are others, far more personal, that I have spoken of only to Confessors and Spiritual Directors and close friends.  Far too many others.

In meditating upon this, though, I realized something important:  the big humiliations are what pave the way for the little ones.

God knows us well, and He knows that when we built what we think is an impenetrable fortress, it must be demolished so that we can be dragged out from the rubble and our wounds tended to.

When the Saints speak of "humiliations", they are rarely speaking of something large, but rather, of those small moments of surrendering one's will in order that someone else might grow stronger.

We should not fear to ask for humility, for holiness is found in the small moments, the small humiliations that remain between the soul and God, and perhaps the soul's Confessor. The humiliations of the spiritual life that are truly part of a devout soul's journey in holiness are not the same as those that appear on CNN or the local news.

In looking back over my own life, it is clear that the very real and big humiliations I suffered were necessary only to create in me a wound that would allow the healing blood of Jesus to enter and bring me from death into life.  It was in suffering the most that I was finally brought to my knees, not in sorrow, but in love and devotion.

I need to thank God every day for those humiliations, for were it not for having been knocked down so hard, I would never have had the opportunity to even consider it possible to one day become truly holy and join my own blood with that of Jesus as we make our way, in this life, up to road to Calvary.

Thank you, Jesus.

Please give me the grace to sincerely pray for humility, and thank you still more when you answer the prayer, no matter what that answer may be. 

Amen.  

 

Top Ten Surprising Things

I'm starting something new.

You know the meme that goes around:  "What are the 100 things you must do before you die?" Or, "What are the Top 10 Things you want to do before you die?"  Etc.

The other day I was thinking about this, quite humorously, I assure you,  and I thought back over my life and how my attitudes have changed.  I've done many things, and many were things that never would have made my list, for I would have thought them either impossible or impractical or, well, totally out of character for me. Or, seriously....who would ever PLAN for some of the crazy things we do or that happen to us???

I've decided, therefore, to make a list just off the top of my head, of the following things:

 Top 10 Things I Did that Still Surprise the Hell Out of Me:

(In no particular order)

1.  Become an "elite athlete."

2. Live in Mexico

3. Win a 4th place medal at a State Competition, competing in Downhill Skiing  (Giant Slalom). 2 years later, come within two-tenths of a second of qualifying for Nationals.

4. Rappel from the 6th floor of a building having to overcome a serious threat to my life on the way down.

5. Run in high heels through a series of dark alleys in downtown Minneapolis with a friend trying to escape a guy who was determined to follow her home.

6. Get kicked off of one of the most beautiful ranches in MN for reporting animal neglect, (and getting caught by the ranch owner).

7. Adopt a greyhound (finally!) only to lose him to bone cancer and have to drive him by myself to the vet to put him down.

8. Earn a Master's Degree in Theology

9. Write an Icon

10. Visit religious communities with the serious intent to enter one of them.


Coming up with that list made me think a little more. I used to have that previously cited "list of things to do before I die."  Well, now that religious life looks like it might actually happen, other than paying my debt off to make it possible, I thought I should make a different kind of list.

Top Things I Want to Do Before Entering Religious Life:

1. Visit friends in Ohio!

2. Visit friends in Montana!

3. Go skiing out west, in the mountains, and enter a Downhill race, akin to the Birds of Prey Downhill.

4. Make a Pilgrimage to the Holy Land

5. Become a Jockey and ride a horse to victory in the Kentucky Derby, Preakness, and Belmont Stakes. The same horse, mind you!

6. Finish the novel I began when I was 12 and actually get it published.

7. Add blue streaks to my hair.

8.  Go sailing on the ocean

9. Go deep sea fishing

10. Buy a hobby farm, turn it into a domestic animal rescue, turn it into a Catholic retreat center for troubled kids.   (What????)


OK, I suppose I should tag a few people. Maybe they can't exactly cover my last "Top 10" but this part can be customized to the respondents proper state in life.

You're IT! GO!

The Crescat

Cathy of Alex at Recovering Dissident

Terry Nelson at Abbey Roads

Larry D. at Acts of the Apostasy

Joe at Defend us in Battle

Anglea at Where Angels Blog

SATURDAY EVENING BLOG POST

It's been a long time since I've done so, but tonight I'm participating in Elizabeth Esther's Saturday Evening Blog Post with, um.....well my most recent post, Red Zinfandel.

