a river of goodness

 

There is a river behind my house that flows southward. The Indians who lived here before  called it Thronateeska, which means flint picking up. A swampy flood plain separates us from the Flint when it rises. In the winter, I bundle up and walk to a spot on the bank of the river to see what come to mind. There is an old dead tree that has fallen that is perfect for sitting. It takes about 15 minutes for my mind to slip to a different gear. This is the place from which I write. This is the place where the winter white sun becomes a candle perched in a tree of my wooded chapel.

Walking a labyrinth is another way to reach this place. I once walked a small one in Woodstock, New York and I took my estranged sister with me in my mind. Before long, I heard this: "Your sister has never felt loved for a day in her life." I knew this was true and wept inwardly for all the years that she carried this burden like a dead corpse on her shoulders. Never loved.  

On the West coast of the island of Iona in Scotland, I stepped foot on a labyrinth on the beach. The path was made of round stones of the most amazing colors. This is where Columba landed centuries ago to bring the good news to this rough land. Immediately, my shoulders lowered, every muscle in my body relaxed in a way I have never felt before. And then I heard this: "Your center is goodness: a fountain of goodness. Do what you can to let it flow: how can you prime it and make it more?"

What an extraordinary thing to hear. Do I believe that my center is one of goodness ? Do you believe that about yourself?

Within a few days of this, a poem came to hand by Antonio Machado called "Last Night I had  Dream" 

"Last night I had a dream-

a blessed illusion it was-

I dreamt of a fountain flowing

deep down in my heart.

Water, by what hidden channels

have you come to me, tell me, to me,

welling up with new life

I never tasted before?.................

Last night I had a dream-

a blessed illusion it was-

I dreamed it was God I'd found

deep down in my heart."

All things spare, strange...

 

                              

 The Red Sun Gnaws at the Spider-Joan Miro

   Nowhere in this painting by Joan Miro do I find a sun or a spider but I do see something else that jars a wonderful memory.

  My dear daughter-in-law loves squirrels. They are fluffy and busy and nothing like it lives in her home country of Australia. Most of us see them as pests, gnawing on a shed door, or hanging upside down from a bird feeder but not her.

 I was in Australia once walking a path to the beach when I heard a rustling in the leaves behind me. I turned, expecting to see Sammy the Squirrel. I was stunned to see what was headed towards me; a 5 foot long Lizard with his beady eyes scoping me out as he charged. I ran like someone possessed. I later found out that if you stand still they will climb you thinking you are a tree. Yay!!!!

 But this is about squirrels and the unforgettable brave one in my yard that Fall day. He was rooting around near our bird bath when a red shinned hawk catapulted to the ground holding a red winged black bird in his talons. His intent was to bear down while the bird struggled to breathe. The squirrel watched, twitched back and forth, and then unbelievably charged the hawk, ten times his size. The hawk let go and off flew the bird. I can only think that the squirrel deliberately rescued the blackbird. How amazing. What a wonderful creature!

  "Glory be to God for dappled things-

For rose moles all in stipple upon trot that swim,  for finches wings; All things counter, original, spare, strange: Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?) With swift, slow, sweet, sour, adazzle, dim;

He fathers forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him."

Pied Beauty-Hopkins

It was Spring..

  It is Spring, it is Long Island and we are young.

The road winds through tall oaks and shadows move over our bus. We are headed for a retreat house that perches above the Long Island Sound. It comes into view, a  huge grey stone building with many windows reflecting the afternoon sun.We see white turrets hanging from the building and are impressed. All smiles and giggles, we take down our suitcases and head for the tall wooden door. Before we know it we are assigned a room on the top floor and lugging our stuff we climb.I fell in love with the room the minute we opened the door. Sloping ceilings, bright white walls, black square key holder and beyond, the still water of the Sound.

We are four high school friends.Patti and I are besties, Carole and Maureen are too and the four of us find delight in almost everything we do.To be together for a week-end seems almost too much. We can read each others minds and a raised eyebrow will send us into fits of glee.

A soft knock comes right after we are settled into our spots.A  black robed nun comes in with a companion. The girl is thin, has white hair and thick glasses.We are asked if we have room for her as she has come alone.We are good Catholic girls and know what we should do but I must say I am extremely  disheartened  that our foursome will be invaded. It was not me who said: "sure, we'll be glad to have her."And now we were five.

The rest of the retreat is a blur to me but this moment, this moment,  I hold in my heart. The stranger, I wish I could recall her name, is walking alone along the beach towards the rock jetty the next afternoon. To understand what came next, I must self critique. I know this auburn haired slender girl who is me, She is shy, introverted, uncomfortable socially in most instances and was taught never to speak until spoken to. And yet, in that moment she goes and engages with the girl. This is totally out of character. We chatted, laughed a bit. Does she remember?

I think of this girl coming alone to a retreat. How did she feel? What drew her ?. I can still see her solemn face. I now know this: that was the first time the Spirit made a request. It is so clear to me.

Now, I offer this prayer: "Thank you, Spirit, for being there that day. For the urging then and since that have borne fruit. Today, I pray for those two girls, both shy strangers, who You showed a way to be friends."

messenger......

