Praying with Postcards-1

   It began here. My spiritual journey. 

In 1969, I had liberated myself from the oppressive duty of church attendance. The priest at St. Clare's in Rosedale said we need to pray for such and such and I thought "when has that ever worked ?" The people I knew who were churched were not happy humans so what good was their faith doing?

 I walked my self home over the bridge that crosses the Belt Parkway in Queens and left that nonsense behind. Freedom!!!!

Our small family moved a bit and 1971 found us in California, Huntington Beach. Freedom and paradise! Then it happened: one morning I woke up with a chasm inside that felt as deep as the sea. Something huge was missing: that's the only way to describe it. I can see myself that day standing in our living room praying this pitiful prayer: "God, if you are there, help me." Nothing happened but I felt a tad of relief like I had done "something."

A week later I was shopping for a dear friend's birthday and found a small book of essays the name of which escapes me. As I read through, it was like the Spirit was holding a highlighter and  underlining each word. My eyes were being opened to what was true. I kept saying: "yes, yes and yes, I get it." Unbeknownst to me, I was  hungry for the words of faith that I was finding. The essays came from a book called "The Quantity of a Hazelnut" : it changed my life. I still have it.

I was also being tricked into faith. I recall taking a book out of the library in Huntington Beach soon after that .I thought it was a love story called "Late Have I Loved Thee' and how clever is the Spirit , it was the biography of St. Augustine. Everything was undermining my unbelief. That was August of 1971.

So I use this postcard of that place and I pray with it. I thank God for belief and all it has brought to my life. I pray for the high school friend who keeps that small book by her bedside for these past 50 years: for the author of the book, Fae Malania and for the people who came to a lonely couple's house for Easter. And for being redeemed, thank You.

The white light in Scotland

  

 How will I write this? 

While I was in Scotland a close friend sent a beautiful birthday card. I finally got it the other day as my mail was being held. I sent her a text of thanks and she replied ending with this: "I am sure the white light was with you the whole trip." Oh my, how could I have forgotten ! Early in this hard time she had sat with me at Mass. Afterward, she had an emotional time telling me about the white light she saw over my head that she couldn't take her eyes off.

That was not long after another dear friend had shared this, something that had never happened to her before: "One night as I was holding my handwoven rosary and praying a decade for my friends who are widows, I saw a circle of light at the front of my eyes which were closed. As I lay there enjoying the swirling light , suddenly it turned into a tunnel of white light, with the tunnel itself being a reddish color. I felt led down the tunnel and did not want to open my eyes possibly ending the experience . It was so calm and peaceful."

And so to Scotland.

Beautiful country, home of my ancestors, land of magic, they say and of treacherous two lane highways with a rabbit's ear distance between the going cars, coming cars and on the wrong side to boot. How did my son do it ?Twenty miles takes twenty years....off your life.

The night before this particular ride to Oban, I kept hearing this: "I wish I was there to care for you." Over and over. I should have known.

On to Oban, Mull, Iona and white knuckles. We made it and the next day as we sat around having coffee I asked each traveler what was special about that day. We shared a bit and then my son's shoulders began to hunch, his face reddened as he fought back sobs. His sister quietly comforted. Moments passed as he kept trying to say :"I heard. "I heard" and then finally this : "Dad told me to watch that center lane more carefully because his TT bird was in the back seat."

" When you walk through the storm hold your head up high and don't be afraid of the dark. At the end of the storm is a golden sky and the sweet silver song of the lark, walk on,walk on with hope in your heart for you never walk alone, you never walk alone."

the unused joy jar

 

On a shelf, ignored since December of 2021. A plain jar that holds cards that capture in writing some moments of joy. 

02-14-20 John went back to the store and bought a heart with opals that I had admired.

03-09-20. Phone call with my niece thanking me for being many things to her. 

04-21-20 Finally went to our favorite bookstore. The owner passed them out the back door. Covid.

And so on. 

All the forgotten joys in a glass jar. 

On Twitter last night I was remined of one. A Twitter Army friend had sent a 100 dollar credit on Amazon to me, a person he never met. I was telling another twitter friend who knew him too what a big heart he had. We both miss his posts as he passed a year after that. I then told her how he had made it to my Joy jar that day. April 21st 2020.The jar that has sat there waiting for my unravelling to subside. 

Two cards now, new ones.

 6-28-23 Sean my youngest son sent pictures from his trip to Mongolia. I was invited but thought he would much more enjoy the trip to the wilds without a whining Momma. He still takes me along and I feel joy.

06-29-23 The doorbell rings and the smiling face of my nurse friend who, hearing I have sun poisoning from a lake trip, thrusts a big bottle of Aloe Vera in my hand and says, "God wouldn't leave me alone until you got this."

If we look for it, we find it even when we thought it impossible.

the amazing tale of an English journal

 

 It started with an order from my beloved niece to a woman in England who hand makes journals and sells them on line. I will quote Teresa, the purchaser:

"It was something I purchased for myself, a treat to encourage self care, a budding renewal of my art, watercolor painting. I found it online through that amazing phenomenon of following links, people, artists.

When I saw the hand bound and handmade watercolor paper journal with two birds wrapped with a length of leather, I loved it, it was perfect. And having always loved birds, it seemed just right. A special self care treat. So happily I purchased this one of a kind journal.

When it  finally arrived from England, I opened it with great anticipation, the treasure I'd picked out for myself. Wrapped in a stunning box, with lavender sprigs and in a muslin bag with a hand drawn card, I reverently took it out. And then I heard it.. the voice...

