Follow Me

  Sometime in my twenties, I read an article in Newsweek by someone my age entitled 'Searching for Sages." I loved it , cut it out and have it still. The author, Joyce Maynard,  wrote about her generation and how they all seemed to be looking for a wise man, someone with the "answers" to life's many mysteries. How every guy she had coffee with seemed to have story about a truck driver they met who was a philosopher of sorts who imparted some nugget of wisdom that her friend hangs onto. God had been declared dead by Time magazine and so this generation, mine,  was adrift with nothing to hang onto.

 Her writing was so good she went on to publish books but her article is the one that struck me deeply. In my view, we are born with a need to know. To understand how things work, and most importantly. why we are here at all.

That generation also had travelers going to find a guru in India, famously, a Beatle, and trying Open Marriage, a way to cheat and still keep a marriage together. We became lovers of the Earth and spent our time chained to fences around nuclear sites.

In the article, Maynard describes a kid who came to show and tell in the fourth grade with rosary beads, a crucifix and spoke lovingly of God, the blood of Christ and nails. The laughter in the class was barely contained. To her and others, to speak of these things seemed almost dirty.

And so here we are,  with every abomination under the sun being exposed, things that always seem to harm women and children the most. Rudderless, we do as we please. There is nothing new under the sun; we are always trying to do it our way. I think of that brilliant poem that I only now appreciate, "The Hound of Heaven ". We know there is Someone to follow but we flee...

                               "......I fled Him down the nights and down the days,
                                 I fled him down the labyrinthine ways of my own mind
                                       and in the midst of tears, I fled from Him...

The Maynard article ends with this: "After so many unprofound facts and so much loose, undisciplined freedom,  it's comforting to have a creed to follow and a cross to bear".When the Voice says : "Follow Me." The only answer is Yes.

Life is not a race.....harmony.

There is a certain gentleness and peace about the word given today : harmony. It suggests hand holding and dancing in a circle. It may be one of my favorites although I don't quite know where to go with this. One of the definitions is agreement, another, concord. I think of the Concord Bridge in Massachusetts where the American Revolution started. Not much harmony that day except among the patriots who were tired of being ruled from miles away.

The poem Desiderata encourages this: "..as far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons." Sometimes that takes work  and forgiveness. For me, it required walking into my sister's hospital room when, for four years, she had made it clear that she didn't want to speak to me. She was very ill but alert. I didn't know how it was going to go when I walked in but my husband and niece stood outside the door in case of fireworks. When I went through the doorway she just said:  "Oh" I sat down, took her hand and we talked for a long time. I had prayed for that reconciliation and it happened. A peaceful coming together. Harmony, though quiet, requires effort.

I think the Creator of the Universe desires harmony. As the stars hum , the moon moves and the planets spin, it all works. His creatures should do no less.

Perhaps harmony is this: the placid acceptance of each other in the knowledge that we all are on the same path. That we are all made of the same God stuff and are loved equally and eternally by the same Person. Again the poem: "If you compare yourself with others you may become vain and bitter. Enjoy your own achievements as well as your plans."

I wonder if we can be in harmony with others if our interior is not in agreement with how we are living our lives. Do we reflect our own values? Balance. Are we at peace with who we are?
And this from the poem:

...."Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whether it is clear to you, the world is probably unfolding as it should. With all its sham,  drudgery and broken dreams it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy." Max Erhman

kaleidoscope love

                     

                             

                                                        Goldfinches...

.                              ...."they sing not for the sake of winning..
                                        But for sheer delight and gratitude..
                                            Believe me they say
                        It is a serious thing to be alive this fresh morning in this broken world.".
                                                                                           Mary Oliver   



The story I wrote once about the "The Goldfinch",  that 1654 piece of art above by Carel Fabritius, started out with a bit of fury, "Who would do such a horrible thing?" It was woven around the obscenity of tying a songbird to a perch for one's amusement. What a limited life the bird would have, wild as it is, fettered in a house with the ability to fly just inches. It makes me sad to think of that still.

 My story then discussed my Grandmother's limited life, she who never drove a car, also Amanda Berry, a teenager kidnapped and held captive in Cleveland for ten years, and women totally clothed who are beaten if an ankle shows. It made me appreciate how open my life is.