Go on over and check out all the others who have participated. You might find a cool new blog to follow!

Red Zinfandel

Do you know it's possible to actually see agony in another person?

This evening on my way home from work, I stopped off at a local liquor store / wine shop for something I needed. I could quite literally have gone to any number of stores between my work and home, but I stopped at this one. Part of it was practical (they seem to have the best prices), but other than that, I really didn't have a preference of this store over another.

I quickly found what I needed (on sale! yay!) and went to the counter to pay. After the clerk had me sign the slip, the manager, who had been looking at me strangely a moment before, suddenly asked, "Do you like reds?"  [referring to wine].

He went on to recommend a Red Zinfandel of the brand I had purchased, and when I admitted I hadn't tried it  (and in fact didn't know this brand had a Red Zin), he invited me to follow him so he could show me something. When I started to pick up my bag, which had already been in my hand, he ordered me to leave it at the counter and just follow him. I shrugged and did as he asked.

The man led me to the extensive Zinfandel section and pointed out a couple, most top-shelf wines, some less expensive, and when I told him which I'd tried and loved, he pointed out the vineyard they were from. Great! But, he told me, as a fellow Zin-lover, he highly recommended this one particular Zin to me, and kept saying that he'd recommended it to his brother-in-law who swore that no way, it wouldn't be good. Apparently this was a huge point of contention between the two, for they were, as he'd said, "Gallo-men".  (This is a common brand of wine on the inexpensive side.)  But no, this man kept insisting that his brother-in-law try it, he would really love it.

I regarded the wine, saw the price (on sale, about $5.00), know that I will have use for it and so told him I'd go ahead and try it, so, yeah, I'll grab one of those tonight, too.

Smiling slightly, the man said, "I'll do you one better!"

He reached up and took a bottle off the shelf then quickly began making his way to the counter.

I was thinking, "What, a discount?"

He took it to the counter, placed it in my bag with my other purchase, and said, "There's a catch."  he glanced at me, to the wine, and back at me. "Try it, come back, and tell me what you think."

I agreed to those terms, the fact dawning on me that for some reason, this guy had given me a free bottle of wine. It's not unheard of in wine shops when they're trying to promote something, or recognize good customers, talk with fellow wine aficionados, etc., yet I wasn't making the connection, exactly, of what he was trying to promote, other than maybe customer loyalty.

But still, there was something odd about the whole thing and I remained "unsettled", noting how the guy behind the counter maintained a strange expression as he watched this exchange. He wasn't directing his own discomfort towards me, but towards the manager with whom I was speaking.  This clerk, this witness, was oddly silent, not getting in on the conversation, adding his own commentary as is typical in a wine shop.

The manager led me out the door, a cigarette in his hand, shaking a little, still talking about the wine and how good it was, how much he loved Red Zinfandels but this one is by far his favorite.  We stood outside the door talking for a little bit, and as he tried to light his cigarette, he dropped it on the ground. He quickly bent down to pick it up, and this time I could see that more than his hand was shaking. His breath caught in a little ragged rasp. He was clearly not well. I began to wonder if he was a little drunk, except that I couldn't smell anything on his breath.

"I'm sorry," he said, as he began to light his cigarette. "You're the third person I've done this to today."

I was a bit confused as to why he was apologizing and what he was talking about. He inhaled and said in a slightly husky tone, "Today I learned that my Brother-In-Law died."

I gasped a little, immediately started to offer him condolences, but he put up his hand to stop me as he inhaled from his cigarette.

"Hey!"  He expelled, his voice getting a little gruff, "He earned the right. He earned the right!"   He looked away for a moment of silence as I tried to figure how to respond, then looked back at me, straight in the eye. "Try the wine. Just try it!"

Yes, I told him, I'd definitely try it, and definitely come back and tell him what I thought. He told me who to ask for when I came back, and if he wasn't there, tell whoever was whether "it sucks or it's great".  Fair enough.

We chatted a bit longer about wine as he calmed himself down. It hadn't seem right to walk away just yet, and oddly, it almost seemed an intrusion to stay. But...something wasn't finished, so I stood, recognizing grief and waiting it out.

