change your thinking

                        "Man is what he believes." Anton Chekhov

This brave new world that we are ushering in, is not really about the right of same sex partners to marry, although for some this may be so.The movement for "equal rights" has been wildly successful, and in my view, this is part of a co-ordinated effort to remove Christianity from influence in this country.It has been so for many years.It was subtle at the start.A few T.V.shows, where the perp on a murder spree is shown to have a cross on his wall.Or his looney Mother does.My husband and I wait for it.The movie "The Changeling" where the murderer's desk had a rosary, a Bible and a lit candle.Such devotion although the real killer was neither devout nor Catholic for that matter.Why that scene?
Oh, those crazy Christians, we all chuckle.Drip,drip,drip.

Christians and those fools who believe humans have souls and therefore have eternal worth, are in the way of "progress." We can marginalize these believers by branding them.Yea, that's the ticket.

In November of 1938, the horror began, Kristalnacht.SA paramilitary and non-jewish citizens began smashing windows of shops and synagogues owned by Jews.The German government looked on and did not intervene.Eventually, 30,000 Jewish men were sent away to camps for being,"un-German."Even though they had lived in Germany for ages and had been neighbors for that long, it was time.They weren't like "us."

Christians are now "haters" because they don't jump on every bandwagon that someone in the elite ether has decided is "progress."Oh, by the way, a van is coming for my neighbor, that sweet old lady who babysat my children.She's a Christian and you know what haters they are.Or maybe she had that 75th birthday and it's time for her go.Hat tip to Ezekiel Emanuel, one author of the ACA.Oh, you love your granny? Too bad, we need to make room for younger folks.

They are dinosauers these people of faith.Can't wait for them all to die off.Abortion on demand, sex with no limits, helpful death for the elderly, death for the handicapped.(where have I heard that before?)I think that my imagination is deficient to really get what's coming.Can we have home schooling where these Christians teach their kids about sin?Teaching about sin is hate.Bill 7689 will get rid of that antiquated concept.Won't pass this Congress, no problem, executive order.Here's an idea, first start to charge them more in tax if they home-school.Who is to stop us?If someone complains call them a name, hater or child abuser, will do for now.We do love labels.They work.

I wish to refer you to the history books,You need to go no further than the glorious USSR.That secular paradise was a perfect place of equality.And efficiency.Well, not so much, there were "wreckers" you know.How many were fighting to get in to that godless utopia?

You think that this can't happen in America ? When the van comes for me, will you even come out and wave or hug me good-bye? Or will you hide behind that sheer white curtain and be thankful you were smart enough to do what the President and Mrs, Clinton say we must:change our thinking.What happens if I don't?

Jesus, Lord of the Universe, help us.
Mary,Queen of the angels,pray for us.

Writing your way Home-class 1

1.Welcome:introduce myself.We will be learning and teaching each other.



2.We are now going to write our memoirs...using 6 words...like haiku but not in that format....just 6 words...that tells who you are...share.


3.Encourage journalling.....journalling examples.



4..Wrie down this quote..."Whether you succeed or not is irrelevant,there is no such thing.Making your unknown known is the important thing."



Who would like to volunteer to find out something interesting about the person who said that and print one of their art pieces that speak to you? Bring next week.



3.Some of this and that.

No writing police

You can write fact or fiction.

Confidentiality

Pass rule...you can pass from sharing at anytime.

There is no grammar, spelling or punctuation police.We will not focus on grammar or spelling;just ideas and dreams.

There is no "wrong" because these are your stories.How can it not be glorious and courageous ?

Let it rip.Write for yourself and no one else.


Don't censor.



4.Feedback is always just the positive.Take notes.What did you like?

Any questions ?

5.2nd Quote:"The spirit of an object, if you sit long enough, will finally sneak through the back door and grab you."Andrew Wyeth.Who would like to volunteer to bring in a picture of a Wyeth painting and share with the class?



6.3rd quote"Any object, a table,  suitcase, statue can serve as the starting point, the seed of a story, just like the famous mustard seed of faith".Diane Schoemperlen."Our Lady of the Lost and Found"

7.Look at the objects before you.Take your time to pick one that has a story to tell through you.Then write that story.20-30 minutes.

Share with class.Class take notes if you wish and share any thoughts.

7.Homework: In detail, tell about one of the best days of your life.Bring to class next week and share.

Lorraine will facilitate next week's session.


















-

Anna....

Today's sermon was about the mustard seed and how a small bit of faith can grow into something beautiful; as a small seed can become a huge bush that shades birds from the sun..On this hot Georgia day, that resonated.

 But I see a bigger picture; that a small offering of love can bring bushels and cartons of the same.And how a small girl can grow into a lovely young woman.

It was over 12 years ago that I paid a visit to a person newly coming to the Catholic Church.She was a gentle, sweet grandma who seemed to relish every moment of class.She came in between chemotherapy sessions.Never complaining, she smiled and soon we became friends.Thus, the invitation to visit her at home. The day of that brief visit, I met her small granddaughter, Anna.She may have been 5 years old and although shy, she had an engaging smile just like her grandma.Brown hair and slight, we shared few words yet, I recall being so glad to meet her.

Her Grandmother, Linda, passed away a few months after she was baptized into the Lord.This is what I believe; she left me Anna as a gift. Each Sunday, I see Anna and her little sister, Emma, and they shower me with love.Anna is going off to college soon, and one day she will probably move on but for now, she shows me Christ.I receive Him in the Eucharist and then again from her.This is what I felt this morning.This is what Church means : this is the Body of Christ.This is the gift we were left.

so simple and imperfect...

What spirit painted this?The edges chewed, so imperfect.Yet, could anything be more perfect?The colors.

I carried a daisy bouquet on my wedding day.An orchid girl, I was not.The daisies were cousins of the ones growing wild in the valley near the West Kill, that stream I so loved in New York."He loves me, he loves me not."Daisy chains and a simple girl.

Growing up, I strove to be perfect, to not rock the already chaotic boat that we four sailed on.I still think there is some of that but today a friend came and the house was in a bit of disarry and that was O.K.My leaves have been chewed on.

Georgia O'Keefe, an artist whose mind took in the yellow hickory leaves with the daisy, couldn't say what she saw in any other way but with her hands.In the still desert air that called her West to New Mexico;in its bare simplicity, she bloomed with the hickory.

"This was a land of vast spaces and long silences, a desert land of red bluffs and brilliant flowering cactus.The hot sun poured down .This land belonged to the very old Gods.They came on summer evenings, unseen, to rest their eyes on the milky opal and smoky blue of the desert.For this was a land of enchantment where Gods walked in the cool of the evening."   Marian Russell, "Along the Santa Fe Trail."

I think someday, I'll hitch my paint horse to the front of a canvas wagon and plod along the old Santa Fre trail.I'll don some silver earrings and a buckskin skirt and settle among the rocks warmed by the setting sun.

what's in your bag?

The clouds that left devastation in Texas, have rolled into sweet Georgia and we lost power for three days straight.The air is cool, however, and no flooding here.

Monday is "run around chores" day and that included a trip to the library to pick up a book I put on hold days ago.The man at the desk retrieved my book and I drifted over to the sale desk to see if there was anything new.In the background, I heard a loud voice struggling to read and saw a young man with a volunteer.

From where I stood, I could see he was tall with sandy colored hair, stubble on his chin and an indentation on the side of his head.His reading skill evidenced a mental challenge.The woman volunteer across from him had such patience and her kind smile suggested she didn't mind the slowness with which he read.

I turned to look at the books and then I saw the man in front of me.He asked if I worked there and then turned to his helper and said:"I am just talking to this beautiful...(wait for it)...old lady."He should have stopped, but I had to laugh and I did.This is what I am, an old lady who is in her seventh decade.

How did this happen ?I can remember being 11, with skinny legs and protruding front teeth and wanting to be a teenager.Would that have cured what ailed?

The restaurant was upscale, on the Hudson River in Kingston, NY.White table cloths, flickering candles and subdued music.I was 14 years old and enjoying the treat when I noticed a table near-by.A composed young woman in her twenties with gorgeous auburn hair, a green suit and a bright white smile, sat among a group of men who were so important looking, in their dark business suits.They seem to hang on every word she spoke.I wanted to be her.She eventually saw me looking and, reading my mind, smiled as if to say:"It's not as wonderful as you think." I smiled back.

I look back now from my 70s perch and wouldn't change anything now or then.This old lady is content with what makes up her life.That brown bag of life's fabric is colored, bright and pastel, shiny, has streamers of gold and silver, sequins, smooth pink silk and all those pieces of rough, scratchy burlap.The secret, which took me a long time to know, is to be grateful for all of it.If God is in charge and He is, every second had and has eternal value.

And so today, I met a man that I will give a strong name;Mark. Mark shook my hand before I left the library and as I drove away I realized this:Mark has some lovely fabric in his bag:I see some solid blue denim, warm yellow wool and bright red ribbon.Honesty, friendliness and love.