 I have known her for most of my life.She is dear to me in a way I cannot describe.A smile that warms, and a heart that beats with only love. A spiritual friend who seeks, wonders and serves.A servant of goodness. 

 A message on Facebook started a new relationship. Someone she knew years ago found her and they shared hours of talk and text. He seemed special, divinely sent? She has been single for a long time, had relationships that weren't the right ones. This new person seemed to be something different. So understanding, so full of promises and wishes, alot of "if only." Could love come calling this late in the game?

 She took a chance to meet and then this star of the universe said he was confused and didn't know if this was right. Blah,blah,blah. In wisdom and with a heart heavy with tears she wrote that she longer wanted to be in this "game".A good letter explaining her sorrow and disappointment.

 Yesterday she sat with the e-mail she had sent, let the tears stream and then the phone rang. She and I both rarely pick up the phone when it rings and the caller I.D. was of no help.Against her long held patterns, she answered and a young voice asked if she had a minute. She said : " I am Meagan and I know alot of people are suffering at this time and I wanted to offer a scripture to you.Would that be alright?"And in a sure and strong voice she said this:

" He shall wipe every tear from their eyes, and there shall be no more death or mourning, crying out or pain, for the former world has passed away.:Rev 21:4.

Meagan, a stranger, had no way of knowing that my friend was bereft or that this was the Scripture reading that she and her siblings had selected for the prayer cards given out at their Mother's Mass. But the Holy One knew. At that funeral, this was also read: "who will separate us from the love of Christ? Trial or distress or persecution or hunger....neither height not depth nor any other creature will be able to separate us from the love of God that comes to us through Christ Jesus..." Romans 8:35-39

before we ever existed..

Obedience. Oh, how we chaff at the word. 

"You're not the boss of me, "a child shrieks at another. "Don't tell me what to do",  another, a teen, yells through her closed room door. So when I saw the title of Merton's mediation for today, my interest was about a -2 on the Richter scale."The Sacrifice of Obedience" was the title and as he usually does, Merton brings me around. The following quote did me it:

" Blessed are the pure of heart who leave everything to God now as they did before they ever existed." Meister Eckhart. What???

 What was it like for us before we existed? Immediately, a memory so pure, so precious,  surfaced. A phone call from my son many years ago that told of a conversation he and his three year old had the night before. Riley told his Dad that God told him that the time was right for him to leave heaven and go to earth by entering his mother's tummy. He had to go down the long flight of stairs alone and start his new life.So, leaving everything to God, he did just that and was born here with us 19 years ago. My son, asked if he was afraid and Riley said: "No. but he had to do this alone."

 So that's what it was like before he existed.God spoke and Riley obeyed and that was the beginning.How many children have memories like this before they forget?Maybe this is why we are exhorted to be like little children.God speaks, we obey and His will is done.And earth become heaven, here and now.And the fists unfurl, the brick are dropped, smiles appear and love flows freely like the great Hudson River and touches each of us.

trail angels

 

  If  there has been one gift of this, stay at home, wash your hands, don't stand that close, pandemic, it has been time to read.One book by Scott Peck, led me to type up journal notes from a trip to Great Britain 6 years ago.The last two have connected me to my youngest son in a way that leaves me breathless.

  The first,"Girl in the Woods", is a memoir of an 19 year old , who after a sexual assault by a fellow student, dropped out of college and walked the Pacific Coast Trail from Mexico to Canada.What a story! But the most riveting moments for me were the appearances of the gifts of trail angels. A plastic bag hanging from a tree with sweet peaches, a meal here and there, a shaded hammock, a roof over  the hiker's head just because; with no charge and no expectation of repayment. A wooden shed filled with plastic jugs of water that someone lugged up the mountainside and left for the hikers coming off the desert part of the trail Amazing..

 I remember a trail angel on the Camino in Spain. We at dinner were talking about the loud snoring in the hostels we stayed in and he dug in his backpack and produced two ear plugs for a stranger-me.I told him he was an angel and he said no one had ever called him that before.

 Finishing that book, I picked up another, "What Stands in A Storm.", written about the tornadoes that touched down in the South on April 27, 2011.When it was over 384 people had died and whole towns were wiped off the map.The forward by Rick Bragg suggests that this is not just a story of destruction but of the many stories of kindnesses and courage.

There is one story not in the book but it should be.I tell it the day after wishing my youngest son a Happy 43rd Birthday. It is his story of making friends with a family on their spread in Alabama as he looked for salamander species in their ponds. His sad trip back to the property after that 2011 tornado onslaught. How he couldn't find the place because all the trees were laying down like pick up sticks in every direction. Where houses had stood were foundations. Finally  he found the grandfather who had survived but his son in another house had eventually died in his arms. How the flowers he bought and offered touched the older man as they both stood crying together.

 I was not surprised by the flowers and the tears from this son.He, who hopped in his truck after Hurricane Katrina and drove to Louisiana with a friend and some dog food.They drove around trailer parks knocking on doors and asking how they could help.The first disheveled survivor said' "Hey man, I need beer and cigarettes", and off Sean went on his mission.