'That's not for you, you know.' Trying to ignore what I had a creeping feeling was going to be another familiar message from "beyond", I tried to dismiss the thought, of course it was for me! I bought it myself "

But.... I knew who it was for before I heard:' that's for TT bird.'

The familiar voice and message was not for me but came through me and I tried hard to send it away.! I tried! But every time I looked at it, I knew. It's for TT bird."

 John had always called me TT bird (sweetie bird) and I had no idea what "the two will become one" meant until he left us. All the decisions made by two, all the hard times borne by two. And then there is just one. The one legged ladder about to fall over. But I know this:  the two as one goes on , it does not ever end : the caring, the helps, it is all there in a different way and I for one fall to my knees in gratitude. 

shoes of a pilgrim

 

Several months ago, I had put all of John's shoes in a bucket, ready for my kind son to take to Goodwill. I could let go of these surely, they are just shoes. As I picked the bucket up, I started to weep and my son said: "Mom, you don't have to get rid of anything, ever." All the shoes are still there. 

 This picture last appeared in my Camino story. I told of how I can actually read about the Camino with pleasure in the remembering now. Then I looked closely at the picture and noticed the grey jacket on John's backpack. I have been wearing that daily and it has kept me warm all over. That jacket. But what about the shoes. I wore hiking boots, what did he have on? And in the cache of shoes, I found the exact shoes from the picture. The obsession continues, the title being "looking for John".

I have a small prayer corner that I go to each morning. It's where we meet : John, Christ and I. Our shiny wooden hiking sticks, one John made, are there, wood pieces from a beloved maple taken down from the house in the Catskills, our Camino shells, sunflowers, the prayer of surrender of St. Charles de Foucauld, a treasured carved bowl made by Australian aboriginals, and a prayer card of St. James. I go to that corner gratefully as it is my sanctuary.

And now, a new item, the scuffed up, worn hiking shoes that I didn't let go those months ago. Call me mad, it's O.K. I know what comforts me. 

 

Afraid of many things

  

 What do you fear?

 In this hard last year I have been afraid of many things: music, the interstate, riding home in the dark, and anything that might trigger a memory. So when a friend asked if I would like to see a movie about the Camino, the holy 500 mile pilgrim way in Spain, my first thought was "no." What if I sit in the theater weeping like a bathtub overflowing reliving the time in 2013 when John and I did the Camino? 

  Instead, I put on my big girl pants, went and enjoyed a movie that was very inspiring and that didn't break my heart. I am getting there.

I am reading a well done book about another pilgrim and laughing at how similar his journey was to ours. The pain, the joys, the adventure of it all. And now I am rereading my journal notes and reliving the time with pleasure.

...the scene in the Pamplona square where a drunken Russian youth almost landed in John's lap.

...at Mass in that city where my mind kept being flooded with these words: "Jesus is Lord, Jesus is Lord" and then in the homily in Spanish which I don't speak, I heard this: "Jeus es Dio."

...a pilgrimage takes you out of what is usual, the things that cosset and contain your life...a hill looms, a crushing descent, your eyes weep often without your permission.

...writing on a wonderful shady bench on the patio of a church,,,bells peel, roses surround, cobblestones...a respite.

...a picture of John pushing a wheelbarrow filled with cabbage up a steep hill for a older resident of the town..

  I am so glad my son made me take a camera, my friend invited me to the movie, my beloved said yes to the walk and I kept a journal.

I will end with the title of the book : "To the Field of Stars" by Kevin A. Codd

...and this prayer given by some nuns after Mass in Pamplona :" May Your protective shadow cover them during the day, and may the light of your grace enlighten them at night, may your pilgrims finish happily the road to Santiago. " A prayer for any of us as we walk each other other Home.

 

they've got their father's heart

 

Journal Notes 10-02-21

Kindnesses:

...an e-mail from Antionette thanking me for doing the writing group.

....John bought lunch for a lady waiting to get her car fixed.

...John picked up a man as he was walking from Kroger and drove him home.

...John brought a strawberry shake home as a  surprise for me.

My very insightful niece had written  to me on December 22nd of this year :'"the sacred cord connecting you is taut. Evidence that you are he and he is you is in your beautiful children that you created together."

 As with so many things in this hard year I gained clarity only with time. It came to me yesterday, the truth of that statement. I will give some anonymous examples because my children are like their Dad; they turn away from praise.

..a young teen visiting a wealthy man's home . He was offered an ATV to lark about on and as soon as he saw Hispanic kids his age picking grapes in the heat he couldn't do it...

...a couple walking in Las Vegas'. The man saw a homeless man half asleep on a cardboard pallet: money given and then gently the poor man was told that he mattered.

...a man is driving down a busy street when he sees a woman with three small children walking hurriedly along. He offers a ride, drops the kids where they are going, takes the Mom to a motel where she lives. Soon he is trying to find a way to get her a car.

...an adult child who doesn't leave you alone for three months; takes you to church, the movies, out to eat and teaches you how to pump gas. Drives you to the dentist when a tooth is screaming and makes sure you get home from Australia by yourself. 

...a young man, after Katrina hit the South, heads, with his truck loaded with dog and cat food, to Mississippi where he drives around trailer parks knocking on doors, seeing what people need.

 John had an employee at his restaurant who called once a year after we retired to invite him to an AA meeting for the anniversary of his sobriety. John went every year, where he was praised for the help he gave to R. At the gravesite a year ago he was the only one who was able to speak and he was wonderful, eloquent and grateful. This year all three of my Georgia children attended the anniversary for R in their Dad's place.

Yes, his heart beats in them.