Just a simple blog of a Secular Franciscan trying to live with a Franciscan focus. (And one of these days I'll fix the template and add a Search feature. :-P)
"[O]ur greatest temptation is toward too many words"
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A great Holy Family reflection ... and two teeny Josephite-related quibbles
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"People too easily create chasms rather than sidewalks"
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If you're connected with me over on Google+, you may, perchance, have picked up on my love of metal. ;-P If you're not: Hello, my name is Lisa, and I'm a metalhead.
Aaaand if you're subsequently wondering how it came to be that a Secular Franciscan loves metal (because of course, don't all Franciscans frolic through the forest while listening to folk tunes?), here's the scoop.
Way back when I was a wee tiny girl -- I'm talking maybe first or second grade -- my older cousins introduced me to rock/metal. Whenever we visited 'em, they'd play me tracks from groups they liked, such as KISS, Van Halen, Black Sabbath, and others. The intensity and virtuosity of that stuff blew away everything else I'd heard, and I was immediately hooked.
The first was KISS, which was fine and all, but it wasn't until Sabbath -- specifically "N.I.B." -- that my innards reverberated and I was absolutely floored. I mean, gobsmacked, amazed, what-in-the-hell-IS-this-wondrousness?! floored.
Naturally, Sabbath led to Ozzy's solo stuff. And Ozzy led to Metallica. While those were The Big Ones for me, of course I listened to and loved a bunch of others. It didn't last long, however, because in my teens, I got it into my head that listening to such music was Wrong*, so I stopped. Cold. Tossed out all my music and band shirts and everything.
Shortly after, when I went off to college, I engaged in a scorched-earth policy and made a conscious, deliberate effort to burn from my memory everything from my life before college. I had an effed-up childhood from age 9 on, and I decided that the best thing to do was purge everything up to that point. Now, obviously, you can't give yourself total amnesia, but I gave it my best shot. In hindsight, I know it's not a wise or healthy strategy, and I deeply regret it because I essentially cut myself off from ... myself. However, at 17 years old, it seemed like the best course of action.
So, that willful forgetting further submerged my love of metal, and as far as music went, I instead dove into all things orchestral and other genres like big band, chamber, concert band, brass ensembles, opera, and choral. Oh, I liked (and still do) them well enough -- I'm not dissing any. It's just that none ever approached the resonance that metal had. But by then, I'd forgotten about that resonance ... in a sense, I didn't realize what I was missing.
Years and years passed.
That musical love would've very most likely remained buried if it hadn't been for a pal's frequent mentions in Google+ of current rock/metal bands, like Breaking Benjamin and Five Finger Death Punch. I'd see those blip by, and finally, my curiosity kicked in and I thought, well, let's have a bit of a listen ...
... and then it all rushed back. The intense reverb in my innards from listening to kickass metal; how I completely flipped out over Sabbath as a girl; the amazement at first hearing/seeing Metallica; the jaw-dropping wonder of guitar riffs ... all of it.
That was a couple years ago, and since then I've been scrambling to make up for lost time by listening again to the groups/artists I love -- and finding new-to-me-ones -- every chance I get. It's like those movies where a character lurches through an endless desert and finally stumbles into an oasis, where he gratefully sucks down huge quantities of water. I just can't get enough.
In this catching up, I've no set pattern or plan with who and what I've been listening to. Lots of everything, all mixed in ... but with occasional long stretches devoted to a particular band.
But earlier today, I realized ... there actually is a bit of a pattern with those long stretches: I've been working my way backwards through my metal musical loves. As a girl, I'd progressed Sabbath to Ozzy to Metallica. As an adult, I've been going Metallica to Ozzy to Sabbath.
And as I've been traveling back down my personal music timeline, I've realized something else: The music has helped me unlock memories -- even non-music-related ones -- that I wouldn't have otherwise retrieved. As Sabbath sings, it's helped me "rewind the future to the past". I never expected that.
... So yeah, fine, it's "just music". But for me, it's a bit more than that. And I'm grateful.
\m/
- - - - - * Back then, I had a serious "follower" personality, and I had a friend who was very much a "follow meeee!" person. When we were teens, she had a "born again" experience, and so I was heavily influenced by her views. That influence is how I came to feel that metal/rock was Way Bad Eeeeevil Stuffs which I had no choice but to purge from my life. So, I mistakenly did.
A few days back when I read a pal's post in Google+ in which he shared a pic of some freaky-arsed lovely flowers, it made me think about flowers in general, and then I thought about how dandelions are -- and always have been -- my faves.
Daisies are indefatigably chipper lil' things … and who can be crabby when looking at the "Heeeeey, sun! Wassuuup?" sunflowers? (Bonus: Seeds.)
But even with all that, dandelions top 'em all for me.
… Before we go any further, let's get one thing straight -- they're NOT weeds. First one to toss out that insipid whine gets their buttocks introduced to mah foot (as illustrated thusly). If that's your opinion, you're a joyless buzzkill who'd best move along right now.