Normally I tell people that I will pray for their loved one, for their whole family. Especially when I'm wearing a shirt with Catholicism splashed all over it; this man knew he was talking to a religious person, at least on the outside (although at the time I wasn't thinking about what I was wearing.)  It was obvious that he was barely holding himself together. I wanted to ask him how he was, how he could possibly be functioning, but then again, it was pretty easy to tell, wasn't it?

He was making his work day a tribute to his brother-in-law. He was using wine to tell people about someone he loved.

I thanked him as I left, and promised, again to come back. I would try the wine.

Walking away with that Red Zinfandel, I was tearing up before I even reached my car. As I left the parking lot I knew I had to go to the chapel to pray, and offer all my prayers for this sorrowing soul. I couldn't get the image of the agony so apparent in his eyes, in his entire being. He was barely holding it together.

That explained the concerned looks from the clerk who worked with him. That explained his shaking hands, his rapid speech, his insistence that I follow him back to look at the Zinfandels, and most importantly, to try this particular Zinfandel.

But it wasn't about the Zinfandel. What he was doing had nothing to do with the wine.

I went to the chapel, offered a Divine Mercy chaplet, and wept for this man's loss, unable to stop the tears, the same tears that continue to flow even as I write this. I can't get his desperate agony out of my mind's eye. I prayed for strength for him, I prayed for his brother-and-law, for his sister who clearly is without a husband tonight.

You never know what others are suffering, or where you'll encounter them. A random errand can turn into an act of mercy and compassion you could never have envisioned. 

When I left the chapel, I sensed that I should go out through the door that took me around the building. As I walked through the "prayer garden" I passed through the Stations of the Cross, the Sacred Heart, and then past a marble replica of the Pieta.

At the Pieta' I stopped to contemplate it for a moment, marveling at how it captured grief so clearly, knowing how close Our Lady must be to the man I had just met. I didn't even know if he was Catholic, or Orthodox, or Coptic, or whether he'd ever said a prayer in his life. But..I knew Our Lady and Our Lord were very close to him in his own deep sorrow.

Then suddenly, I saw something on the Pieta' that I'd never noticed before.

In order to see it more clearly, I had to step on the cedar chips at the base, but it verified what I thought it was: it looked like blood pooled between the side of Christ where He rested in death, against His Mother. I touched my fingers to my lips to kiss them, then touched my finger to that pool of blood, pondering the blood from the side of Christ; that blood that had put an end to death, paid our ransom, and opened Heaven to us.

As I touched it, my fingers brushing lightly against the paint, I noticed something else about it:

It was the color of Red Zinfandel.

*       *       *

Well, I've REALLY Gone and Done it Now...

This weekend, with my permission, Mom told the extended family of my Vocation.

From what I understand, one uncle, the only one who knew I was even considering it simply said "Good!". Another relative, sitting nearby, for the first time in recorded history, was actually shocked into silence.  (This is good luck; it bodes well for my own future ability to keep silence!).  Unfortunately I think they had to use a crane, a backhoe, and some crowbars to pry her jaw out of the ground. She is recovering nicely and attended the family wedding.  No scarring was noted by observers.


An unnamed person (whom I suspect to be a certain cousin) reacted thus:  "Cool! The family is going to have a nun that can shoot!" 

NO, I am NOT making this up!  He didn't even KNOW about the deputy who was teasing me while I was in high school, telling me I should become a nun. "A nun with a gun," he said with a chuckle.

So, now that the family knows and has had time to react and comment, I guess you can know, too:  I have made my decision, have asked to enter a certain community and have been given a yes.

Now, mind you, I've done no paperwork, taken no medical exams, no psychological tests. I've not jumped through any hoops and nothing is certain until the proverbial fat lady sings. (Where can I get a helmet with horns so that I can sing?)

Anyway, I'm not yet ready to announce where I am going, God willing.  I have thousands of dollars of debt between student loans and credit cards (which were used to pay for everything my paycheck didn't for the last 3 years), and my house, even IF it sells, has about $50,000 in negative equity.

No worries; I'm not in default on anything and haven't yet gotten to the point where I think bankruptcy is a good idea.  I'm hoping to come out of this scraped up but not completely squashed, but then again, I'm leaving my life as I know it in order to become united with Our Lord, so I guess being crushed is part of that whole plan.

OK....so be it.

