I thank you god for most this amazing day



Husband dashing out a bit late to work and I walk with him,
bathrobe wrapped tight against the cold. 
He drives off and I turn, my back to the sunrise, and see this...



I grab my camera, a quick shot
and just as fast it's little bright white is gone from my sight,
it's light spreading into this...

I close my eyes, turn my face to the heavens
and feel my Father's Light rising behind me, illuminating the world. 
God's presence felt,
as real as if you yourself were standing there behind me...


 i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
- ee cummings

Happy St. Valentine's Day

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me prov'd,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
  -Shakespeare's sonnet 116

Of course, the feast of St Valentine is a martyr's feast;
but the original meaning of martyr is witness.
Someone whose whole life is a witness to divine love...
And so on this martyr's feast I come across shakespeare
and read the poetry of a life laid down for love.
  -  marriage
and because all poetry is personal
  -  my marriage

I met my husband when my own lips were rosy
and my cheeks blushed at his arrival...
not yet 16, he walked into my life and I was sunk!
He had this deep voice and wore a soft cashmere sweater
green and cozy and I wanted to settle into those arms forever.

He wore thick glasses and had an easy smile.
At first I thought him shy,
but he simply chose his friends slowly and well.
Now I know it is because his friendship is a lasting stand.
I remember walking in the cool of the evening, alone at last
as we wandered along the sidewalk,
my 16th birthday party going on inside.
He gave me his sweater against the cool and I can
feel it as though it was yesterday...thus began our courtship.

He'd walk me to the gate of my house and squeeze my hand goodbye
I still wonder was he terrified for that first kiss,
or was it his same commitment to mean it
that held his restraint firm enough against my girlish longing.

First kiss came, at the county fair,
up in the ferris wheel...
back on the ground our courage is up,
Tommy James and the Shondells are singing
Draggin the Line and I'm feelin fine!

We wed on the hottest day of the year, 1975.
There were no strangers there.
Our friends and family decorated the hall,
provided the music for mass and witnessed our vows,
more friends in the band for dancing after,
took the photos, entertained (long tall Texan).
Everyone we loved was gathered there to celebrate
and it is still the best wedding we’ve ever experienced!

I have enjoyed his strong and kind companionship through decades now.
Seen him again and again lay down his life for love.
He’s done it with a smile, an easy laugh
With pleasure and glad for the chance.
And he’s done it with unrelenting anguish
and great personal sacrifice.
A martyr for the cause as they say
And the cause is steady and clear
To live a life of love.

We’ve had a life of constancy,
faithfulness, friendship.
An easy confidence in our belonging together,
A grateful recognition of how rare a gift we share.
Lucky us, we say again and again.
Simple pleasures of home and family,
Crazy love crowded around the table,
celebrating together the moments as they come.
Easy laughter in the flow of days to years.
Burdens too, weeping days and sleepless nights.
Known to us alone, shared like a blanket
on the sofa; we huddle together
our hopes, our dreams, our faith, our lives.

My Mother's Smile

My mom...far left with some of her siblings
Margie, Charlotte, Dickey, Daryl, Robert, Wes, Danny & Charlie

I wander around the expanse of this new space with it’s open walls,

not sure where to put a picture I have just unpacked and so glad to find.

I hold it here...and there. Other things needing my attention, I lean it

against the kitchen window and forget it there. 

Now it seems it's where it belongs and i love it. 

It’s hues evoke something peaceful and deep, soothing in me.

There's an old calendar print on the back that was used when it was framed.

I’d seen it again in the unpacking, smiling (i love old things), and quickly forgotten.

Yesterday i walked outside and saw it there through the window.

How it caught my eye.

Somehow it touched me with it’s surprise of beauty.

Snowy mountains and blossoming meadows...a clear running stream and pale sky.

Surrounded by stained cardboard, tack nails and a twist of rusty wire.

Unprotected, it shows the wear and tear of time, beauty aged and sharpness softened. 

Some patches have been eaten away or torn; gone missing somehow.

This is not the backside of the print, like the weavings of a tapestry.

This is an entirely different scene, in the same frame, heretofore hidden.

Is it the landscape of things not chosen. 

The things we let take a back seat in our life;

The valley of ‘if only’.

The homeland we never dreamed possible

or if dreamed so, even then, just in bits and pieces.

Is it a glimpse into the high country, what we call the other side of life,

eternity here now (though mostly unseen or neglected),

it’s tattered state not worn through but just coming into view?

[Conor, I think now of you and ‘What Dreams May Come’]

Is it the magnificence of those who have backed me up,

been my mountain of strength, held me secure, let me shine.