::ahem::
You can eat every single part of a dandelion. You can make wine and tea and jams from it. Researchers are investigating whether or not it could treat cancer. Dandelions leave whimsical yellow smudges on your nose when you sniff their petals. When turned to seed, you can blow on the seeds and make wishes. When all the seeds have blown away, the tops turn into perfect microphones for impromptu outdoor karaoke. And its Genus name -- Taraxacum -- is so incredibly badassed that I'm surprised a band hasn't appropriated it yet for a moniker. ("Everyone, give it up for -- Taraxacum!")
Dandelions are approachable -- no deathwish thorns will impale you should you decide to roll around in a field full of dandelions. And nobody hollers at and shoos away lil' kids from happily picking 'em. (Yeah, just try letting your toddler loose on Missus Fussypants' prizewinning Candelabra roses without a serious bloodletting.) You can pick great scads of dandelions right quick and friendly up your digs with 'em, even though they'll quickly wilt soon after.
But, more than anything, dandelions are scrappy lil' survivors who don't need oodles of coddling (I'm lookin' at you, orchids) or special trellises, or drifts of precisely-mixed dirt-and-fertilizer, or a platoon of anxiously-hovering gardeners catering to their every need.
No, dandelions are all like, "Dude! Check it out -- a sidewalk crack in the shade with heavy foot traffic! I can totally work with that!" And they do. And no matter how much folks wage war against their relentlessly cheerful presence, the dandelions always fight back. They take it on the chin (if they had chins), carry on, move on, make do, and give each other lil' high-fives from their homes in the cracked concrete of abandoned playgrounds.
I've been meaning for years to share my story of how I came back to the Catholic Church. It's a long, rather convoluted one, and putting it into a semblance of order has felt like combing through spaghetti ... one-handed ... with a toothpick.
But, here we go, beginning at ... The Beginning.
Indifference
Baptized and raised as a cultural Catholic: attended CCD (Confraternity of Christian Doctrine) classes, went to Sunday Mass, got all the sacraments because That's Just What You Do And Don't Ask Why. The faith wasn't discussed, explained, or lived at home.
Then things took a sharp detour through hell when I was about 9, when my childhood pretty much ended. It's enough to say that family life became, and stayed, Seriously F'd Up Wrong.
Timeline highlights:
First Blip: Something -- the weird thing is that I can't remember what -- caused me to totally flip out in relation to CCD classes, and I became terrified of going back. I'm talking bawling, yelling, wanting-to-hide freaked out.
When asked, I couldn't give my parents a coherent reason why. They didn't know what to do -- didn't want me to completely ditch classes, because if I didn't go to CCD, I wouldn't make my First Communion. But they also didn't want me to pass out from terror every Sunday. So, they arranged for me to attend CCD over the summer.
A boy and I were the only ones in the class, taught by a kindly, grandmotherly woman. That I loved. And she gave us these wonderful prayer booklets that I've treasured to this day. Even through my Raging-Feminist-I-Hate-The-Evil-Bad-Patriarchal-Church days, I held onto it.
My beloved blue booklet, produced by the Daughters of St. Paul. Sisters, I love you.
Second Blip: After finding a bunch of Rosaries tucked away in the family China cabinet, I taught myself to pray the Rosary using my prayer booklet.
Defiance
When I was 12 or 13 and studying for Confirmation, my attitude turned difficult. I became increasingly annoyed at going to Mass every Sunday instead of sleeping in, especially since I never got a good answer as to why I should go; my mom would only reply, "Because!"
So, I gritted my teeth, memorized the sacraments, and marked time until I "made" the sacrament. After which, I flat-out refused to attend Mass anymore, insisting that I'd graduated.
Timeline highlight:
Even though this period is marked mostly by angry defiance, bits of faith flashed in and out. Example: On a date with a guy that I wasn't into, when he asked me what I wanted to be in adulthood, I blurted out, "A nun!" Honestly, no clue where that came from.
But it solved the problem of future dates with him.
Wandering
After Confirmation and deciding that the Church was just one lame option among many, I began attending a friend's Lutheran church. Now, you've got to understand this crucial thing: back then, I had a serious -- serious -- follower personality, and she was very much a "follow meeee!" person. She was also a self-proclaimed Jesus Freak.
So Imitator Me decided, "Well, OK, I'll be one, too!" Guess which one of us was relentlessly picked on for it? Hint: not her. (As if life wasn't painful enough, that was an additional excruciating element of my high school years.)
About a year later, another friend began attending an Assemblies of God church and invited me to join her, where I went for another year.
After which I slid into ...
Apathy
Off to college. Left my faith behind like so much childhood baggage. New, fresh start! I was finally free! (See: Crapulent childhood.) No more thinking about the faith ... until, that is, I met then-Friend Mike, who became Husband Mike.