If life is a journey, and it is and if we are all on some path, which we are, then we all have met trail angels. 

And so it was at Thanksgiving that Sean spoke of his one year old son at his feet, how deep beyond description did he love that boy.All he wanted for his son was not great grades , not a high paying job but that he be a good person, one who shares with others. I looked down at this bright eyed, smiling little guy who was staring up at his Dad "Look", I said," he is watching you and he will be fine."

Looking For Jesus

 Photo by Clarissa Pinkola Estes



If this has ever happened to you, you know the feeling of terror. I was at the beach with my small children, 5 and 3 at the time. I never liked to go to the beach with them because I was obsessive about watching their every move.So much could happen in the blink of an eye. They were playing right at the shoreline so I took a chance, grabbed my Newsweek, and settled in to read one article.When I looked up only one child was there, my son was not.One can't describe what it feels like. Sheer terror.I was about to scream when I looked to my right and there he came toddling along having gone who knows where.Incredible relief poured over me and I hugged him, weeping.

I never pray the rosary and come to the Fifth Joyful Mystery, The Finding in the Temple, that I don't think of that day. His parents looking for days for Jesus and then the sheer joy of seeing him. I understand.

And now I am going to make a bold statement: We are all looking for Jesus.No matter who you are, what you believe , how you were raised, we are all looking for Jesus.For the Love that will be with us into infinity, without measure and who wants only our good.And like the Mother I was at the beach, He is looking for us too.

I think of Heather King , an atheist, alcoholic, ex- lawyer and ex-wife who stumbles into a church one day looking for a place to hide her tears, or maybe some peace? And found Jesus .I just read her inspiring book, "Ravished". She now has a God centered life. Or Barbara Hall, producer, author and director of the series "Joan of Arcadia" who, after a brutal rape, sneaked into a church and found the peace that passes all understanding.

 It was a summer day in California in the early 70s when I turned back to the One who I had dumped a few years before. I knew what I was missing and just said:"Help" and with a leap of joy He came back into my life.We look for Him and the experience of that love when we hoist a drink, fall in love, try to succeed in business, all the things we chase that somehow don't measure up to our expectations. Because we are meant for the Big Love.And eternal things.

The most precious moments during this quarantine has been sitting with John in the woods reading scripture, praying for others and then sharing what the Lord has been doing in our lives.Looking for Jesus and what he wants us to do.Now is the time, now is the moment. Just ask:"Where are You ? I need you, help."

Simple and holy.

Something so ordinary but I was enchanted. It was a cold but bright sunny winter day on Long Island.It was noon and I was on the second floor looking out at the line of trees that separated our house from the next.They were evergreens and laden with a thick coating of snow.On one branch, spread out as if on a white brocade couch, was a grey squirrel, sound asleep in his after lunch nap.That sight made me so happy, he and I cherishing our restful naps.His solitude and peace.And mine.

This reminds me of a Merton quote that I had to put in my journal: "It set the seal on all the silences in which I had found Him, without seeming to find anything and I knew that I had every time come home with something tremendous, although my hands were always empty." He is talking about his trips to the woods and what he found there. It is my belief that since I have allowed God into my life, if He is a big part of my waking thoughts, then I will find Him everywhere.

 In 2003 I wrote: "In praise of that day when I wandered near the Flint River through the dry stiff leaves to an open spot in the woods.There, dropping low over the water was a dead tree, bent flat with it's bark long gone.The smooth wood presented itself and I sat down.

The sun slanted through the bare trees enough to warm and I settled, listening to the ripples swirling around the tree branches.The barred owls calling back and forth , the small downy pecking nearby. All the sounds that I need to hear to calm my mind and hear what the river , the trees have to say. The white sun seemed like a candle on a high shelf of a church as it flickered through the tree limbs."

I will never forget that day of peace and Presence.

Nor the day of strolling among the trees struggling with an a issue, to find a heart shaped lichen  on a smooth barked tree.Or the amazement of seeing fat lumbering turkeys take off and fly over the river to the other side, their footprints in the snow, splayed and huge.Or the heron that floated above my log soundless in its flight.

Near the end of his life Merton was besieged by people wanting to talk to him, disturb him in his hermitage in Kentucky. I know the feeling. So,Thomas, no longer here, I bow down in gratitude that you wrote what I feel. You were anti-war and then I didn't get it. I do now. Each day you started your writing anchored by words about place, the trees, birds, sounds, all holy. I see the same thing and I am humbled. Thank you.

in these lonely times

  John and I escaped yesterday and got a haircut. It was good to laugh again with the hairdresser that has been trimming my locks for years.I could see that he was happy to feel useful again after weeks of hanging out at home.He said that after all this he learned one thing; he will never retire. Good.

 How are all the people coping, those who have no one that they interact with on a daily basis because of age or health.The ones who enjoy going to Kroger to smile at someone or the library to use computers or be surrounded by books.How hard is this very strange time for them?

 Perhaps the dream I had on April 23, speaks to this situation. It was so clear that I was supposed to be sharing what was revealed. I know it was Spirit driven because in my waking time, nothing like this went through my mind.It has two parts.