  Strangely, the words that came to mind as I woke up today were these two: tether-ball and kaleidoscope. I know better now than to throw my hands up and scratch my head. Tether ball involves playing with a soccer ball attached to a pole by a short rope. The ball is very limited as to how far from the pole it can go. The ball is dun colored, uninteresting to look at, although I bet the game is fun.

 And this is what I was given to understand by these two words. What we know of life, of the Creator, is about the amount of space between the pole and the ball. What God really is that our minds cannot fathom is something like a Kaleidoscope, that fascinating instrument many of us had as toys when we were children. Is there any limit to the colors, the shapes, the configurations that we can summon as we slowly, slowly turn the kaleidoscope's moving part? I can remember feeling like I was looking at another magical world so unlike my own. This , this wonder, is a glimpse of what we are to encounter when we travel back to our home. Deo Gracias

a chair and goodness

Another dream, another visitor. This time, Jean,  someone I used to work with was having her writings read aloud. Oh, how I wanted my story to be next. We writers are a vain lot. Read me, read me, and if my story makes you weepy or happy, I will love you for life. Sigh.

The word I woke with this morning was something like transparency. In Jeans' story, she was very open and vulnerable and that was it's greatness. I have trouble with that, always have. I want to be perceived as having it all together. All the time.

Maya, considered the Mother of Creation by her devotees in India is the Hindu and Buddhist Goddess of illusion. She, having brought all into existence by willing it, knows the truth of existence beyond the veils of our human perception of separateness and teaches us that we are all one.

And so, if deep within, I am that little five year old who was so afraid of making a mistake that I put a grey dot in the middle of the coloring book elephant, rather than risk going outside the lines, maybe you are too. I read on Twitter of a person that doesn't want to die but is tired of living and I pray, how I pray for grace to seep in to change that person's perception." It gets better,"; I scream inwardly and I add them to my prayer list. If he only knew how I believe God sees us.

For some reason we were talking about goodness at our last writing group meeting. I think one of the lovely participants is focusing on that word in her blog posts for this month. It brought to mind something I read about St. Therese Couderc and a vision she was gifted with that touches me deeply. She describes it this way : "

"I saw written as in letters of gold this word Goodness, which I repeated for a long while with an indescribable sweetness. I saw it even on the chair I was using as a kneeler. I understood then that all that these creatures have of good and all the services and helps that we receive from each of them is a blessing that we owe to the goodness of God, who has communicated to them something of His infinite goodness, so that we may meet it in every thing and everywhere".

If a chair is imbued with goodness from the providential Hand of God, so are we who bear His image. As Maya says: "We are all One , each of us the beautifully prismatic expression of the Divine." If only my Twitter friend knew how even a chair can speaks to us of God who we can meet in everything and everywhere.

options, butterflies and me.

Right now, outside my window is a brown and blue butterfly who is spending time on my bare, well eaten rose bush. He flits and so does my mind with this word "options". I turn to Scripture and read what is below..It stiffens my spine.It tells me to keep going even if no one reads what I write. Keep going. Get the truth out there. Be my instrument.

"I will bless the Lord who counsels me; even in the night my heart exhorts me ."Ps 16:7.

Yes, this is what is happening. At night and in the early hours I am being exhorted. To listen and never think that my words are inadequate or unnecessary.

My journal scribbles from this morning mentions the option to be kind, thoughtful, interested, things I strive to do. Minutes later I failed badly.  I was writing a thank you note to my son when my husband came in to tell me about a friend at church who just offered to pick up another older friend and bring him to Mass each Sunday. I barely paid attention, trying to achieve my goal. As he left he said : "Tim, the man who volunteered, is a good man. I finished my note and realized that I had chosen another option rather than the kind one. Sigh. Words, is that all I produce?

I went into the room where my husband was making a list and told him this: "You have offered to do that same thing repeatedly, that makes you a good man."He smiled. It is often a struggle to recognize the best thing to do and then to follow through. In reading about mindfulness,I have discovered that one can learn to control thoughts; and that there is a nanosecond between a stimulant and your reaction where you, just you , can decide the best way. Lord, led me to that place more often.

gleanings

This word attracts me. It seems bright somehow. At a glance I see the word glow. It suggests openness, an ability to let the light come in a small opening. It actually means to gather laboriously, bit by bit. Isn't that what we do in our years, sauntering through this life ? Gathering things that hold us together, that give our lives meaning. A quote here, a suggestion there. We bend over and pick up a saying by Buddha, or a Bible verse, a friend's comment and we believe. We stuff them in our souls and consider the day a good one.