Their own self-sacrifice shown in its rough edged paper frame,

which moves me to deep felt gratitude, prompts me to prayer.

Is it my own life, hidden away even to myself,

though not sadly or with regret, but given away

so as to make of my life a home for love.

I know...it’s just a page from an old calendar

in an old frame

of an old print.

like I said

(i love old things)

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face:
now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.
- 1Corinthians 13:12

SPIRITUAL EXERCISES FOR LENT

Click below and let the adventure begin...
An Ignatian Prayer Adventure

God comes to us disguised as our own life...Richard Rohr

I ordered roses for planting and immediately remembered my mothers  advice,

“Better start saving eggshells.”  Eggshells?

My daughter gave me a bird’s nest for Christmas with lovely blue speckled eggs
nestled within.  It’s shape and color greet me from the kitchen shelf where it rests in a basket.
I was captivated last spring by the eggs laid in nests in my garden, doves and hummingbirds.
And eggs for breakfast, soft boiled for our youngest who loves to crack the shell open and scoop out it’s creamy goodness.
Or the perfect shape and weight of an egg in the hand, before we crack it on the edge of a bowl and mix the dough.
We visit our friend and head out to the chicken coup to gather eggs there, warm and fresh for lunch.
Color eggs for Easter; symbol of the tomb, and the resurrection.
Visit the children’s zoo and you can’t miss the excitement of the crowd gathered around the incubator full of eggs, mystery hidden still in some, breaking out in others, and the baby chicks every hand reaches for.  Holding those loveliest of creatures thrills each, awestruck with wonder and delight. Little feet tickling our hands and softest down, golden yellow, gray, white...and that high persistent chirping that draws our heads close to hear.
All that from an egg.

But saving eggshells?

Eggshells are for the garbage; messy, stinky and sharp, no good.
Yet, they have sat, collecting in a bag on my counter and only as I shared this with my husband did he tell me how many times he nearly threw them out and wondered what I was up to (he thought maybe some craft project).

“Better start saving eggshells,” my mother taught.
“Crush them fine and put them in when you plant.
That’s how you get the sweetest smelling roses.”

I think of the things ‘long sitting on the counter’ in my life,
the things I am sometimes tempted to discard; messy, sharp and stinking, no good.
I carry them with me to mass
crush them as my meager offering,
plant them at the altar...
In their place I am given Christ,
crushed and buried too,
I swallow deep, taste the water with the wine
feel it seeping into the dark earth of me.

The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them,

and the desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose.
Isaiah 35:1

Silence resonating

From Scorsese's forward to a new edition of the book Silence by Shusako Endo...

How do you tell the story of Christian faith? The difficulty, the crisis, of believing?
How do you describe the struggle?
Shusaku Endo understood the conflict of faith,
the necessity of belief fighting the voice of experience.
The voice that always urges the faithful – the questioning faithful –
to adapt their beliefs to the world they inhabit, their culture...
That’s a paradox, and it can be an extremely painful one:
on the face of it, believing and questioning are antithetical.
Yet I believe that they go hand in hand. One nourishes the other.
Questioning may lead to great loneliness, but if it co-exists with faith
  – true faith, abiding faith –
it can end in the most joyful sense of communion.
It’s this painful, paradoxical passage
– from certainty to doubt to loneliness to communion –
that Endo understands so well, and renders so clearly,
carefully and beautifully in Silence.

And yes, a filming project is in the works!

Sunrise from our porch

God ...heart on his sleeve at rising

On the 5th Day of Christmas...

This morning I read about Simeon...
A good man
One who lived in prayerful expectancy
And the Holy Spirit was on him
Simeon took him [Jesus] into his arms and blessed God

So I am sitting here...in the imaginative prayer of St. Ignatius,
feeling the weight of the Christ child in my arms, close and warm.
I am dumbfounded...
no words form...
just that weight and warmth
and the lump in my throat.
I am deeply sunk in the moment
when she pads out
"I was calling you"
and crawls into my lap,
heavy and warm
and I hold on
in silence
as long as I possibly can...

feeling the weight of the Christ child in my arms, close and warm.
I am dumbfounded...

Some Children see Him lily white,
the Baby Jesus born this night.
Some Children see Him lily white,
with tresses soft and fair.
Some Children see Him bronzed and brown,
the Lord of heav’n to earth some down;
Some Children see Him bronzed and brown,
with dark and heavy hair.
Some Children see Him almond eyed,
this Saviour whom we kneel beside,
Some Children see him almond eyed,
with skin of yellow hue.
Some Children see him dark as they,
sweet Mary’s Son to whom we pray;
Some Children see Him dark as they,
and ah! They love Him too!
The Children in each different place
will see the Baby Jesus’ face
Like theirs, but bright with heav’nly grace,
and filled with holy light.
O lay aside each earthly thing,
and with thy heart as offering,
Come worship now the Infant King,
’tis love that’s born tonight!