The first was to encourage people to find their way to a saint or two. If you don't have a favorite , use the one you chose at Confirmation .Or perhaps use your first initial and find one that way. I thought of St. Stephen, he who was the first martyr.Or use your middle name, which may be a saint's name..Mine is St.Anne, Mary's mother.Ask that saint for their prayers. Perhaps, before you act on something, ask them to help you to make a Godly choice.

 The second was to implore Mary to assist you if God has asked something of you. Like writing this mediation that I had no idea where to start or where to go.Ask for the wisdom to recognize what God is asking and strength to say yes, as she did.

In the dream, after each teaching, a man would get up and recap and all who were there listened intently.It was quite amazing to watch him as if it was a movie.

So I have started to talk to my saints.St.Bernadette, she who was granted visits by the Mother of God. She who was humble and wanted no fuss.The poor saint who became a nun and was ridiculed by her Superiors. Pray for me, dear saint.

St, Therese of Lisieux and St Teresa of Calcutta, who seem interchangeable to me, as they show us how to to do small things with great love.Dear Saints, pray for me.

Maybe this is the time to reacquaint ourselves with a saint, perhaps one we seem drawn to, as a  way out of the loneliness of this time. I found this on Twitter; it seems just perfect and hopeful:

"The Saints in their glory aid and encourage us. When we call upon our Guardian Angel he comes with many friends.Even in our isolation the Saints will come without exception." S Keedle

the Puppy Christmas

It started in November when I caught a glance of a large black and white dog crawling under our shed occasionally. It was cold so I though she might be seeking some warmth.Then in early December, I thought I heard the sound of crying kittens. Eventually one of these "kittens" crawled out and became a puppy. Under the shed I went and handed John a puppy, then another one and then there were 16 with the mother nowhere to be found.

John cleaned out the shed, put a heater in, bought a bag of dried dog food which we mixed with warm milk and we were parents again.
Even had night feedings. YAY!

The puppies were beautiful .Squirming brown, black and white little creatures, new to the world.and in the daytime we kept them in a wired fence area. Soon the neighborhood kids found their way to the puppy farm.They played, laughed and took a few home to beg parents who resisted.

One girl of about 11 came and asked to take a puppy home for a little while.I was hesitant because I was trying to keep track of who ate and who needed feeding but she begged and I said: "O.K., but be back in a half hour."She beamed and then Arlene assured me she would.An hour later I was still wondering where she was when she appeared. I snapped at her maybe from fatigue, maybe because I could and she went home chastened. I have felt bad since.

For 8 years I have known that I need to tell her I am sorry, she who has not had an easy life,Father missing. I have rarely seen her and always while driving by but today there she was.Grown, works at the airport, she was talking to someone in her driveway as I power walked by. I stopped and asked her if she remembered the puppies.She said she did and I told her I was so sorry I had been harsh with her.She said:"That's O.K.I just wanted to keep one."Then I knew that she was so late coming back because she was begging her Mom who said, "No."

You don't have to be in AA to know when amends need to be made.Today, was a good , light day.

An Easter Tale

A  co-incidence?

Every Easter since we moved here,  eggs have been hidden and small children have searched. In the plastic eggs were either coins, bills, candy or a scripture verse.Our two dogs, a huge happy yellow Lab, Sagan, and our smaller much loved older dog, Cooper,  were always part of the hunt. I have a picture of Sagan carrying his own Easter basket through the woods, grinning at the fun..

One year, the bright orange egg with the twenty dollar bill was nowhere to be found despite much searching.When we finally went into the TV room, noticing the door slightly ajar, there he was,Sagan happily  tearing the bill apart and smiling.Yes, dogs do smile.

In November of 2007, I noticed some blood dripping from Sagan's mouth.Off to the vet to find that he had a large tumor in his gum and a decision needed to be made.I called all of my children and after talking to them brought our dear boy home for the holidays.In those few months, I gave him treats, took him often to the park and made a memorable trip to the river where he contentedly sat gazing up at a hawk screeching above.

In January, it was time. My husband, son and I went to the vets.We went in to wait for the doctor to end Saga's life. I sat in a chair as my son stood by Sagan telling him what a good boy he was as he sat on the operating table.At one point he looked over to see if I was there.I got up and hugged him and talked softly.What if I had waited outside like my husband suggested ? He would have looked over and not seen me.

When we got home, weeping uncontrollably, we  went and hung Sagan's collar on a tree overlooking the river our dogs loved so much. I was heartbroken and barely slept that night.The next day, I sadly took our retriever for a walk along the path through the woods that we have walked for years every day. Something to my left caught my eye. It was a yellow plastic egg laying right there in the open..How could I have not seen it since last Easter?.I picked it up wondering if the chocolate was moldy or how many coins were in it.

I doubt you will believe this but on that sad, awful day, out of all the things that egg could have contained, rolled up like a gum wrapper, was the comfort of a small note with my most favorite verse from Scripture.:

"Surely goodness and kindness shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever." Psalm 23.  

pay attention to bells.