Timeline highlight:
Our freshman year, we were friends for awhile before actually dating. When he asked me to go to Sunday vigil Mass with him, I went. Because I was seriously hoping he'd become Boyfriend Mike. He wasn't super-into the faith then, but felt that, because he was Catholic, he should at least go to Mass every so often.
... Aaand then things very quickly zinged into ...
The Raging-Feminist-I-Hate-The-Evil-Bad-Patriarchal-Church Era (Also Known As "The College Years")
Coming from the family situation I did, I had a lot of anger, especially towards men in general. Not individual guys, who were OK. The idea of manhood. Plus, I was your typical, know-it-all college freshman. So when I one day read a magazine special dedicated entirely to feminism, I wholeheartedly latched on. Feminism had all the answers! Yes, I'm a feminist! Men sure have dorked up the world ... except for I-Hope-He'll-Be-Boyfriend-Mike. But the rest of the lot ...
I flung myself into every single Women's Studies-related class that I could take. Worked in the campus' Women's Studies Center as the student co-director. Mourned the inability to declare a double-major in Women's Studies as it was only available as a minor.
Savored the religion class in which we poured over liberation and feminist theology. Nurtured an active hatred towards the hideously out-of-date, repressive Catholic Church, source of all that was wrong through history. Declared myself an atheist just to tick off my mom.
And amazingly, I-Hope-He'll-Be-Boyfriend-Mike did become Boyfriend Mike just as this feminist whirlwind kicked in. Don't know how or why he managed to avoid being corrupted by my mindset and worldview, but he thankfully avoided it.
Honestly, if it wasn't for him, I probably would've joined a feminist commune where we ate granola, ran around naked, sang to trees, and bitched incessantly about those horrible men dorking up Life, The Universe, And Everything.
Yeah, that would've been me.
Timeline highlight:
Faith still blipped in occasionally, at odd times: went on a retreat with a bunch of of Women's Studies minors and like-minded students at a place run by (highly heterodox) Dominican sisters. I wandered around their bookstore, idly looking at the titles, and felt the first stirrings of being called to something, though clueless as to what in hell that something could be.
I was firmly set on staying with Boyfriend Mike, who I really hoped would turn into Fiancé Mike. So, my old blurt-outedness of "I want to be a nun!" wouldn't come to pass. But, what would?
Eh ... stuff it.
Latent Hate, But Mostly Meh
After graduating college, my flaming feminist indignation simmered down. Husband Mike and I continued dating, and we didn't talk much about the faith so as to avoid arguments. After briefly pondering whether or not to investigate Unitarian-Universalism as it most aligned with my morally relativistic, feminist beliefs, I flopped into a "Well, God is probably there, but meh" attitude. Otherwise known as, "Hey, I'm supremely intellectually lazy!"
When Boyfriend Mike became Fiancé Mike, I figured if we were gonna have a wedding Mass -- because in my gut, it wouldn't have felt real any other way, and he also insisted -- I'd better resume attending Sunday Mass. (I also, strangely, had to have a papal blessing.) Didn't wanna be one of those shallow, only-here-for-the-wedding people.
Went to Mass throughout our engagement and early marriage. Even subscribed to a few Catholic-related email newsletters. And I still suffered from ongoing, mysterious, low-grade pangs of being called to something.
Then I read Dakota: A Spiritual Geography by Kathleen Norris. Which blew my mind, because she talked about her vocation as a Benedictine oblate. That was the first I'd ever heard of laity being able to associate with religious orders. Light bulb! Now the pangs had a bit of coherence, and I immediately investigated the Benedictines ... and quickly discovered that no, I wasn't called there.
At the time, I was completely unaware of other third/secular orders, so I dropped further investigation. The subject somehow came up with a former coworker who knew of the Secular Franciscan Order and who suggested I investigate it. But in my grumpy ignorance, I assumed they were the same as the Benedictines. And if the Benedictines weren't for me, then neither were the Franciscans, right?
After that, another slide into lazy apathy: I ignored the Catholic-related newsletters I'd subscribed to and stopped going to Mass. Husband Mike kept going because, again, it's what you do -- still nominal in faith, but stubborn. So I could never completely forget what I wasn't doing. Plus I drove past a parish on my way to and from work ... another reminder.
Two years of not-going-to-Mass passed. Then things got a bit scary.
Dances With Ledges
I'd been hanging out in a cat forum with a range of folks including pagans and wiccans and other whatnots. They were all friendly, warm, and funny, and I enjoyed chatting with them. It also piqued my interest: what do they actually believe? And why? To the library for investigation!
I announced my curiosity to Husband Mike. He wasn't thrilled. I started with Native American spirituality, which he uncomfortably let slide. When I said my next library trip would be for wiccan books, he completely flipped out.
Said in NO uncertain terms was I allowed to bring anything even remotely wiccan into our house. There may have been some swearing on his part. There was sulking on mine.