I love these old vintage prints

For some reason I have always loved this - my swedish grandmother... the beauty of winter...
the mystery and wondrous possibility of Christmas! 

The goodness of St Nicholas

If we could but see how the world proclaims His glory!

child wonder

Away in a manger, no crib for a bed...
that manger was rough!

The great give-away

Let me not wrap,

stack,

box,

bag,

tie,

tag,

bundle,

seal,

keep Christmas.

Christmas kept is liable to mold.

Let me give Christmas away,

unwrapped,

by exuberant armfuls.

Let me share,

dance,

live Christmas unpretentiously,

merrily,

responsibly with overflowing hands,

tireless steps

and sparkling eyes.

(from an old copy of the Upper Room)

Potluck

One of our dear friends recently discovered he is in the late stages of cancers' merciless grip.  The news stunned us all – he who is so youthful, vigorous and full of life – his mischievous laugh resounding forever in our hearts…mention Chris and that sound echoes through everyone’s head with delight.  These men have been friends since grade school at St. Mary’s, adding one or two along the way, from high school and SEARCH weekends, and they have held on, through wild adventures and weddings, through kids and the daily pulls that eventually shape our lives in different directions.  Usually, it would be Bob as the master of planning; a ping pong gathering, a party, he’d remember a birthday or use anything as a cause to celebrate…this time he used cancer ---

“Does anyone recognize these fugitives?” his email read. And there it was, from days long gone – a shot of the boys gathered round a table, the easy fun so evident on their faces as they ham it up for the camera!

And so we gathered Saturday afternoon for a potluck…

Kevin and Kara hosted, in their wide open home so like their wide open hearts.  We brought appetizers and dessert, so arrived first.  We were standing in the kitchen when Mike and Linda arrived (we hadn’t seen him in ages)…my husband saw Mike peek his head in and thought, “There’s Mikes Dad!”, quickly realizing no…that’s Mike.  Needless to say, it was an eye-opening evening!
He and his son carried in the cooler as we laughed about the days we’d all lived together in a big house on the beach, Rog and I the only married couple, and all these guys.  Mike always had a cooler ready then, glad to spend an evening on the sand.

Joe and Cathy brought bread and oil, Joe loving bread as always, knowing our need to break bread together, the meaning lost to no one.  The hard swallow of eucharisteo  borne more easily in communion.

Bob (the self-designated Wine Swine) and Maura were welcomed with ready glasses and raucous laughter.  Chris and Michelle arrived with them.  Michelle with a huge salad, fresh and full of greens and fruit and nuts.  She always makes the best salads!

We chatted and munched a good long while, took a tour of the house (Kevin is an architect) while Kara prepared the main course, lovely salmon and couscous.
Then we sat down at table.  Six couples who’ve been long wed, wives brought together mostly by the friendships their husbands shared; and knit together through the years, grateful for such friendships in their lives and ours.  We feasted on a delicious meal and told stories that had us laughing and crying, whole table conversations with each one shouting in their bit of the story and quiet ‘one on ones’ as we lingered on.  I brought out the dessert – pies – and as I sat down next to Mike he shared how his mom had been the pie maker at a local restaurant when he was small; how he loved pies (real pies…good pies).  My mom had been a pie maker too; daily heading out to the Wagon Wheel.  The weave of life and grace in our life a common thread knotted there…

Bob made toasts (he is a most excellent wine swine) and we took a group shot for posterity.  We all ended up in the kitchen, having the quiet  conversation with Chris and Michelle that had brought us all there, sharing love and hope, the hard facts of life softened with tears and gratitude and faith strong enough to hold us all.
It took us hours more to say goodbye…

In the days following, each has sent out an email of thanks to the group.  I sat down to write ours, and thought of asking for Kara’s recipe – the meal had been so good, I thought I might serve it Christmas eve.  But I had watched her prepare it, simple enough, and slide it in the oven.  Then I realized…

The meal was not prepared in any special way for us…we were prepared in a special way for the meal.  Apart, we were stunned and troubled…together we relaxed and remembered… in good company with good stories and our good God to see us through.  Because of that we celebrated, and life was the feast!  Simcha!

To be grateful is to recognize the Love of God in everything.

Thomas Merton
Thoughts in Solitude

Morning Prayer brings this line to me.

So here I am...

Looking...

Looking hard into that situation...
Trying to find the love of God...

I want to say "there it is!"...

I want to see....

But I can only say "I believe it's there"...