The monk stands quietly in the shadows of morning. He is going to do something soon that will call his fellows in the monastery high above the clouds in Nepal.The bell will be rung, the men will stir and file sleepily into the round empty room.They will sit, empty themselves and then chant to start their day. They will do this in a quiet so deep that the breathing of birds can be heard.

 Bells have always signaled that something different is about to happen."Pay attention", they say, "look up, this is important." I miss the bells at Mass that rang out when the bread was turned into the Body of Christ.This is not only different but miraculous.When the communists took over Mexico in the 1920s, bells were outlawed. Imagine that. If you were caught ringing bells you could be arrested. Miracles had been outlawed.The Churches were emptied. Do you know how the people learned that the government had fallen?.They heard the bells loud clanging ,like the end of the world, and they knew and wept.

When my granddaughter Maddie was expected, her Mom, Heather had some complications .It was a very tense time and we didn't know if we would ever hold that child and kiss her cheeks. .I recall feeling a sadness so heavy that I just had to get out of the house. I went into the woods, sat on my bench and closed my eyes. My heart was prayerful and then this happened:  a scene unfolded that was so mystifying, so real . I saw Heather sitting in a chair and from her left and right people were streaming towards her in single file. Each would take turns touching her abdomen and then pass on.I knew as if it was written on the trees that these were Maddie's ancestors from all parts of the world, making sure that this child was born and part of the line. Then, as if it had a home in the woods, a bell rang and they were gone.

Maddie came to us on August 15, 2012. Beautiful and perfect.I can see the ancestors smiling..

companions of fear

 Art by Rene Magritte...."Companions of Fear"



"My God, what are they doing ?" exclaimed the woman tourist near me.I heard her words while I was looking at a wildflower, my back to the canyon. When I turned around and followed her gaze, my legs became rubber and tears began to flow.

 We were at the Grand Canyon on a splendid June day, the sun and air perfect for being on the path by the rim. There was a railing a few feet from the edge with a sign warning visitors to keep back. Beyond the edge was a stone column coming from the bottom of the canyon. It was a few feet maybe 5 from the edge and one had to leap to get to the top that was flat and the size of a large round dining table.And there they stood, above the very deep canyon, admiring the view. My husband, middle son in his twenties and my youngest son, in his late teens.I said to the woman," That's my family." She could see that my face was white marble and my hands shook. She said, "Turn your back to the canyon and when they are safe, I will tell you."

I turned and, screaming inside, waited; true to her word, she said,"It's O.K. now." For days, foolishly,  I replayed in my  imagination, what could have happened; the slip on the pebbles on the top, a faulty leap that fell short. That began a crippling fear of heights.

A few years back we went to West Texas to visit my son who teaches at a university there.He had grand plans to take us to his favorite National Park ,Big Bend. We hiked to some of his favorite spots. I got to see the gorgeous Texas blue bonnet and some stunning vistas..Then came a twisting trail up and up with a  rock strewn path  that might have been 3 feet wide. To my left was a sheer drop unto rocks and then the Rio Grande. I stopped, sat down, prayed my rosary and let him go on.  He was mad at me and I felt his disappointment but unless you have this fear of heights you cannot understand.

 There they sit, those 5 Companions of Fear looking at my weakness and I have decided it's time to get over the fright. I will on my next trip to Texas in April. Meanwhile, I will repeat this quote as my mantra until it is true:

"Fear: I recognize and respect that you are part of this family, and so I will never exclude you from our activities, but still-your suggestions will never be followed.You're allowed to have a seat and you're allowed to have a voice but you are not allowed to have a vote.You're not allowed to touch the road maps ;you're not allowed to suggest detours, you're not allowed to fiddle with the temperature. Dude, you're not even allowed to touch the radio. But above all else, my dear old familiar friend, you are absolutely forbidden to drive."
-Elizabeth Gilbert.

we are surrounded by magic.

  Thomas Merton, the hermit monk,  writes often about his visceral need for solitude, to be with the Lord in his spare hermitage. In today's reading, he talks about the pleasure of receiving letters, people writing to him because of his essays that appear now and again in magazines and I sense some guilt in that pleasure.As if he feels that all he should need is God alone.

 I wonder about that. Don't even hermits come down from their caves in the mountains to beg for food and maybe, just maybe, human appreciation in some form?

 A book that I just finished speaks to all this. "Habits of a Happy Heart" tells of the positive chemicals that are released in humans that cause happiness, however fleeting.One such chemical, serotonin, appears when we receive kudos from our peers, whoever they may be.The author suggests that one habit that might be worthy of our developing would be to savor those moments. If we bat them away or deny those moments we are missing out on that gift nature has for us.

 Speaking of batting away, I can recall my Mother, from good intentions no doubt, would be sure to bring me down a peg or two if I mentioned a victory."You must be humble", I heard."Don't be a big shot", she said.Sigh.Anyway, it's's not too late is it?

 The other day, I received a thank you note from a member of our writing group.I had sent her a small multi-colored  enamel cross with the word Joy on it. I could see it hanging near her writing desk by the window where she creates gorgeous haiku. She wrote that the colors matched her spot perfectly. Then she wrote, "Are you magic ?." Oh how I loved that small sentence. She and I and the others engage in magic every time we gather to write and share our stories.Magic, mystery and miracles are all around us.