That closed-minded poophead, always holding me back!
Seeing me dancing on the ledge drove him, out of sheer desperation, to start intensely praying for my conversion, which I learned about years later. That's the only thing that can explain what happened next.
Home
At this point, I was thinking, "Hey self, we don't need to go to Mass. We're doing just fine without it! High five!" I mention this to illustrate how completely I was not interested in the Church.
One day when driving home from work, as I passed That-Parish-Over-There, out of nowhere, it hit me that, for over two years, I'd been intentionally missing Mass. That I was being an ass. That the ledge-dancing was going to cause serious harm. That I was heading in a seriously, deeply wrong direction, and I had to make amends and change. Immediately.
I was keelhauled and gobsmacked and contrite and profoundly humbled.
Thankfully, I wasn't struck blind. Wouldn't have been good while driving.
All I could think was, "I have to go to Confession", over and over, for the rest of the way home. And where'd that thought come from? I'd completely forgotten about Confession since making my last one just before Confirmation all those years ago.
When I walked through the front door, Husband Mike was on the couch.
Me: ::flinging aside my backpack:: "I have to go to Confession!"
Husband Mike: ::jaw drop + wide eyes:: "Ummm ... what?"
Me: "Confession! I must go!"
I looked up Confession times at our parish, announced I was going that Saturday, and Husband Mike -- still dazed -- said he'd come along. He didn't plan on going in himself, but after I exited the confessional, he abruptly changed his mind and popped in, too. After also not having gone since his Confirmation.
I resumed attending Sunday Mass, and added in daily Mass as a small attempt to make up for my years of dumbassitude. Began praying the Rosary regularly, turning to my beloved blue booklet for assistance. Started making Rosaries.
Began going to Adoration out of humility. Tuned in to Relevant Radio to learn what the Church actually taught and why. Shut up, listened, and let go of my arrogance and presumption and anger.
The Franciscans
Also resumed paying attention to the Catholic-related newsletters I'd been ignoring. One day, one included a book review of The Sun & Moon Over Assisi: A Personal Encounter With Francis & Clare. I was fascinated by what I read there of St. Francis, and of the author's spiritual journey. Then I saw the bit about the author being a Secular Franciscan.
The lurking low-grade pangs coalesced and flattened me with the mother of all sucker punches. This time, I got the message. Franciscans weren't identical to Benedictines, and I needed to learn more about them, because that was where I was being led. Finally, in 2006, I made my Profession in the Secular Franciscan Order.
Ooooh, the Franciscans! Got it.
The extra cool thing is that through it all, Husband Mike and I have grown -- and keep growing -- in the faith, together.
Tired of seeing folks sharing articles/blog posts/tweets/whatevs in which the authors oh-so-smugly climb atop mountains and sneeringly look down at those people.
Tired of hearing self-styled Group X'ers belittling Group Y'ers, chortling among themselves about how stupid/intolerant/petty/slothful/subpar those Group X/Y'ers are, and if they had any smackerel of sense, they'd do us all a favor and stop breathing. Or reproducing. Or at the very least, talking.
Tired of dealing with folks who scream "TOLERANCE!!!" ... but only for those whose worldviews/morals/nail polish sync up with what they deem tolerable. (See also, "Any color, as long as it's black".)
Tired of people claiming they're just being "straightforward" and "direct", when in reality, they're rude, insulting, and bristling with animosity.
Here's a thought.
Instead of indulging ourselves in those moments when we're tempted to feel ...
... morally superior ...
("I'm sooo much more compassionate and open-minded than those people. If they'd just STFU, we'd have a utopia.")
... spiritually superior ...
("I talk to God nonstop every day and can recite the entire Bible from memory and I know for sure that Jesus was a democrat/republican/cattle rancher/vegan, because how could he possibly be anything but one?")
... physically superior ...
("I bench pressed 75 lbs. today, ran 10 miles, and have an optimal BMI, whereas you're a gigumbous bowl of flab who can barely lift a forkful of slop without wheezing. And you're ugly.")
... intellectually superior ...
("I know soooo much more about Topic X than you do, you stupid rube. You don't have any clue what you're talking about. Let me enumerate the ways in which you're a living FAIL.")
...and emotionally superior ...
("I'm way more in tune with the emotions of everyone and everything around me, including plants, and I have more empathy in my left nostril than all of you Group Y'ers combined!")
... we stop, grab hold of those feelings of superiority, and bash 'em against the rocks until they're good 'n' pulverized.
And then we pray, "Jesus, have mercy on me, a sinner."
Well, here we are. After lotsa fun giving thanks, we've reached the end of my week full of Thankful Thursdays! Yes, it's ...