Even though I cannot see it...

Yet...

Even though...

I make up my answers...

Try to put God’s love into the places I’d expect it to be...

The proverbial square peg in a round hole...
Here I sit with the mystery...

Recognition...

God’s love...

Working in me...

Hours later I am in the shower and without warning His mercies rain down-
The love of God is first and always merciful.
Myself
My Thoughts in Solitude

They wash over me...
Mercy within Mercy within Mercy (TM said this too, doesn't every Christ follower)

Sometimes I struggle so hard against what isn't that I miss His mercies in what is...

"In everything give thanks; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you."

                                                                  1Thessalonians 5:18

GRATITUDE – May we all grow into it's grace

St. Francis passed on to us many prayers of praise. He went through his life
finding new things for which to praise God at every turn: the little things,
nature, the creatures, suffering, his brothers—
for whatever is happening, he praises God.
Francis is never trying to earn God's love; he is celebrating it!
He continually enjoys God's love in everything he sees and experiences.  
Mature prayer always breaks into gratitude and praise.
Prayer is sitting in the silence until it silences us,
choosing gratitude until we are grateful,
praising God until we ourselves are a constant act of praise.
Adapted from Richard Rohr; Radical Grace: Daily Meditations

FAITH

This photo of our grandson always prompts gratitude and a smile...to remember how securely love holds us...and to savor the many blessings of life with wild abandon and confident joy 

Last week I was captivated by chickens.  We'd headed out to Bates Nut Farm for a bit of Fall, myself and a friend, with our 8 year old daughter and 3 year old godson along for a treat to see the animals.  Little did I know.  I have never seen nor imagined such beautiful diversity in a chicken coup.  I hope my dear friend got some photos I can add later so that you can see for yourself.  Such personality.  Though it was midday, a persistent rooster kept up his cock-a-doodle-doing the entire time.  Determined to put his talents to use I imagine.  Chickens covered with feathers from head to foot fluffed constantly to catch our eye.  The kids threw corn they found off the ground until they were digging them out of the mud, and we relented and bought a bag of feed to share.  It was so fun to watch them, forgetting the world...just feeding chickens that shook their fancy feathers and fought for each kernel, scattering about as if it was the last they'd ever see.  I so fully enjoyed the moment, and found myself accompanied by recollections of visits in days gone by when my older ones were small and we'd head out here for some adventure.  God is good, all the time, I know...but today I am thanking the good Lord for such easy happiness, pure grace.  Simcha!

“The earth is the only road that can lead us to heaven. There is no other. And the earth is not an idea, an argument, an abstraction, or a concept. It is not even a law. It is a thing, a gigantic thing, a great tangled swarming mass of things; it is a universe.
And because we must be led to God by things, they have therefore within them everything that is needed for the divine fulfillment of this task. It is, strictly speaking, their main role.
All around us, Providence has placed hosts of silent messengers who can lead us without effort by paths of love to the holy springs of peace.
Water, wood, fishes, the morning dew, the cock crowing at dawn, should all be able to inspire our prayer. Clothes and flowers, perfumes and pearls, the wind whistling past, the bread on the table, the jug, chair and roof… all these things have been sanctified, all these things have been loaded with blessings and divine inspiration by the Word.”

Pierre Charles
The Prayer of All Things

Slapstick

I am sitting in my car at the stoplight at Dove Street.  I am smiling because I am at Dove Street and the stoplight is lined with them, pigeon doves.   While I wait I count 19 and the evidence of their frequenting that post is apparent.  I am waiting while a small little lady crosses the street right under the pole and even as the thought enters my mind she turns and looks about in astonishment...yes, they nailed her!  I found myself cracking up while some more kindly and practical passerby handed her some tissues.  All I could hear was the echo of days gone by..."wait for it...wait for it...wait for it!"  Just as the tinge of guilt tried it's thieving ways the light changed, and I caught a final glimpse of her as I drove on, laughing full-hearted from the sidewalk as she looked up and saw the lightpost full and ready for their next target!