 Despite Merton and my Mom, I called my daughter, Jessica, to share that story, savoring the serotonin and knowing she would not bat it away.

solitary moments

  A glass jar sits by  my desk. I have started to collect moments in the jar, things that happened that I want to remember. I want them to be there so that on a rainy, cold, uninspired day, I will remember. In the jar, along with the slips of paper that the moments are captured on, are three pens, purple,blue and yellow. They brighten the whole thing up.I gaze at the jar often and wonder what it would look like if I had done this for many years instead of a few months.

 One of the memories is of a few days before Christmas when the family gathered here. As a tradition, someone reads the Bible narrative of the birth of Christ, usually the oldest grandchild. This year , the oldest was away at boot camp, so we were all  a bit wistful to begin with . Then Riley, the next oldest read and as he did I was struck by the sudden depth of the silence surrounding us. It was almost like we had never heard these words before. I rested in that holy silence and surrounded by those I love, never wanting it to end.

Many memories are not in the jar and these are the wisps of happenings that will stay with me forever and have changed the way I look at life.The small white butterfly who danced around me on a hot hillside in Australia as I sat alone and miserable. It just stayed and stayed and I just knew, as inexplicable as it was, that this was a visit. I even took a picture from the spot to mark what happened.A few months later, a young man at church, who I barely know, asked it I had had an encounter with a butterfly and if so it was my Mother comforting me.

 In a small quiet chapel at a retreat house in Alabama. I feel called to leave my room, go there and kneel. On the altar is a golden monstrance with the host exposed . My head is bowed and when I glance up I hear this: "This is all that matters".I am stunned and then I think, "Yes, when you think about it, this is truth".I am grateful beyond words for this solitary moment.

Tailor sitting alone in my room in 1989. On the worn yellow rug with the door shut,  just a few minutes to pray..I said one word, " Jesus" and then it happened, an occurrence that I have no name for. I was filled with something that was so powerful, I was afraid it would lift me and carry me away. Love? I don't know what it was and I have never felt it again. I was so fearful of leaving my children that I got up and then tried to write about it.I think this phenomenon is recognized in Buddhism as well and to me it seemed like a small taste of heaven.

Without these moments of solitude, none of these things would have happen.I crave solitude because my spirit knows what can be there waiting, beyond my wildest dreams."Eye has not seen ear has not heard what God has ready for those who love Him."We sang that yesterday.

memories of a drinker part 2..

   Receiving many responses to my last post about my child hood, I feel that there is more to tell. My middle son, Kevin and I had a great chat about what I wrote that proved revealing to me as I followed the timeline of my life. His question was about how I managed to break the cycle of alcohol and abuse.

  My mind went back to a day when I left God behind like a discarded sweater as I walked over the bridge that spanned the Belt Parkway in Queens.I was headed home from St.Clare's Church, liberated from ever going to church again by something the priest had said that was the last straw. He had asked that we pray for the conversion of the North Vietnamese and my mind rebelled.When had prayer every worked, much less this one ? I floated home, free.

 Three years later, living in a posh condo in California, I woke up one day, with a chasm in my center that I could almost see. I knew what it was and said these words: "God , if you are there , help me." I wish I knew  the exact day so I could cerebrate it but the year was 1971. Nothing happened at that moment but what happened after was quite stunning. The way I was gently led to books and people whose words became a lifeline back to the One who loved me first.Words in a book from the library. I thought it was a love story but was actual the conversion story of St.Augustine. How had that book come to my hand ?.Hundreds of years later, his words stirred my heart. And on it went.

So my answer to the question is the Japanese art of kintsugi. The art of repairing and sealing the broken pieces of pottery, cups and bowls with gold.

As time went on, I began to understand the most important thing that I would ever know, that I am loved. This, which is what each human needs, and are made for. It matters not who we are, who are flawed parents were, how we have been treated, how sinful we are, we are loved. We are His children and we are loved. I have heard those words in my heart and I know where those words came from.

And so the great Kintsugi Artist, has filled in my cracks, crevices, my sores, wounds, and lacks not with dust and resin but with streams of grace.

..Today's perfect reading:...."then you shall cry for help, and he will say: "Here I am."..Isaiah 58:9.

solitude demands........

"Solitude demands emptiness, an aimlessness, a going nowhere, a certain having ' nothing to do". This was the Merton quote from yesterday that struck me like a flash of bright light. Then I remembered.


  It was August 9th. 1999, when I left Jonesboro and headed to the mountains of North Carolina for a retreat. I arrived 6 hours later, grumpy after my car stalled twice on a hilly pass. I lugged my 13 books into a very hot room and there I was for the next 5 days. It didn't take long for me to realize that this was not to be an ordinary getaway. The Voice whispered: "Put the books away, just spend time with Me. If you were with your beloved, would you read or pay attention ?Pay attention. Yes.I could do this and it would be more restful. I wouldn't have to worry if this Beloved is having a good time, He is God, after all."

I stuck with that entreaty except for one lunch when I picked up a magazine.The words I read seemed so empty, the feeling of leaving the numinous was so profound, that I immediately put it down.I was gaining valuable perspective.

 I would like to share some of the precious words and urgings that I received in those few days. I wrote:
......sitting under a huge beech stroking a friendly black cat and this came:

 "If you don't spend time with Me, these are just words.You will not feel my comfort. It is for you(this prayer time)You need this time with Me.It is my gift."

"Walk with Me, be with Me.Ask daily for the desires of your heart to be fulfilled. I delight in showing you my love in the answers to these things.Ask,ask,ask. It fulfills our relationship and strengthens it.I have so much to give and you ask for so little.You thank Me for things but do you truly believe they come from Me? Know that they do."

There is so much more but I want to share this final thought that makes me sit back in wonder. I left the retreat on August 14, with my journal.I got caught up in my life and the words were forgotten.Were they?This was my final note." These revelations came:

-spend an hour a day with Me at home.( I started doing this a few months ago.10-11 A.M.)
-keep writing your poetry.(I now do haiku religiously.)
-pray for the desires of your heart and expect them to happen.(began this when I joined our rosary group 5 years ago)."

How did I happen to find these journal notes that showed me that what was asked has been done without my willing or remembering it ?We are never left alone.

Don't be so sensitive!

Derrick was a lonely child. His parents, Helga and Swain had their child late in life and found him to be more of a nuisance than a blessing,  although they never said that. The boy spent most of his time in his room away from the voices that he still hears in his head: "You're being too sensitive. Stop being so sensitive." And he was sensitive. Loud noises made him jump, if his parents were moody, so was he, he hated being yelled at and often sought the refuge of his room. He would sit for hours, reading, building things and thinking deep thoughts. If he had only known then that 15 to 20 percent of all people are extremely sensitive perhaps he would have been more accepting of himself.

The shy boy has few friends, boys were rude and loud and girls were a mystery. Later, his dates were less than successful as he struggled to find words to say. No one had the patience to wait. After school, he found a job that suited him, accounting .He was by himself, pushing numbers across a page like puzzle pieces until they all fit together and he was satisfied. Just before he retired, he found himself asking a lady his age that worked for his company to go out with him..He liked her, found her quiet and reserved.On the date, Arlene talked softly and he intuited that she and he were alike in their ways but he had no words to open that subject and that was their only date.

He retired to a small house where the only living creature he talked to was Justine, his potted plant. .How he tended to and enjoyed her, moving her from window to window to catch the sun.One night, his loneliness became unbearable and he took a chair outside and sat in the dark hoping hear the sounds of voices in the alley. Minutes later, a beam of light came down from a huge sunflower and clothed him in a soft glow. His jaw softened, his shoulders relaxed, his eyes closed and he sighed.

The light came every night and stayed for about ten minutes and he joined it happily.One night, feeling frisky, he sat in the chair and then bolted to the house.The light came, focused on the chair and then started going around the yard like a spotlight, seeking him in every corner. He was holding back laughter as he ran to the chair where the light found him. It moved back and forth as if laughing too and saying ,"Ha, I found you!!!"

 One June night he brought Justine with him and he sat with her balanced on his knee. At that moment something crept softly , gently as a morning fog into his thinking. He was loved. He said it over and over :"I am loved,, despite my flaws and quirks, I am loved."Astoundingly, as he sat quietly, he accepted that revelation. Derrick got up from his chair, and wiping tears from his cheeks, took Justine inside.Without hesitation he picked up the phone and called Arlene.

It is important...

 Several year ago, I received a gift from my grown godchild, Paul,  who lives in New York. "A Year With Thomas Merton" has been on my bookshelf , ignored for awhile, but this winter I picked it up again. If there is such a thing as a perfect book, for me, this is the one.

 On the cover is a black and while picture of a stucco wall, a a bare climbing tree hugging it like a child and an uncovered window with a bit of piled snow.. This was the Trappist monk's hermitage. The scene moves me always.

 Inside are daily meditations , glimpses of Merton's spiritual life, that walk me through the seasons. Why such love ? Merton feels my favorite words, I see them on the page. Solitude, quiet, candlelight, shadows on the snow,  hermitage, bare trees, hills, prayer. He usually starts his musings, as I have learned to do when I journal, by describing his surroundings, sky,  trees, dog in the distance, choir singing in the monastery. Painting a picture of the piece of the earth that holds him, that inspires him.

 Today's reading offers these words to my waiting soul:..".deep snow....a marvelous morning... I wrote a poem.......deer tracks in the dark...., and then this:

 "As regards prayer- in the hermitage.To be snowed in is to be reminded that this is a place apart, from which praise goes up to God, and that my honor and responsibility are that praise. This is my joy, my only "importance.". For it is important. To be chosen for this!".

 I, we, have been chosen for this .So I sit at my window, looking out over the green lawn beyond which is the woods thick with bare trees.The turkeys, 5 today, scratch at the soil , a cardinal is wresting seeds from the full feeder. I feel the heat on, warming my cold toes, the cloud cover is grey and threatening. I am at peace with it all, solitude, trees, quiet shadows and praise. It is important.

memories of a drinker

  My father rarely enters my thoughts. Last night, trying to sleep, he came to mind and another word seeped in, one I rarely use, hate. You, my readers will have to pardon that word coming from a usually upbeat writer but there it is and it was true.

My father was an alcoholic and despite all we know about genetic predisposition, it's a disease and so on, a child views the lifting of that glass as a choice.To buy that beer is a choice. Once the choice has been made, the people who live in the house , not by choice, are victims of whatever that liquor unleashes.

This is a long story : before my wedding,my father, to his credit, stopped drinking. After a few hospitalizations, alcohol induced hallucinations, a gurney with him on it wearing a straight jacket and other horrors he stopped and he was ready to be sober.My sister's children only knew him as kind, quiet Grandpa.

 There was one common scene however that fills me with such anger that is impossible to contain.The four of us are watching T,V,; my sister and I must have been teenagers.He is in his chair in the usual state. Then it begins: he looks from one to the other around the room,  from my mother, sister and I .We can feel his stare.He is hunting for that one, maybe the weakest that day, to pounce.We wait as he chooses and then it begins: a personal attack. "You are a lazy lout , how could you get a B in English "..and on it went until that victim could no longer stand it and left the room, lessened as a human , powerless to respond. Just Dad being Dad.

This is how it should have gone with sane parents. A gaze over, maybe pause the TV and saying  words like this: "You are such a unique, gifted child.There is no one like you. I am proud that you belong to me.You do well in school, not everyone does, you come home on time, have many friends and activities. You sing around the house in that beautiful voice and you are loved beyond measure."

Pardon me while I say these words to myself and hope I said at least something like that to my kids.

Co-incidences?..

Easter Morning-Freidrich

     Sometimes on our spiritual journey we receive affirmations that we are headed in the right direction .Synchronicity, Jung called it. Signs.We are not supposed to look for these things but when we encounter them, I think the proper response is gratitude.

  Yesterday, a person that I know posted something on Facebook about the billions of years the world existed before man.... and how man created God because of needs... and there have been many gods...that was the drift. I was not going to respond because I know little about the Universe, nothing compared to those versed. But I kept feeling a tug to add my thoughts. I went to sleep but as soon as I woke up,the right thing.I hesitated because I knew what I would share could be mocked or disparaged but it seemed this was what I was given to do..

 I will post it here and then below, three amazing things that affirmed my leading.:

 " Then there is this: when you have had an inexplicable experience of God, when you have felt the Spirit leading you on a path, when you have sat on the floor to pray and merely said the word, Jesus, and have been filled with something you cannot describe but the closest thing would be Immense, Unexpected Love, when you have heard His voice tell you that you are loved and that there is a plan for your life,. when you have seen miracles, and when, because of loving Him back, your life is full of that Love, the quest to know when and how become intellectual distractions. You know what you know and knowing is all that matters.All the proof you need is your life."

 No one has liked or responded to that post but what I was asked to do, I have done.

These next three things tie it all together,.from what I have read today:

, 1 John 4-18 "We have come to know and believe in the Love God has for us." Today's reading.

2  "But prayer leads in various ways to the ineffable joy experienced by the mystics as "nuptial union"- Day 8, A Year with the Mystics.

3. A post on Facebook from a friend that she titled, "The Lord moodeth me to write."..from a  poem.
Co-incidences? I know what I know.

eyes wide open...

Art by Joanna Concepa


The rain has stopped , the river is up and the deer have ambled like ghosts back into the woods on this 4th day of a new year. This gift that has been given to us of time on this beautiful planet. I guess after 70 decades here, one can take the earth we walk on for granted. I take for granted that the geese honking overhead as I got out of bed this morning are headed for the river that is full and flowing. The mighty Flint. It is easy to miss what is around us, it takes effort to focus and appreciate.

  That is the main theme of our writing group.See, focus, appreciate and express that in writing or drawing. It is a life changer. The ability to look for and find small beauties and blessings that are out there every day.

I was recently given a book that, if all the pages were torn out, would still bless me. It is "The Art of Abundance."The title thrills. Are we awake to what we have or do we sleep ? How can we wake up?.Writing haiku helps us focus, taking photos requires looking for the worthy, looking deeply so that we can write that down, is another way. All this requires a belief that this is a good place and it matters that I notice.

The other day as we were leaving the Thrift Store, the book man who helps in the media area, was hanging some bookmarks for sale near the checkout. He handed me one, it had a penny attached and he wrote on the sticker, free/Bill.The penny had the letters WWJD cut out and the bookmark had a prayer. A simple gift that touched me. The penny is in a small blue bowl next to my PC. There is a strange rock that I found at the beach and on that is a medal of Therese of Lisieux, a gift from my beloved niece. Small things that represent great things to me. Messages.

Also in the bowl are two pennies and a dime,  found as I walk/run in my neighborhood.They have been run over and stepped on but I noticed and they speak to me of abundance. Just another reminder, keep your eyes open, notice, it's all a gift.

:"Awake , O sleeper.
arise from the dead,
and Christ will give you light". Eph.5:14.