Thankful (Thurs)DAY #7:
Today, the 3 things I'm thankful for are:
1) The Rule of the Secular Franciscan Order. God knew that, left to my own devices, I'd quickly devolve into a big amoebic blob of spiritual schlepitude, so He gave me my Franciscan vocation. Which quite helpfully comes with a Rule of life, keeping me from getting lost on the journey. (And boxing me about the ears as needed. Which is, to say, a lot.)
What the Rule means to me is best described this way: In the Little House on the Prairie book series, there's a scene in Little House in the Big Woods where Laura talks about a horrifically nasty blizzard and how, to ensure they don't get lost in the snow when going from the house and barn, they string a lifeline between the two buildings. As long as they hang onto the line, they'll make it safely to their destination. Let go, and it's highly likely they'll lose their way in the blinding snow and wander off to their deaths. The Rule is my lifeline, and as long as I hold on, I have hope that I'll safely make it to our "ultimate encounter with the Father". (Art. 19)
2) All 10 toes in working order. They're not much to look at, and in fact, I don't like looking at ANYone's toes, no matter how prettified. ::shudder:: But, you can't deny their usefulness. Thanks to those tiny packages of tendons, bones, joints, nerves, and muscles, I can stand, walk, run, jump, skip, tiptoe, and even pirouette. (Yeah, so that last one ain't that likely.) They've helped me stay steady on rocking boats, test the temperature in pools, reeeeaaaach up to that annoyingly high top shelf in the linen closet (though I can never quite make it), and proactively smack a smooch on Husband Mike. They're also handy for when you wanna pick up a pencil on the floor without stooping down. Go, toes!
3) The revised English translation of the Roman Missal. Now with MORE AWESOME! (Literally.) After all this waiting, we can finally revel in saying stuff like, "And with your spirit", "through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault" (my fave), and "consubstantial with the Father". Sure, we bumbled along at today's Mass, and a sizable chunk of folks never even bothered to look at the reference cards, resulting in a jarring cacophony of the old text and revised text. But, still. Change takes time, and we'll get there eventually. It's worth the effort, because these updates are like a turbocharged set of toes, helping us to reeeeaaaach up higher than before.
Your turn! What 3 things are you thankful for today? :-D
Aaaand we're in the home stretch of a week's worth of Thankful Thursdays!
Thankful (Thurs)DAY #6:
Today, the 3 things I'm thankful for are:
1) Indoor plumbing, with hot water. OK, so mebbe that technically counts as two, but whatever. :-P I love how, no matter the time of day, I can step into the shower and summon a steady stream of (clean!) warm water. And it all tidily disappears down the drain! No lugging stuff from a stream, no building a fire over which to boil the water ... just turn a knob, and bam! Toasty warm watery goodness. Bonus: No icky parasites.
If you're also glad to have access to clean, safe water and want to ensure others do, too, check out DigDeep.
2) The vast profusion of fonts available online. Tons of which are free! Pretty fonts, scary fonts, heart-riddled fonts, Star Wars fonts, fonts that look like leaves ... and that's not even counting dingbats! I tell ya, fontophiles never had it so good. And no, I will not say how many I currently have installed. That's a rude question. :-P
1) Eggnog. Also known as nectar of the gods and ambrosia. Husband Mike brought home a whole bottle of the good stuff. Woohoo!
2) A nice, long holiday weekend. Sleeping in, snuggling with the cats, watching the glut of Christmas specials that the networks have already started airing while sipping eggnog ... :-)
3) Having a home. Yep, having a nice, warm, comfy place in which to sip eggnog is pretty sweet.
Your turn! What 3 things are you thankful for today? :-D
Turkey from Google's 2011 turkey doodle generator. :-)
Woohoo! Thanksgiving Day is here, and that brings us to ...
Thankful (Thurs)DAY #4: Thanksgiving Edition!
Today, the 3 things I'm thankful for are:
1) My dad-in-law's Frickin' Fantastic Gravy™. My sis-in-law and I most look forward to this singular aspect of Thanksgiving dinner. We joke (though only partially) that all the other food -- the turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing -- is simply there to provide a Gravy Delivery Mechanism. Mmmm, turkey gravy ... ::drooling::
2) My folks-in-law. My mom- and dad-in-law are splendid folks, and they produced some pretty fine kids, too. ;-) Way back when Husband Mike was Boyfriend Mike, I spent my first holiday (Christmas) with his family, and that's when I learned that family gatherings can actually be an enjoyable experience. Coming from a crapulent home life and childhood, that was quite a revelation.
3) All 5 senses in (pretty much*) working order. It sure would be lousy if I couldn't taste that turkey gravy, and those other 4 senses are pretty handy, too.
Your turn! What 3 things are you thankful for today? :-D
- - - - -
* Thanks to the perpetually-inflamed? -clogged? -whatever? sinuses in my nose's left side, smell is somewhat diminished.
Oyez, oyez, oyez! It's time to get yer gratitude on with ...