Hospitality; the relationship between guest and host; generous and friendly treatment, a disposition of equals

8 year old finally gets her birthday party in the park (we had been overcome by events as they say), and when we arrive the first girls - triplets- are there and come running, shouting her name in joyful unison.  She responds by running in their direction, matching their shouts with her own voice calling to them, each by name. 
Arms wide, they collide in a happy chaos of giggles and girlish thrills.
It's such a sweet greeting I snap away some photos and know this is one for my pocket heart.  Husband and I set up the party while they play and blow up balloons.  We are just about finished when the other girls start to come. 
Each time one arrives the whole scene is replayed, just for them.  Loud exclamations of delight, their names fill the air as they are greeted with wild embrace, jumping girls with flying hair giggle and hold on to one another, pulling the newest one along into whatever activity they were doing; making ready room for all. 
The late party-goer, who is also the newest member of their class, is greeted with equal enthusiasm, her name shouted all the more (there are more girls to squeel the delight of her being there) and soon enfolded, given everything she'd missed as they divide up their own treats to welcome her.  Soon I cannot see her in the tangle of ribbons and wrapping paper, heads together as they share in the happiness of the moment, a pile of girls on a blanket spread under a tree at the park. 
I am soaking it in, when across the way we hear another group break out in singing Happy Birthday...it's another party and the girl they are singing to is 86 today.

"You have found it in your heart to welcome me! When I saw your face, it was as the face of God smiling on me. Please accept the gifts I have brought for you. God has been good to me and I have more than enough."  Genesis 33:10

Sacred Heart

"Change is God's way of teaching us new things..."

As I begin my new work at Sacred Heart, so many 'little things' have pointed me afresh to the heart of God ... most obviously (God knows with me I am slow to catch subtlety) that little Ignatian group we started and living the 19th annotation in common, to VBS when I was Mon Frere Chef Pierre and spontaneously used Sacre Coeur to affirm the love of Jesus in the children, to prayers laid upon the outstretched arms of a hollowed out Christ carved from driftwood that has always been to me the Sacred Heart, to the realization as I see photos of how often I touch by habit my own heart or the heart of the one I am embracing...

To leave the place that has become my family these 19 years brought with it a grief ripe with gratitude that I would be so knit into this community that it was hard to say goodbye.  St. Therese taught me in her people to "stop and smell the roses", to rely on the constancy of God's grace, and be thankful.

Where I felt the uprooting tug and tear in leaving where the Lord had long left me to grow strong, I now can sense the eagerness of my own roots sinking into the rich soil of this new planting by God's hand, this garden of grace.  I have been surprised by peace, by a deeper openness to trust in the heart of God, confident in God's abiding presence.  As my phone chimes it's prompt for the examen (1:15pm, works better after lunch for me, before I dig into the afternoon tasks) I find myself only grateful; that God is with me, and in this moment, that I know it. 

"Laugh and grow strong" — St. Ignatius of Loyola

Hand in Hand

I recently spent a week at my moms. 8 year old and I flew to Colorado to see her and my brother.  I needed to SEE them; having nearly lost them both 6 months ago, mom in December and my brother in January.  Thanks be to God they are both doing well at the moment, and we spent the week together in her little "just the right size" house where she can literally hold onto something for support everywhere she goes.  I was holding on to her.  We didn't do much...we sat together and held hands.  We put together jigsaw puzzles, both our hands reaching to put the pieces together.  My hands more and more becoming hers, and 8 year olds hands so young and fresh and eager to contribute.  We felt so accomplished when we'd complete one.  My mom has collected a lot of old puzzles and often times we found, only at the end, that a few pieces were missing.  Somehow that touched me deeply.  Those missing pieces have stuck with me; how we could imagine the whole scene, yet how difficult it was to not be able to put all the pieces together.  There was a small set I fell in love with, and half way through asked to take them home so I could frame them and hang them in my new kitchen...only to discover they were incomplete.  I was so disappointed, and mom, disappointed for me, said quietly as if to herself "I just don't know how pieces get lost".  I hear her soft voice speaking those words in my own heart to the puzzle of my life and the lost pieces I cannot put together and it has become a prayer of surrender and a consolation. 

We baked banana bread together that last morning.  Moms hands busy mixing, an act of love pure and simple, while my hands mashed the fruit, glad to help, glad to stand by her side at the kitchen counter, glad for this ordinary grace.  I took it out of the oven according to the recipe.  It jiggled a bit in the middle, but the toothpick came out clean, twice for good measure and the color was perfect, the edges free and nutty brown.  But when I tried to turn it out of the pan it fell, ruined and raw in the middle.  Trying to rescue it we put it back in the oven, but it was a disaster.  Mom was kind as always, laughed and assured me baking is just different up here so high, things take a little longer than you think.  We'd both seen the jiggle, but didn't pay attention to it.  You just have to trust what you know , she told me, and patted my hand.
We drove to my brother's and spent the night so I could catch an early flight home.  We laughed a lot, cried a bit and held hands while we could.

Can you hand me that tape measure?

No one, not even the poets, has been able to measure how much the human heart can hold.
                                                               ~Zelda Fitzgerald (wife of F. Scott)

Pedro Ribadaneira, one of the first Jesuits, describes Ignatius:

“We frequently saw him taking the occasion of little things to lift his mind to God, who even in the smallest things is great. From seeing a plant, foliage, a leaf, a flower, any kind of fruit; from the consideration of a little worm or any other animal, he raised himself above the heavens and penetrated the deepest thoughts, and from each little thing he drew doctrine and the most profitable counsels for the spiritual life.

“And he desired that all in the Society accustom themselves always to find the presence of God in everything and that they learn to raise their hearts not only in private prayer, but also in all of their occupations, carrying them out and offering them in such a way that they would feel no less devotion in action than in meditation. And he used to say that this method of prayer is very profitable for all and especially for those who are much engaged in exterior things of the divine service.”  Jim Manney - Ignatianspirituality.com

Just call me grandma

FAME

So almost 8 and I stop by for a frozen yogurt treat and meet an old friend from church who is there with his grandson.  We're chatting away when his grandson looks at me wide-eyed and says in hushed awe...
"YOU are CHEF PIERRE!"  Well, my badly pronounced french flowed forth to his delight and we laughed all the way home!  My best moment, seeing my own at my side, beeming at the good of it!

I WAS NOT MYSELF

I was not myself
no, this last week I was something else altogether
namely chef Pierre mon frère

I was shapely –
in a round, pillowy sort of way,
unconcerned with how my weight was settling!
This was perfect for welcoming hugs from all,
for playful pokes and ready arm rests.
This also made me quite photogenic!

I was a man -
and some of the children never knew otherwise
(perhaps it was my mustache)
one boy in particular comes to mind,
who told me I was a very nice man
the nicest he had ever met -
and he sat by me
and then he leaned on my shoulder
while all the children were singing and dancing
he held my hand and shared his thoughts
and I thought of a father’s strong comfort
and how words are often over-rated.

I was French -
though decidedly with international training
as my French accent often slipped into Spanish or Italian;
no one minded that my French was ‘bad’ (that’s an understatement)
but only delighted that I tried, which in turn
helped my French to improve each day!
When I led the prayer one day
all the children prayed in the same
French accent, imitating me.
Now there’s a little food for thought in that, eh?

I was generous-
Every day I brought pastries and chocolates,
baguettes and culinary pleasures to share.
My arms were never empty
my pockets held countless surprises to give to others always something,
I named the treasures in the people around me
with an easy hand on their chin,
a direct look into the eye
that told them they were seen, with gratitude.

I was extravagant-
bigger than life
The mundane was tres magnifique
and joy was found everywhere
but most especially in the people all around me.
Little one’s were mon petit chou chou
and any good deed showed le sacré coeur de Jesus
My arms were never folded.
My hands were only in my pockets to pull out a treat or a
silly thing to bring a smile and Voilà!

I was playful-
I took the pokes with cheerful anticipation
I posed and danced, I joked and laughed.
We shouted a hundred times, to their mischievous delight – oui oui!
Yes, Yes. It’ joy resounding in my ears still.

It was VBS week; and fruitful beyond our wildest dreams.
I miss Chef Pierre, mon frère;
He is my Brother
(and husband said Chef Pierre looked just like my brother!)
He is the embodiment of Christ’s lessons we were learning this week

GRATITUDE, COMPASSION, FORGIVENESS, GRACE, FAITHFULNESS

My almost 8 year old was in on the whole thing
and together with Papa we had more fun creating me together
than I ever could have had alone.
A lot of others had a hand in creating me too;
some who daily refined me
and others who never saw the fruit of their labors
but never-the-less contributed to my becoming.

No, I was not myself this week
and I may never be myself again...
or perhaps I was more myself than I could have known
without the help of mon frère
and I am grateful that we are creating me together...
Oui! Oui!

Spring Nests

 



"...look with your eyes and hear with your ears
and pay attention to everything I am going to show you,
for that is why you have been brought here. ~Ezekiel 40:4





Finding your happy place

We were at Disneyland for my birthday celebration - 3 days of fun with just the 3 of us and at the end of the last day as we boarded the shuttle back to the hotel and sunk with satisfied exhaustion down on the seat, a young father with a toddler in his arms climbed the stairs and came to sit behind us.  As soon as they got on board his little one started with incredible vigor and enthusiasm to ask "We going to Grandmas house now?", "We going to Grandmas house now?", over and over while his dad kept saying (in that weary end of a day spent surrounded by a gazillion toddlers all a bundle of imaginative expectation and fear as they encounter Mickey, Buzz and Snow White voice)...no...not now...we just finished Disneyland.
I was so touched by his joy, that after having spent his day and his energy in 'the happiest place on earth' he could rally such unbridled eagerness for 'Grandma's house'.  And I found myself praying, with a hand over my heart... "Make me a Grandma like that!", "Make me a Grandma like that!" 
I hope somehow that Daddy let Grandma know how she topped them all for being 'the happiest place on earth!'

Come Walk with me along Christ's Way

One of my greatest joys in ministry

is that of companioning others on their spiritual journey. 

Over some 35 plus years now I have been blessed

to see firsthand the myriad ways

that the Holy Spirit works in peoples lives

to make God's love known, personally and powerfully. 

Today I received this from a young man

who shared the journey with us this year. 

God's touch is so individual,

God's grace so expansive and generous.  

This moved me to tears and deep gratitude...

I offer it to you in the same spirit it was given to me. 

Be sure to pause my soundtrack first at the bottom of the page...

In the mountains this weekend I looked up to the stars...

Back home I stumbled upon this film; it is amazing.  Watch it and then go out and look up to your own piece of the sky... see the heavens looking down upon you and feel her cloaking you in beauty....

The Mountain from Terje Sorgjerd on Vimeo.

“Though my soul may set in darkness, It will rise in perfect light, I have loved the stars too fondly To be fearful of the night”

Sarah Williams

Every Day

Every day

I see or hear

something

that more or less

kills me

with delight,

that leaves me

like a needle

in the haystack

of light.

It was what I was born for -

to look, to listen,

to lose myself

inside this soft world -

to instruct myself

over and over

in joy,

and acclamation.

Nor am I talking

about the exceptional,

the fearful, the dreadful,

the very extravagant -

but of the ordinary,

the common, the very drab,

the daily presentations.

Oh, good scholar,

I say to myself,

how can you help

but grow wise

with such teachings

as these -

the untrimmable light

of the world,

the ocean’s shine,

the prayers that are made

out of grass?

–Mary Oliver

Lucas Grey

Here he is – just fresh among us!
Born a little after 10pm April 9th
by cesarean - 9 lbs 3 oz
As you can see he is beautiful!
Very rough on his poor mother
but she is ok, thanks be to God.
She definitely sacrificed for his sake!
I’ll let them tell the story,
but for bravery above
and beyond the call of duty
she gets the gold medal!
As our son put it,
it was the worst day
and the best day of his life!

7 year old was SO excited to be there

she said, as she fell asleep

on the way home

waaay past her bedtime,

she wasn’t sure it was worth

spending all that time

until she saw him

and he was SO CUTE!

She is quite smitten!

We got to watch his whole little examination,

how he quieted as soon as his Daddy took his little hand

(actually he has very big hands and feet –

like a puppy his Dad says!)

first diaper, the works...

what a precious moment seeing my son meet his son. Wow.

Hats off!

Fr Dan came and spoke to our children about his life in Kenya,
about the missions and how they changed his life; shared why he became a priest
and showed us photos of his home and family,
of  the church and school that the Holy Childhood Association built
so the children could see what their little Lenten boxes are doing. 
It was a great afternoon, with the children
throwing their arms up into the air with questions
or shouting their answers. 
Fr Dan's enthusiasm and eager faith was catching. 
He taught the children a blessing song in swahili
and we clapped and sang back
what I am sure was a horrible rendition
but you would never know it by the wide smile on his face.
Someone asked if mass was different there and he told us oh yes! 
Here, you are so very holy -
and he folded his hands and bowed his head! 
Then he told us of how the children in Kenya
dance the priest down the aisle to start mass. 
How they play drums and clap and sing. 
How every action of the mass is another opportunity to dance and sing -
the gloria, the gifts, the gospel, the prayers! 
He said mass there is very long -
with all the singing and dancing, a couple of hours!
One of the kids asked him, "why do you sing and dance so much then?" 
And he said
 "We have not yet forgotten the joy of our salvation!" 
There's that winning smile again! 
And after mass they go out and sit under a tree
and talk about everything
while the children kick a soccer ball.
We have not yet forgotten the joy of our salvation! 

The holy spirit loves to come down like that - at the drop of a hat -
and it landed on my head and there it sits. 

His words gave voice to something deep within me.
The immediacy of God's grace
The urgency of God's love
The consonance of God's joy.
Night and day his words have danced on my head...
and there is that
YET...
I take off the hat,
twirl it in my hands,
place it on again, this way and that,
take a look at myself again.
We have not yet forgotten the joy of our salvation!
Is yet inevitable?  Is it like everything else,
the common miracles that I trod upon with heavy foot;
blind or weary, calloused or distracted by daily cares? 
Is the mystery of God's love too much for us? 
The indiscriminate beauty that leaves us awestruck too overwhelming.
We surely cannot contain it, fathom its depths. 
Like the wood of the cross on Good Friday -
the church shows us just one arm, then another,
Behold the Wood of the Cross
and then finally it is revealed; it's mystery too much to take in all at once. 
Like the Bread of Life,
no one meal satisfies,
we hunger again,
and so I find myself  "hats off" to my savior,
Hats off to the creator of this wonderful world!
Hats off to say thanks!
Hats off to ask a blessing...
Hats off, tossed into the blue sky above,
feasting and dancing, clapping and singing the joy of our salvation! 
Happy Easter!  Happy Spring!  Happy Happy Everything!