So! I hope, if it does actually happen and I do actually enter as we all plan and hope for, that once I am clothed as a Novice I can go home to visit my family. That way, I can fulfill my cousin's enthusiasm, go out to the farm or a range and go shooting, full habit and all. He might die of joy at the sight.

Heck, if a Friar can use a guitar and a Monk can ride a skateboard for souls, who's to say a Nun can't use a gun?

Strength Before the Lord

Today at Mass, before the Gospel was an exhortation to pray to be strong enough to stand before the Lord (in judgement):

Although I dutifully repeated the words of the prayer, knowing what they meant in the most transcendent way, the strength required to get there, the strength required to even be able to be present before the LORD in full knowledge of Who He Is, still, I pictured my day of Particular Judgment. I imagined, in my mind's eye, the Angry Jesus.  (Pictured above, mosaic at the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception)

No, I don't want the strength to stand before the Lord;  standing is far too often, in the Latin Church, a sign of obstinate dissent flung into the Face of God Himself. [Especially in our American culture,] In the Latin Church (i.e. Roman Catholic) it is not a sign of reverence and awe to stand, and in American culture in general, standing, in particular, is a sign of  outright rebellion. Standing in the Latin Tradition is a sign of dissent, of "MY" desires to the detriment of the rest of the community of Catholics who kneel in reverence, recognizing by the worship of their bodily expression of humility in the face of God.

There are exceptions;  those *Religious* communities in the Benedictine Tradition may stand at certain points, however the worship belonging to a Rule of Life often does not properly translate to parish life and was never intended for such a thing, for most lay Catholics are NOT formed and schooled in the theology of the Benedictine Tradition.

I do not want the strength to *stand* before the Lord when I go before Him!  

Instead, I pray for the wisdom, humility, and weakness to fall at His feet, begging for mercy for all I have done to offend Him and all His Church, with full awareness of the harm I have caused to all.

I want to fall at His feet like Esther into the arms of the King, her spouse, praying not just for my own salvation, but that of all fallen souls.

None of us has strength in and of ourselves; all our strength comes from Him, but we must be humble enough not just to accept it, but to ASK for it.

"Oh, God, If I have found favor in your sight, please let me speak. Have mercy on me, O Lord, have mercy! I  am all alone and have no one but Thee. Help me O Lord in your goodness. If I have found favor in your sight please hear me and grant my petition.  

I am all alone, and I have no one but Thee."

 (prayer written during Cistercian retreat, based upon the prayers of the fallen Queen Esther) 

Vocational Advice Married People Need

MEN:

Before criticizing your wife's faults, remember she could have married Jesus and laid down her life in an offering of love, praying for your eternal salvation with every breath she takes. Nothing is more intimate and worthy than that kind of sacrifice.

WOMEN:

 Before criticizing your husband's faults, remember that he might have become a Priest in an offering of love and saved your soul through the Sacraments. Nothing is more intimate and worthy than that kind of sacrifice.

MEN and WOMEN:

You BOTH settled for a paltry, worthless [if you don't understand the sacrifice it symbolizes] ring, and an even more worthless "unity candle" (if you used this stupid symbol) taking Eternal Vows to lay down your lives FOR GOD and TO EACH OTHER in the Name of Our Lord Jesus Christ, and nothing is more intimate and worthy than that kind of sacrifice, and nothing else lays the foundation for other Vocations.  What? Do you think Priests and Religious drop in a hailstorm, flow down the Nile and end up in the local school teaching your kids about Salvation?

Get over yourselves and stop your bitchin' about each other.  We children of divorce are tired of hearing about your tiresome adolescent angst. What, are you still 13?

Grow up!

If you're not called to the Holy Vocation of Marriage, don't have sex (ever!) and don't take the Vows of Marriage! If you're already married, you made a decision and a Vow before God and you are Called, formally, to GETTING EACH OTHER TO HEAVEN!

Stop whining!  It was your bed; lie down in it and either have children or live a celibate marriage, but stop making the rest of us suffer for your adolescently-inspired decisions.

And don't scream at me in the combox for slapping your hands.

You're lucky I don't slap something else with something much harder!

That's all I have to say about that. My divorced mother and deceased father would approve. And before you accuse me of being a hypocrite, please let me invite all fellow hypocrites such as yourself to Mass with me this weekend; there's always enough room in the pew for one more!