I wrote these in my journal: 

......we are not alone....there is a point to our being here....no matter how grim, it does get better...the key to health is moving....writing is a special grace...what we do matters...our ancestors are somewhere...we do have guardian angels....don't stop singing show tunes...plant a garden even if it is three pots.....feed your soul with poetry and art daily and write about it..start to spend more time in nature, walk, sketch...pay attention to dreams, God can speak in that dark time.......keep a journal, back entries are amazing.....take that leap and just believe...that you are loved and that God has a plan for your life...what we can't see is so much better that what we do see...there is mystery....

Co-incidence? Yesterday was the anniversary of 9-11. I opened an old journal yesterday to find a profound dream that I had had. There I found a different entry which revealed that I had a boyfriend, the actor James Woods, who I now, 30 years later, follow on Twitter. He who was on a flight the week before with the terrorists who caused 9-11.They were acting suspiciously so he reported it to the FBI who did nothing. That was their dry run.What a co-incidence that his name should appear when I opened my old journal. He who had tried to avert a tragedy. Mystery.

Someone posted this on Twitter today.

"Faith is confident assurance concerning what we hope for and conviction about things we do not see." Hebrews 11-1.

I am grateful for all the little sticks and stubble put on my path, bits of truth that hold my life.The gleanings.

Joy

  By the time I got out of bed, the first word had left my mind but then "Joy" came and I grabbed it. Just the appearance of that word in my mind brought some speck of joy.What a word.

I only drink coffee, laced with Coffeemate Carmel Latte, twice a week as a sacrifice and I can tell you that abstaining the other days makes Wednesday and Sunday feel like a holiday with fireworks. Sweet, sweet Carmel. Today was coffee day.

It reminds me of a story I read about the monks on the solitary rock island know as Skellig Micheal off the Irish coast. They ate simply, prayed all day and had little contact with the outside world. They were so deprived that the slightest bit of beauty, a passing bird, a blooming weed filled them with intense joy. There is a lesson here.

This brought back memories of the times when my kids were young and I would head to Helen , Georgia by myself for three days. I stayed at a motel right on the Chattahoochee River; my first hour spent sitting on the small patio looking and listening to the soft river sounds. I never remember a more peaceful time.

I always went in early Spring when crowds were few. A small purple flower is pressed into my journal page dated April 10, 1989. I remember picking it, the purple so lovely against the brown leaves along the road :.... "thoughts strung together like beads, lilac scent, small purple and white violets, horses greeting me at a fence, river sounds. Discovered a lovely waterfall behind the motel. Every trip here is different. I treasure every moment."

The joy of solitude where your thoughts can go where you want and not be interrupted. A cool breeze on your face as you run by the river. No television and sleeping until you wake up. Starting the day with the Psalms open on your lap and the river at your feet. And then the joy of the four little faces that greet you when you come home, renewed.

                                                           Celtic Prayer
                                      The love and affection of the angels
                                      be with me.
                                      The love and affection of the saints
                                       be with me,
                                       The love and affection of heaven
                                       be with me.
                                      To lead me and cherish me
                                       this day.

light as a feather...

                                             

    Painting by Natalie Buske Thomas

                                                            You yourself, 
                                       as much as anybody in the entire universe, 
                                              deserve your love and affection...Buddha                                                                                                                     


The word that I awoke with this morning was "Confession." I am not sure where to go with this but I must "confess" that I am so tired of the sun and these brutal September days in my beloved Georgia. No rain, plants drooping, about to expire. One runs from car to house before being pressed and melted like an ice cream cone dropped on a sidewalk. Help.

That's not what this is about. It is telling of the relief one feels when going to the Catholic sacrament and unloading your selfishness onto the sturdy shoulders of a priest. It is about facing your shortcomings and yes, sins,  and hoping to leave them behind and start afresh, a blank slate, a new creation.

I have often heard this: why not just tell God and I get that question. My answer always relates to my time living in Denver in the 70s when I used to listen to a call-in Christian station. Many times the caller would say, "I have said I am sorry to God but I don't know if I have been forgiven, or I don't feel like I am forgiven." I would think, that is sad, because I never felt that way. The reason that has never been an issue I think is because Confession exacts a price. It is hard. To face yourself and then humbly tell another human your sins is difficult.The relief when you leave is palpable. Nothing matches it.