Thankful (Thurs)DAY #3
Today, the 3 things I'm thankful for are:
1) Life with cats. Even when they're walking all over us in the morning because "ZOMG I'm wasting away from hunger and if I'm not fed right now I'll expire so get up and get out the noms and WHY ARE YOU STILL LYING THERE?!", life with kittehs is sweet. And good for you. I mean, really, how can you look at a scene like this and not have your blood pressure go down?
2) Quotes from the saints. No matter the situation or topic, there are, oh, a bajillion* o' these babies that we can turn to for humor, meditation, inspiration, prayer, instruction, illumination, and just a plain ol' arse-kickin' (see the top graphic for a great example o' that). And thanks to calendars, daily planners, holy cards, anthologies, smart phone apps, Facebook pages, you name it, those quotes are easily available and save-able. For example, in my cube at work, I'm surrounded by the following:
Weekly quote for 20-26 November in my planner:
"Give praise to the Creator for all that you find beautiful: the earth, the sea, the sky, the springs and the rivers. See with your bodily eyes the light that shines on earth, but embrace with your whole soul and all your affections the true light, Our Lord Jesus Christ." Pope St. Leo the Great.
Randomly-picked quote from my Franciscan quote-a-day flip calendar:
"God, and only God, is infinite, most wise, most holy, a most loving Lord, our father and creator, our beginning and end, our wisdom, power and love -- God is our all." St. Maximilian Kolbe
On a slip of paper taped to my primary computer monitor:
"Let us begin again, for until now we have done nothing." St. Francis
On a slightly bigger piece of paper stuck to an overhead storage shelf:
"There is nothing which edifies others so much as charity and kindness, by which, as by the oil in our lamp, the flame of good example is kept alive." St. Francis de Sales
3) That typing class I took in high school. No question, that was the most useful class I took, enabling me to crank out short stories, college papers, articles, press releases, annual reports, letters, design specs, user documentation, this blog post ... I prolly spend more time each day clickin' away on a keyboard** than anything else. And that one class made it all possible.
Your turn! What 3 things are you thankful for today? :-D
- - - - -
* Actual technical term. :-P
** For my job as a paragraph farmer. Gotta keep the kittehs in kibble.
1) Comfy jammies. Being able to putter around in soft, comfy pajama bottoms paired with cute tops like these are instant mood-bosters. Especially on the days I'm telecommuting. Which brings me to ...
2) The ability to telecommute. An exceedingly nice perk! Plus, on work-from-home days, The B =^..^= "helps" by being my editor. (He objects to the use of quotes around "helps".)
3) Being able to listen online to Classical Minnesota Public Radio. It's one of the better classical music stations, and being able to tune in while I'm working is a gigumbous source of comfort, joy, consolation, fun, and productivity-boostin', as well as a way to learn about composers and pieces I hadn't known about. It's thanks to them that I discovered Conni Ellisor's magificient Blackberry Winter, and their Top Score program -- in which they interview composers about their experiences writing for video games (!!) -- is dang spiffy.
Your turn! What 3 things are you thankful for today? :-D
One of the things I enjoy doing every week is playing Thankful Thursday*, in which every Thursday, folks share three specific things for which they're thankful. Since in the U.S. we're celebrating Thanksgiving this Thursday, I thought it'd be fun to stretch it out to a week full of Thankful Thursdays! Hope you'll play along!
Thankful (Thurs)DAY #1
Today, the 3 things I'm thankful for are:
1) Our bishops.All of them. Whether they're good or bad or piddling, the fact remains: They were consecrated specifically for our benefit. So, instead of grumbling or complaining about them, let's instead give thanks for our shepherds and keep them in our daily prayers.
2) The goodness in every person.** Yes, there are folks suffering from psychopathy and misanthropy. That's not my point. I'm talking here about your average, not-severely-mentally-ill person. I love how people generally want to do the right thing and help others and the world around them. We may disagree about the best ways in which to do that and may even be at loggerheads, but still -- the motivations are to do good. And those motivations take such an amazing array of forms! Folks have organized to foster access to clean, safe water worldwide, promote humane coexistence with critters, and help traumatized children through the power of play. And of course, the myriad of pro-life groups that work to protect the dignity of all human life, from fertilization to natural death.
3) Farmers. Without them, we'd have severely, way-the-heck limited eats. This is not to ignore the problems of agribusiness, GMOs, and pesticides. This is simply being grateful that folks are out there growing food for us to eat.
Your turn! What 3 things are you thankful for today? Feel free to be as concise or as verbose as you like!
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* I do this in Google+, and send out tweets that point folks to those G+ posts.
** "Mindful that they are bearers of peace which must be built up unceasingly, [Secular Franciscans] should seek out ways of unity and fraternal harmony through dialogue, trusting in the presence of the divine seed in everyone and in the transforming power of love and pardon." (Article 19, Rule of the Secular Franciscan Order)
She had a host of chronic medical and psychological issues that culminated in her being admitted to the hospital at the end of January for breathing problems. A week later, she was transferred to a rehabilitation facility to work on her mobility and respiratory issues.