A Few of My Favorite Things

I have a mischevious nature and sometimes I just love to let it loose. For example:

I have a couple tattoos. Most people don't know I have them, including my mother. As most people have no idea and it's not typically a topic of conversation, I don't usually have need to announce the fact, and I'm not into swimming anymore (unfortunately, but can't afford the membership), that fact about me remains hidden to people who know me. 

Many of my friends are very solid, very traditionally-minded Catholics and Protestants, and most of them have very strong opinions about many things. Usually when one of us goes off on a rant about something, we're all ranting together in full agreement. 

Until it comes to tattoos. Then, this is truly one of my favorite things to do:  I let them go off on their anti-tat rant. When they are sufficiently into it and have properly denounced not just the artform, but those who practice it, engage in it, become a canvas for it, etc, I will quietly pipe up and say, "I have tattoos."

This is my favorite part:

I love to watch the colors that particular ranter turns when they hear my little confession. They are typically shocked right on down to their little bitty toes and back, and clearly have NO IDEA what to say or how to reach. I love the look of horror that comes over their countenances when they realize what they said, and in fact, their very personal attacks actually applied to someone in their presence they consider to be a friend (and good Catholic). I especially adore the sputtering sound that comes out of them as they try to backtrack, even apologize for what they just said...

And there I sit, enjoying the show, smiling, not offended one bit. After all, they're entitled to their opinion.

But if they are entitled to their opinion, it seems to me that I am likewise entitled to a bit of harmless entertainment at their expense.  ;-)

Ah, yes, life with Adoro.

An Invitation to be Considered

Yesterday I received a letter in the mail.

It was from the Vocations Director of one of the communities I visited, giving me an update on the local Sisters, and I was happy to learn that a couple I met during my visit are now in the area!

But there was more.  Sister Vocations Director invited me, once again, to come out East to visit them, or, she offered, even better:

 "Enter as a Postulant on September 8!" 

"Something to pray about," she said with a ;-).

My knee-jerk reaction was to scoff. September 8! That's only a couple weeks away!  I have a house and I'm completely owned by my debt! Even if I COULD sell the house (right! Not in THIS market!) it would be of no help, for the negative equity is probably more than the house was ever worth.

So, of course, my initial reaction was to reject the entire idea out of hand.

But, I continued to think about it. What about the psychological entrants are required to make before entering a community?  How would Sister even know I would pass?   A friend of mine offered that some don't require the psychological; it becomes apparently very quickly if someone is not...uh....cut out for that way of life.

I also began to wonder if I was rejecting an experience of true Grace.  What if God WANTS me there on September 8?  Can't HE make things happen that quickly?

I've never been a Pollyanna, and have to admit that I have a hard time believing that anything like that could happen, especially to me. I don't deserve such a huge miracle, anyway.

Oh, right...none of us does. None of us merits ANYTHING, but Jesus suffered and died for us anyway, didn't He?  This is certainly much less than the ransom He paid for each of us. My current situation isn't even a speck of dust in God's eye.

So...ok, I'm praying about it. I'm considering it. I had not planned to apply to or enter this community as I am neither a nurse nor a teacher (seriously, I do NOT have the gifts and have no desire to be a teacher or a nurse, as I have written of before, in depth).  But it still comes down to: what does God want? Doesn't He know more about me than I do? Didn't He create me and call me into being from eternity to fulfill a particular purpose?

Indeed.

It seems that this door is not closed, and I have a very very direct invitation to walk through it.

Truly, if I could get rid of my house, my debt, my stuff, and find a home for my dog, I would go. After all, I have nothing to lose. My situation now can't really get much worse, and I'm on the verge of losing everything anyway. Such is life for anyone who works for the Church. Just ask around; we're all in this same boat.

I have nothing to lose by entering religious life, even with a community I would not have chosen for myself. Then again, I would not have chosen any of the communities I visited, and yet God sent me to them, and I'm GLAD He did, each and every one.  I'm also grateful for the doors He gently closed as He ushered me through discernment.

I have nothing to lose, but everything to gain, and everything to give. Obviously they see something in me to offer to their Community and to God, as "worthless" as I think I would be...there must be something.

So there it is; I must take this seriously and pray. As of yesterday, discernment is being kicked into overdrive with the shift of a single gear.

So....there? Out East?  Or one of the others I visited?

God will show the way. If out East, there is also a February entrance date. It wasn't listed in the letter from yesterday, but I know about it.

I believe that within the next year, I will be entering religious life at one of the communities I have already visited. I made the decision this summer to not visit any more; God has given me enough to consider and has closed further doors. He has made Himself clear in that regard. I'll be entering with the one that just invited me, or one of the others, if they will accept me.

OK, God....Thy Will be done.

I am the handmaid of the Lord; be it done unto me according to Thy Word.

Remember Lepanto!

Let us remember what made the Battle of Lepanto NECESSARY, for what happened then in Europe and what they defended so valiantly against is FINALLY, NOW overtaking Europe like a virus and is, as we speak, encroaching upon American soil, threatening ALL of our CHRISTIAN RIGHTS and FREEDOMS under GOD and under our Constitution.

"Those who cannot learn from the past are condemned to repeat it....."

( George Santayana)

...This time while lying on our backs and spreading our legs like dogs.

Gosh! At least the Europeans of yore had backbone and put up a fight! What the Hell happened to them, and is happening to we Americans, who preach freedom but are so willing to give it up in the face of passive impending Sharia Law?

Remember Lepanto and to Whom the Victory belongs...and place your allegiance, and your PRAYERS for both Europe and America there!

Lepanto

White founts falling in the courts of the sun,

And the Soldan of Byzantium is smiling as they run;

There is laughter like the fountains in that face of all men feared,

It stirs the forest darkness, the darkness of his beard,

It curls the blood-red crescent, the crescent of his lips,

For the inmost sea of all the earth is shaken with his ships.

They have dared the white republics up the capes of Italy,

They have dashed the Adriatic round the Lion of the Sea,

And the Pope has cast his arms abroad for agony and loss,

And called the kings of Christendom for swords about the Cross,

The cold queen of England is looking in the glass;

The shadow of the Valois is yawning at the Mass;

From evening isles fantastical rings faint the Spanish gun,

And the Lord upon the Golden Horn is laughing in the sun.

Dim drums throbbing, in the hills half heard,

Where only on a nameless throne a crownless prince has stirred,

Where, risen from a doubtful seat and half-attainted stall,

The last knight of Europe takes weapons from the wall,

The last and lingering troubadour to whom the bird has sung,

That once went singing southward when all the world was young.

In that enormous silence, tiny and unafraid,

Comes up along a winding road the noise of the Crusade.

Strong gongs groaning as the guns boom far,

Don John of Austria is going to the war,

Stiff flags straining in the night-blasts cold

In the gloom black-purple, in the glint old-gold,

Torchlight crimson on the copper kettle-drums,

Then the tuckets, then the trumpets, then the cannon, and he comes.

Don John laughing in the brave beard curled,

Spurning of his stirrups like the thrones of all the world,

Holding his head up for a flag of all the free.

Love-light of Spain - hurrah!

Death-light of Africa!

Don John of Austria

Is riding to the sea.

Mahound is in his paradise above the evening star,

(Don John of Austria is going to the war.)

He moves a mighty turban on the timeless houri's knees,

His turban that is woven of the sunset and the seas.

He shakes the peacock gardens as he rises from his ease,

And he strides among the tree-tops and is taller than the trees,

And his voice through all the garden is a thunder sent to bring

Black Azrael and Ariel and Ammon on the wing.

Giants and the Genii,

Multiplex of wing and eye,

Whose strong obedience broke the sky

When Solomon was king.

They rush in red and purple from the red clouds of the morn,

From temples where the yellow gods shut up their eyes in scorn;

They rise in green robes roaring from the green hells of the sea

Where fallen skies and evil hues and eyeless creatures be;

On them the sea-valves cluster and the grey sea-forests curl,

Splashed with a splendid sickness, the sickness of the pearl;

They swell in sapphire smoke out of the blue cracks of the ground, -

They gather and they wonder and give worship to Mahound.

And he saith, "Break up the mountains where the hermit-folk may hide,

And sift the red and silver sands lest bone of saint abide,

And chase the Giaours flying night and day, not giving rest,

For that which was our trouble comes again out of the west.