When my kids were young and we would go as a family to Penance , I remember them gamboling about the parking lot like new fawns having left their burdens behind. It is a great gift.

And so I recall confessions that I am sure took place with two people that I cared deeply about , my sister and my friend, Mike. They had been away from the Church for almost their whole lives but at the end, they chose to meet with a priest and tell their stories so they could move on to the next place unburdened. I makes me happy t think of them walking lightly on their way.

The scene from "The Shack" comes to mind where the sad, broken Dad walks up the path to the big house where God waits and as he walks , the dark starts to disappear, the snow melts, the trees and flowers bloom and the path is lit by the sun.That is what Confession is like, a path back to the Light.

a refection on connections...

People say that one doesn't need to go to church to worship God. I get that but then I never would have met Anna and Matthew.

It was twenty years ago that I was part of the team that welcomed people coming into the Church. The day I met Linda is etched in my mind. I sat down next to her and her husband, Joe, and admired her red hair. Just a beautiful color. She quietly told me that it was a wig but the exact color of her real hair and I could tell by her fair coloring that this was true.Thus began a friendship that was limited in time.

I don't have to say why Linda wore a wig. I will tell you of her courage. Newcomers are asked to speak at the Masses after the Easter when they are baptized and Linda volunteered. I have never forgotten her words. She told a bit about how glad she was to be a member of the Church, about her health journey and then said this : "No matter what happens, I will be alright. I belong to God."

At one of the last meetings at church,  Linda invited me to visit her at home. I was glad to do so and that is when I met her grandchildren, Anna and Matthew. I think they were 5 and 7 years old. I also eventually met their mother Lora. I don't know what happened at that visit but those children became so important to me and me to them. I think they have always associated me with their beloved Grandma.

Since then, these many years, I have been hugged, kissed, patted and loved by these children and their sister Emma, who is now 13. I have always considered it a wonderful blessing to know them. And their Mom to be a great friend.

As if this wasn't enough, after this past Sunday Mass, I got to meet Matthew's little son. He looked me in the eye and as if he knew his role as a joy giver, blessed me with the biggest smile and reached out to me. Delighted isn't the right word.

It is hard to type this final paragraph but this small story is a thank you to my friend Linda who passed in 2002. She left behind a wonderful family that loves me.

Dreams are mentors

Those title of this story was written on the top of some material I had when I was in formation to be a spiritual director. Little did I know that those words were exactly what I needed to see twenty years later. I am having so many dreams of people that I haven't seen or thought of very often for years. Why?

We have been told that dreams are just a way for the mind to satisfy it's unfulfilled desires or it's just a bit of boiled beef disturbing the stomach.(Thank you, Charles Dickens) Mostly, I think we ignore our dreams, laugh at them, or shrink from them. What if the following statement by the Psychiatrist Carl Jung is true :

"We have forgotten that age-old fact that God speaks chiefly through dreams and visions.".

Lead by a dream, I took my oldest grandson out for ice cream when he was going through a difficult time. Just he and I, to get ice cream. In the dream he had poured out his heart about the problem. I just knew I was being directed to try to have that conversation. Off we went alone, which was very unusual, and although he didn't say much, I told him I was sorry he was experiencing a hard patch and he could call me anytime if he needed help. It didn't turn out like the dream but I sensed going forward a closeness that we didn't have before.

The most profound one I had was after my sister passed away. We had been estranged for 4 years before her death and nothing I did was enough to mend the rift. So I asked my deceased Mother to fix it. Two weeks before her passing, my sister and I reconciled and I spoke to her on the phone the day she died. A week later, I had this briefest of dreams:

I walked into a bare room with only two chairs. My mother and sister sat side by side with their heads touching. I said : "It's been a long time, are you O.K ?" My mother said: "We're fine."

That was a visit. I know it.

It was a dream of his deceased father that brought the brilliant Jung to consider that maybe there is an after life. In tribal societies, dreams often comprised an alternative spiritual reality to which humans gained access only through the dream state.

Time is short, think of what we may be missing. Dreams can be mentors.

To the Road Crews with love...

Oh no, another one. "Road Crew?" Really? I want to turn this one in like a Scrabble tile. Turn my "X" in for a nice "A". But this is the word, so off we go.Where we land , nobody knows.

Whenever I drive by the prisoners picking up trash in Clayton County, my first thought is why are people such slobs. McDonald's bag, out the window it goes. Do they do it to give the convicts work? Maybe that's it; it is kindness but always my second thought is how sad it would be to drive by these men and spot your son. Could you stop and hug him ? I am sure not. How utterly sad. So my heart does turn to gratitude, that the faces I see are not familiar and that these men are helping my county.

What I need to be doing as I pass these men working on and cleaning the roadways is to pray for them, for their safety and redemption. For Christ's peace to be known to them this day.

The colorful, amazing photo above was captured by my friend Kris and I have used it so many times. Saints in a bar in Puerto Rico. It seems perfect for what comes next on my road crew musing. In my faith we are called to pray for those who have left us.We also believe that the saints who have gone before us can intercede for us to aid us on our journeys here. This is the communion of saints. The here and there. I have been praying each morning for my list of people, both here and gone. It has not occurred to me that they may be praying back for me. My parents, sister , aunts , uncles, old friends, grandparents. I am pretty sure that this is correct. I will know when I join them.

The Catechism says that The Communion of Saints is this: "The unity in Christ of all the redeemed,  those on earth and those who have died." One big party. Does it matter? I think it does. To know that those who left us care as much about us as we do them.What a wondrous thought.We are never alone.

They are working on my path, with helps I know nothing about. Now.

So,  for the road crews of the visible and the ones I cannot see, thank you.

From The Celts:

This is Aidan , strong and good,
who challenged all to love God more.
believe, and truly follow Him with a generous heart:
and this was the message that Aidan lived.
and this was the work that Oswald loved,
the peace Columba found, the peace of Christ,
the way Brigid lived.,
the prayer Patrick made,
the circle Ninian drew,
the life that Martin taught,
the house that love built,
the heart that John heard,
the way that God made.

rules of engagement...gratitude

  Once again I woke up with a word that didn't delight me. Rules of Engagement to me means the constrictions put on the behavior of military personnel when fighting a war. I was again going to discard the word but I should know better.

Haven't we all been given our own rules of engagement, how to treat those we encounter , our neighbors, family? And so some scenes from Twitter videos come to mind, that giant turtle on it's back, unable to flip, being helped by another turtle and finally with a grand push, he is right side up and on his way. Amazing.The crow and the elephant who, God knows how, take trash to receptacles; the crow a plastic bottle and paper for the elephant.The young girl singing to her little handicapped brother, the Golden Retriever comforting a crying child. My dog Patchy used to do that. How do they know?

When the rules are adhered to, the Golden Rule that is, we are all the beneficiaries. The teen-age girl at that pool so long ago who told me that the bathing suit that I loathed was cute. 60 year later I recall that kindness. The Aunt who gave ma a little Golden Book even though it wasn't my birthday.The Saggy Baggy elephant. I can still see the cover. Since then I have always connected elephants with kindness. The uncle who I loved, telling me through the family grapevine that he thought I had a sterling character. I remember trying to live up to that.

Mrs.Rooney, who sat on her front porch and allowed me some of her time and laughed at my feeble jokes. So long ago. The girl I met and talked with just once when I was ten. She said she was visiting a relative on the street. We talked a bit, laughed some and before she left, she told me she liked me. Such sweet words to be said by a stranger. To a child, words matter.

So today, a grateful heart for those memories of kindnesses.Think of your own. Please share. Our day will shine.

He rescued me.....safety first.

 

This summer, my three sons took off for the Grand Tetons in Wyoming to climb the highest peak.They had done it before, 25 years ago, and there was not a loved one left behind that wasn't deeply concerned for their safety. I said goodbye to each on the phone and sent them all this e-mail." Have fun, take care of your brothers, and safety first."The last part is my youngest son's mantra because he takes college groups into the deserts of West Texas and Mexico and is responsible for their safety.

They never made it to the top because of weather conditions and other factors but the trip was not without drama. After a hearty Chinese meal, my oldest son developed terrible stomach pains. He tried to gut it out but finally my youngest son saw that it was getting worse and took him to the hospital where he lay on a gurney in agony. I can hardly write the rest. Sean, the professor, held his brother's hand until after the surgery that removed his gall bladder. He also retrieved Mike's wife from the airport and when all the dust had settled, he went on his way. He was Christ.

My children have saved me more than once.My oldest from my own drama, Kevin, when I was stuck at the airport with a car that wouldn't start, my daughter Jessica, holding my hand on a tiny ledge at Cinque Terra and on the insane Paris streets.

I have been saved before. I left the Church in 1969 having seen no evidence of holiness or even that prayer worked. Everyone that I knew as church goers had terrible lives.I felt liberated when I crossed the bridge over the Belt Parkway in Queens  leaving that church building and superstition behind. I can do this on my own.

It was a few years later, while living in California,  that I awakened one morning with a huge hole in my being. What was missing? I prayed: "Lord, if you are there, help me."He did and the story of our reunion and life together has been my journey for over 50 years.

..."By the might of His glory you will be endowed with the strength needed to stand fast, even to endure joyfully whatever may come, giving thanks to the Father for having made you worthy to share the lot of the saints in light. He rescued us from the power of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of His beloved Son. Through Him we have redemption and the forgiveness of our sins." Coloss 1:11-14.

O light come down to earth...

She stands, she stands, silent, charred, still there. It took two hundred years, 20 generations,  to build Notre Dame. Human effort, human achievements is today's theme of gratefulness.That Cathedral, the hands and minds that put it together. Burned before, charred now, she stands.

What do we humans create? Haiku, simple poems of nature and heart. Bridges over troubled water, the song and the fact. The poetry of Emily Dickinson: "To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee and revery. Revery alone will do if bees are few." Reclusive, alone creating. I bow to her.

Wordsworth, his saunters and daffodils, Tintern Abbey falling down, falling down but still majestic. Music of the movie "The Mission."Please play it at my funeral. The monastery church with the white walls bathed in blue and pink light from glass windows. Built by hand. A loom that takes many threads and makes a scarf. From the sheep grazing to my cold neck. Blue bird houses since the trees are fewer.

The Eiffel Tower, once despised, now settled in a neighborhood and adored. The Cathedral in Leon, Spain, stained glass windows from roof to floor.Once, when the roof needed replacing, hands took every piece of the windows, labelled them and stored them only to put them back when the roof was done.

Cameras, photos, the telephone. I see clearly because humans figured out how to replace my eye lens in cataract surgery. And finally this:

                         .........."In fall their brightened leaves, released,
                                   Fly down the wind, and we are pleased
                                    To walk on radiance, amazed.
                                  O light come down to earth, be praised."  from A Timbered Choir,
                                                                                                        Wendell Berry

friends

When the word "friends" popped into my mind at 3:30 a.m., I was sure I knew where to go and yet what was to come was very different.

The story was not going to be about the friend of 67 years who inspires me with her love of God. Nor would it be about the soul friend of 40 years who has shown me a way of caring and kindness that has changed who I am .It wouldn't be about the work friend who has become my inspiration for so many endeavors. The one I can tell anything to and count on her to still be my best cheerleader; she gets me. Nor would it be about the gal who moved to Blue Ridge who never forgets my birthday. This writing would go back to childhood and a 30 year ago work friend.The fact that they both live in Florida seems to be the connection.

Her name is Diane and she was one of my first friends. Her mother and mine were best buddies and we tagged along. She was a mild mannered sweet, pretty girl with dark eyes and brown hair and we never had a disagreement that I recall.Although an only child, she shared her toys and her laugh with me.Maybe I was the sister she longed for because years later she named her daughter after me. I glowed knowing that.

I remember her mother, Jean, who looked like the movie star Jane Wyman, singing the "Battle Hymn of the Republic" one day on the way to the beach. She became ill and Diane lost her mother when she was just a girl. After my parents died, Diane and I exchanged Christmas cards for awhile. I never told her how much I envied her big bedroom, the one she didn't have to share and her Bugs Bunny clock.I can see it still after all these years.I found Diane today on Facebook and sent her a friend request.I want her to know that this day, I am praying for her safety and have such fond memories of her and our time together.

Susan is the other friend on my mind today.We worked together in downtown Atlanta and I was the better for our friendship.She was a sunny companion, always a smile and a gracious remark.We went to exercise and Bible Study together and I can see her with her carrots for lunch on her weight loss programs. Kind to everyone and a pleasure to be around.

A few years ago, I heard from her on Facebook after a family tragedy. She asked for prayers and I was honored to do so. She is a survivor, overcoming challenges while raising her daughter.I don't quite know where she is in Florida but my prayers for her and her family surround her this day.

I wrote the other day that it has become clear that my calling at this point in my life is gratitude and intercessory prayer and I have had no qualms about that until today. To be awakened at 3:30 with these friends on my mind seems a bit overwhelming. But then I think of these long ago friends and how my memories are only good ones and I am grateful.

"I see from my house by the side of the road
by the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardour of hope,
The men who faint with the strife.
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears-
Both parts of an infinite plan;
Let me live in a house by the side of the road 
and be a friend to man.:...Sam Walter Foss

small things

  I woke up at 4:30 this morning with the words "small things" drifting in and out of my mind. I now just accept without question that something will come that will bless me and perhaps others.

The list of small things started this way, each item making me smile:

....... the yellow butterfly wing I found years ago that I can't seem to throw away even if Marie Kondo who wrote "The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up" suggests I should.....this green and brown used, somewhat battered journal........ bright eyed fawns skittering in the back yard.... cicadas as big as my thumb that have kept me company all summer....... haiku, that wondrous small poetry form that leads us to the now........ a small shiny black lady bug rosary given by a friend that reminds me of the one I gave away on the Camino 7 years ago. That one to an older French gentleman who, unbeknownst to me, had lost his the day before on the Path.......A drawing of a tree from my friend Missy, so perfect, hanging in a small frame on my wall....a print I bought at a consignment store last week, it is a drawing of a hand giving flowers to another hand and it warms me when I think that my husband still buys me flowers,after all these years..

And that day, 20 years ago, when I took my little grandson to the pool in his neighborhood where  we bobbed and floated to his smiles and chortles. I wanted to spend all my days with this little boy. We would go the the park and bounce a ball, play in the dirt with little cars, just being.This little boy turns 21 next week and what a man he has become. He is good. Whenever he visits, I look in his face to see if he has changed and I always say, "you are still so good." He is. He has always cared about his siblings.Once, a few years back I took just him out for ice cream. Before we left the store he said that we had to find a way to take some to his siblings.Yes, that is who he is and soon he will serve a larger purpose in the U.S. Navy.

My last story is about a lady who I have encountered walking in my neighborhood.She gives me a big smile and today said these words:  "how blessed we are to be alive and in the beautiful world that God created just for us".This is small church to me..as inspiring as any.

                                                    You are behind me
                                                 and before me, O God,
                                                    you lay Your Hand 
                                                        upon me...Ps 139:5

the List

Before Mass, when I am led, I go up to the beautiful Our Lady of Guadalupe Statue to the right of the altar. She is colorful, carved of wood and unlike the Cross which hangs high from the ceiling, our Mother is reachable. So, I hold her feet and a few Sunday ago I handed her two Twitter friends, one from Canada and the other from the US. In their profiles they are both listed as atheists and in chatting with them, I know they were raised Catholic. After handing them over to Mary I heard this: "Make a list." I knew exactly what she meant, so I now have a prayer list that I use after I have written in my gratitude journal.

I have never done this before and I am being faithful to it.Somehow, I know that my prayers are being heard in a deep way. I also knew that today I would be given another name.Before Mass, a deacon came over to tell about his oldest daughter who is at Grady Hospital after a serious fall from a horse. Broken bones in the back are suspected. She is now on the list along with anyone who visits me in my dreams.

Which brings me to this day's gratitude entry. I woke up with the names of a family in my mind. They have recently lost a adult son and brother. a gifted man who owned their hearts.Why their names should appear as something to be grateful for, I had no idea but I just knew that it would become clear. And it has.

The Westbrooks are on my list. From now until forever, I will pray for them, each of them. As well as Deacon Casal's daughter. Every day, I will be alert to who should be included. It could be a person I have never met, on-line, or someone who passed away years ago. I will not filter and try to figure why. I will be open to whoever seems, in the ways of mystery, to be asking to be included. This is now my calling,  and I have been given this as a great gift. Deo Gracias.

                             May the blood of Christ wash away all that is not of Him and may we meet  one day day in Paradise. Amen.