She was supposed to go home tomorrow.
Twice during her stay in rehab, she was transferred back to the hospital for pneumonia, then intestinal pain. As we were visiting her during the first transfer back, suddenly, the first few bars of Brahms' Lullaby chimed over the PA system. Mom said they played that whenever a baby was born. At first it irritated her, she said, since it was an unexpected sound blast (though gentle) that disturbed her rest. But then she came to appreciate its whimsical heralding of new life and actually got a kick out of it.
When they called us this morning just after 5 a.m. to say she was going back to the hospital yet again, we didn't panic -- been there, done that. This time, she was having shortness of breath, and so the ambulance was on its way to pick her up and take her to the hospital a few blocks away.
An hour later, another call. While in the ambulance, Mom went into cardiac arrest. They started CPR and continued resuscitation attempts at the ER. They were unsuccessful.
...
As we stood over her small, frail body, waiting for the priest to arrive, Brahms' Lullaby gently sounded over the PA system.
"Lullaby, and good night,
in the skies stars are bright.
May the moon's silvery beams,
bring you sweet dreams.
Close your eyes now and rest,
may these hours be blessed.
Till the sky's bright with dawn,
when you wake with a yawn."
(Lyrics based on Brahms' Lullaby, Jewel)
We were on vacation last week, and while it wasn't anything grandiose, it was a big ball o' fun. Sipped margaritas while poolside (well, that was just me; Husband Mike doesn't like 'em), nibbled on snacky noms, ate at a place that has The Best Rotisserie Chicken Ev-ar, unwound in a hot tub, slept in, meandered leisurely about ... in other words, we had a faboo time.
"Vacation is meant to provide necessary rest from and rejuvenation for the normal, meaningful, but draining activities of daily life; it is not meant to separate us from God or be [a] pause on our journey towards deeper communion with him. Vacation must never be an excuse to pray less ..."
Oh, sure, we had a wonderful week, but ...
Did I remember to pray daily, during the abundant free time I had?
No.
How about quick check-ins with God through the day?
Um ...
Noon Angelus, at least?
Completely slipped my mind.
So, no Lauds or Vespers, then?
Hey, you try packing the one volume Roman-Franciscan LOTH in an overnight bag! I needed that room for my swimsuit and flip-flops! (Note: I'm terrible about regularly praying the LOTH when not on vacation, so this was a further FAIL on my part.)
On the plus side: On the way to our destination, I did remember to heartily thank God for our being able to afford a vacation, and again remembered to say thanks to Him while floating about in the water. When we passed by a parish during our leisurely meandering, we popped in and prayed a bit before the tabernacle. I also knotted up some Rosaries and a prayer rope. And of course, we didn't miss Mass! (We were back in town by then anyway, but even if we hadn't been, that's what MassTimes.org is for!)
Still, my overall attitude was that of a kid barreling outta the building on the last day of school. Woohoo! See ya when I get back, God! I'll bring ya a snowglobe!
It's frustrating to admit that I'm still treating, to some degree, my relationship with Him as an obligation. And not only that, but one I'm willing to let slip a bit. Doubleplus wrong. ::sigh::
Looking forward to the second part of Father John's article. I've got some summer-school studyin' to do.
I don't know about you, but I'm one of those people who needs to use her imagination in prayer and meditation. For me, it's a great focusing aid and helps me ride herd on my strayin' thoughts. As St. Ignatius of Loyola describes it in his Spiritual Exercises:
"Here it is to be noted that, in a visible contemplation or meditation -- as, for instance, when one contemplates Christ our Lord, Who is visible -- the composition will be to see with the sight of the imagination the corporeal place where the thing is found which I want to contemplate. I say the corporeal place, as for instance, a Temple or Mountain where Jesus Christ or Our Lady is found, according to what I want to contemplate." ("First Exercise")
In other words, use your imagination to create as real and vivid an image as possible while contemplating stuff like Jesus teaching in the temple, or Elizabeth greeting Mary. I'm always looking for ways to do this, and I thought I'd share one that I came up with the other day. It was triggered by the following passage in The Blessed Eucharist: Our Greatest Treasure:
"A holy nun who had suffered very much in this life appeared after her death to one of her sisters in religion. She told her that she would willingly return to the world and undergo once more all the pains she had suffered here on earth, provided she could say but one Hail Mary, because by that one prayer, her glory and joy would be increased by one degree for all eternity. (P. Michael a St. Catherine, Lib. III, Tract. 16)" (pp. 95-96)
The author used the anecdote to illustrate his point that, if the blessed in Heaven are willing to do so much for one Hail Mary, what more would they do for one Communion? And I got that, but what really stuck with me was the "one Hail Mary". One Hail Mary ... why don't I pray it more often? There's no reason to limit it to the confines of the Rosary or Angelus. It's such a short, simple prayer, and it's certainly a better thing to have in my head than the usual banal chatter careening about in there. And it's a beautiful way to tell our Blessed Mother how much I love her, which I really should do more often.