We have set the seal of Solomon on all things under sun,

Of knowledge and of sorrow and endurance of things done,

But a noise is in the mountains, in the mountains, and I know

The voice that shook our palaces - four hundred years ago:

It is he that saith not 'Kismet'; it is he that knows not Fate;

It is Richard, it is Raymond, it is Godfrey in the gate!

It is he whose loss is laughter when he counts the wager worth,

Put down your feet upon him, that our peace be on the earth."

For he heard drums groaning and he heard guns jar,

(Don John of Austria is going to the war.)

Sudden and still - hurrah!

Bolt from Iberia!

Don John of Austria

Is gone by Alcalar.

St. Michael's on his Mountain in the sea-roads of the north

(Don John of Austria is girt and going forth.)

Where the grey seas glitter and the sharp tides shift

And the sea-folk labour and the red sails lift.

He shakes his lance of iron and he claps his wings of stone;

The noise is gone through Normandy; the noise is gone alone;

The North is full of tangled things and texts and aching eyes

And dead is all the innocence of anger and surprise,

And Christian killeth Christian in a narrow dusty room,

And Christian dreadeth Christ that bath a newer face of doom,

And Christian hateth Mary that God kissed in Galilee,

But Don John of Austria is riding to the sea.

Don John calling through the blast and the eclipse

Crying with the trumpet, with the trumpet of his lips,

Trumpet that sayeth ha!

Domino gloria!

Don John of Austria

Is shouting to the ships.

King Philip's in his closet with the Fleece about his neck

(Don John of Austria is armed upon the deck.)

The walls are hung with velvet that is black and soft as sin,

And little dwarfs creep out of it and little dwarfs creep in.

He holds a crystal phial that has colours like the moon,

He touches, and it tingles, and he trembles very soon,

And his face is as a fungus of a leprous white and grey

Like plants in the high houses that are shuttered from the day,

And death is in the phial and the end of noble work,

But Don John of Austria has fired upon the Turk.

Don John's hunting, and his hounds have bayed -

Booms away past Italy the rumour of his raid.

Gun upon gun, ha! ha!

Gun upon gun, hurrah!

Don John of Austria

Has loosed the cannonade.

The Pope was in his chapel before day or battle broke,

(Don John of Austria is hidden in the smoke.)

The hidden room in a man's house where God sits all the year,

The secret window whence the world looks small and very dear.

He sees as in a mirror on the monstrous twilight sea

The crescent of his cruel ships whose name is mystery;

They fling great shadows foe-wards, making Cross and Castle dark,

They veil the plumed lions on the galleys of St. Mark;

And above the ships are palaces of brown, black-bearded chiefs,

And below the ships are prisons, where with multitudinous griefs,

Christian captives sick and sunless, all a labouring race repines

Like a race in sunken cities, like a nation in the mines.

They are lost like slaves that swat, and in the skies of morning hung

The stairways of the tallest gods when tyranny was young.

They are countless, voiceless, hopeless as those fallen or fleeing on

Before the high Kings' horses in the granite of Babylon.

And many a one grows witless in his quiet room in hell

Where a yellow face looks inward through the lattice of his cell,

And he finds his God forgotten, and he seeks no more a sign -

(But Don John of Austria has burst the battle-line!)

Don John pounding from the slaughter-painted poop,

Purpling all the ocean like a bloody pirate's sloop,

Scarlet running over on the silvers and the golds,

Breaking of the hatches up and bursting of the holds,

Thronging of the thousands up that labour under sea

White for bliss and blind for sun and stunned for liberty.

Vivat Hispania!

Domino Gloria!

Don John of Austria

Has set his people free!

Cervantes on his galley sets the sword back in the sheath

(Don John of Austria rides homeward with a wreath.)

And he sees across a weary land a straggling road in Spain,

Up which a lean and foolish knight forever rides in vain,

And he smiles, but not as Sultans smile, and settles back the blade. . .

(But Don John of Austria rides home from the Crusade.)

- G.K. Chesterton

"To the Victors go the Spoils"

Do not let America become the definition of "spoils"!


 We have shed far too much blood over the Centuries for this country to become the spoils of the Sultan's bearded Losers of Lepanto. And we Catholics have fought them a LOT longer than you mere mortal secularist Americans, who don't even know what's coming and refuse to acknowledge your (and our) defeat to them as a possibility.

REMEMBER LEPANTO!