Joy is the most infallible sign of the presence of God!



A cup of water to the thirsty ~Mark 9:41

Yesterday was World Water Day...and I dare say for most of us here it came and went unregarded.  That would have included me, but for God's provision.  You see, I happened to 'stumble upon' our Fr. Dan Nganga sharing this recent video from his home diocese in Kenya, as he was planning a talk with our teens this weekend during their 30 hour famine.  As he explained it, water is a difficult issue there.  It is very important where the wells are dug, as some are 'willing to share' and others are protective to the point of warring over water.  Watching this, one can understand their desperation.  Take a few minutes to watch this brief film.  If nothing else, it will make you grateful for our ease of life, truly.  I hope it will also move you to compassion; a feeling of deep sympathy and sorrow for another who is stricken by misfortune, accompanied by a strong desire to alleviate the suffering. 
Fish on Fridays...giving up chocolate...seriously?  Isn't the gospel call of Lent (and all our days) about turning our desire to God's own heart, then living that life of Love for the sake of the world? 





                        Turn off playlist at bottom of page to hear this

Spring Forward




Lent means Springtime...What will you plant?

 

I love Springtime, and the smell of wet earth as I turn it over and plant my little bits of hopefulness. 

Small violets are blooming now, yellow buds brighten the tomatoe vine, and the tiniest shoots are just breaking through.  I plucked the new lettuce bright green and purple and remembered France.  My garden is a happy chaos, not organized traditionally but flowers and vegetables growing side by side, sharing space in such a way that I have to sift through flowers to pick the lettuce.  I am not so much a gardener as I am a child playing and wanting it all.  Common gardening wisdom tells me that won't work, my garden will not flourish, but it does...just enough wild blooms, just enough green vegetables, a few carrots with their earthy crunch to satisfy this hungry soul and the ones who join me at table. It is just like tending my soul.  No neat rows, life spilling over into life, all of it here.  It's daily surprise makes me happy.  What more could I possibly ask? 

The life entrusted to us

A friend of mine snapped this a couple of weeks ago at a family gathering to welcome our soon to arrive grandson!  As usual, my husband was full of hilarity and when it was time to snap the family photo he clowned with our 'baby boy'.  The image has stuck with me through these days providing much food for thought.  After the initial chuckle (I was busy posing and hadn't seen what was going on just out of my sight - the proverbial rabbit ears)  what immediately came to mind was John 3:30

"He must increase, I must decrease"

Isn't it such a part of the pattern of parenting, growing them into the man or woman they will become, our role in one sense decreasing as theirs takes off.  Yes, we have become less, and gladly so, to watch them shine is our delight.  I can recall certain times of intentional stepping back, so that one of our children could soak in all the graced goodness of a given moment...watching them as they stood tall and took it in.

And now it is Lent and those words take on another meaning, another pattern recognized...yes, the scripture tells us that we must decrease and Christ increase...yet with ashes fresh upon me, I also see the Father, bending down in delight wherever He sees Christ rise up tall in humankind...and shine!  May this lent be a season of growth that delights the Father with the life of the Son lived in us. 

My first movie experience

I stumbled upon this clip and realized that Bambi was the first movie I ever saw.  Or at least the first that I recall with clarity.  I loved Thumper, who was my instant favorite and I knew the lessons his mother taught, just like my own!  I remember 'flower' and being delighted that a stinky skunk would have such a sweet name. Saw a kindness there that touched me even then with the power of a word to change everything.  And I remember the horror that such bad things could happen and how much it frightened me.  This memory brought another, of my mom holding me secure even as I watched in the kind of confused terror unique to childhood.  We both cried at that movie.  Bambi was my first clear realization that I needed someone to count on that was BIG - BIG ENOUGH, someone GOD-SIZED!  I remember lying in my bed and  praying earnestly for the first time that such things as men with guns and fire would not come to our house.  Today as I watched this clip, I was moved to pray again to that BIG-ENOUGH GOD for all those children whose nightmares are real.  And I found myself all the day long "saying something nice".  Thanks mom.

(Be sure to pause the music at the bottom of the page before starting the video clip)