So, as I settled into bed that night, I imagined ...
... an endless garden in which there grew all the species and hybrids of roses in existence, whose perfume filled the air. The grass was bright green, the sky was deep blue, and trees of every kind dotted the landscape, as did pools and lakes and flowing rivers of varying sizes. The sun shone brightly, but didn't scorch or blind. Birds called from the trees and water and sky, fish flashed through the streams, and animals played peaceably among the roses.
In the garden's center was a trellis whose size dwarfed the baldacchino in St. Peter's Basilica, with roses climbing, cascading, and sticking out all over. The trellis towered over a large, white marble dais, veined in gold, silver, and bronze. On the dais sat a polished, high-backed cedar bench whose entire surface was carved with roses, animals, birds, and fish. A plush, amethyst cushion covered the seat. The armrests on each side of the bench curved gently inward, giving it a crescent-shaped appearance.
Sitting on the bench were Mary and Joseph -- he, with his right arm around her; she, resting her head on his shoulder. The young couple were dressed in royal splendor -- flowing, gold-embroidered robes and mantles. Mary's dress was ruby, her veil and mantle sapphire. Joseph's robe was emerald and his mantle jasper. The matching embroidery on their clothes was of the Sacred Heart, which was depicted in varying sizes. Both wore gold crowns with the Sacred Heart as points.
Vases and bowls and containers of all shapes, colors, materials, and sizes covered the dais and surrounded the bench, and roses were arranged in all of them. Those roses represented all the Hail Marys I'd prayed throughout my life, but the containers were not full by any means.
I imagined myself as I was as at age 9. I wore a simple, pink dress, and I stood barefoot before the Holy Spouses, holding a long-stemmed red rose. As I prayed a Hail Mary, I presented to Our Lady the rose, which she delightedly accepted. Joseph laughed with joy at her happiness. I prayed another Hail Mary and gave her another rose, which had appeared in my hands. With each Hail Mary, a new rose appeared for me to give, and the rose that Mary had been holding re-appeared in one of the vases and bowls and containers.
As I now pray the Hail Mary, not only do I pray it for the usual reasons, but I seek also to fill the dais to overflowing with roses before I die. Not so much to increase my degree of glory or joy in heaven, but simply to make Mary and Joseph as happy as I can, while I can.
"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying."
(Robert Herrick, "To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time")
I love Msgr. Charles Pope's post about Confession, which is chock full of responses to common dodges folks employ when it comes to Just Doing It. His reply to the "I don't have a lot of time and am not available to go at the usual time" one made me chuckle out loud:
"Most priests are quite willing to make time to hear confessions at other than usual times. This is one of the essential reasons we were ordained."
Speaking of Confession, that reminds me of an arse-kicking vignette from when I went this weekend (in preparation for Holy Week, which also happens to be what Msgr. Pope recommended):
After I left the confessional and was heading over to do my penance and pray a mite, I saw they'd set up an additional spot for confessions near the tabernacle (where I was going). Obviously, I kept my distance, and then got down to business penance-ing and praying. When done, I looked up in time to see the priest bless and pronounce the words of absolution over a penitent, and ... it was The Most Wonderful Sight To Behold. Right there, in living color, I saw a soul set free from sin. Watching the purple-stoled priest making the sign of the cross over the penitent filled me with joy that God gave us such a life-saving sacrament, and gratitude for that particular priest (and all priests) answering God's call to serve His people.
I wound up staying longer than planned just so I could watch the whole thing again ("Do it again!") with another penitent, feeling for all the world like a giddy toddler watching her father do a magic trick. Only, it wasn't slight-of-hand or shadow-puppetry, it was The Real Deal.
A few days back when I read a pal's post in Google+ in which he shared a pic of some 
Aaaand we're in the home stretch of a week's worth of Thankful Thursdays!
Continuing on with 7 days of thanks, it's ...
Continuing from yesterday's post in which I kicked off a Week Fulla' Thankful Thursdays ...
My mom died at 5:48 a.m. today of a heart attack.
We were on vacation last week, and while it wasn't anything grandiose, it was a big ball o' fun. Sipped margaritas while poolside (well, that was just me; Husband Mike doesn't like 'em), nibbled on snacky noms, ate at a place that has The Best Rotisserie Chicken Ev-ar, unwound in a hot tub, slept in, meandered leisurely about ... in other words, we had a faboo time.
I don't know about you, but I'm one of those people who needs to use her imagination in prayer and meditation. For me, it's a great focusing aid and helps me ride herd on my strayin' thoughts. As St. Ignatius of Loyola describes it in his Spiritual Exercises:
