Recognizing the Freedom of Lent

We all know the story of the Prodigal Son. Traditionally, the father in the parable represents our heavenly father, the older son represents the Pharisees who live the letter of the law but not the love of the law, the wayward son represents all sinners.

However, the beauty of a parable is that it can have many layers -layers that speak to us at different times in our lives and even during different liturgical seasons of the Church.

Which is why I think this parable is also a story about Lent and what happens when we misuse one of God’s most beautiful gifts . . . the gift of free will.

You’re probably wondering, “What does free will have to do with Lent?” I know that many times Lent seems as if we are in chains . . . that Lent is all about what not to eat, or what not to watch, or when to go to church. There seems to be nothing free about it at all.

But the wonderful thing about these next 40 days is that each and every day serves to remind us to appreciate the free will that is God’s gift to us; that we have the power and self-discipline to live as free people.

The key is to devote that freedom to God.

And in the Parable of the Prodigal Son, both sons show what happens when we misuse our God-given free will.

In the case of the younger son, he desired independence from his father - both his earthly and his heavenly father – and wanted to be in charge of his own life. He mistakenly thought that freedom could be found in the opportunity to do what he wanted; he didn't realize that freedom comes not from the opportunity to choose, but from choosing the right thing. Instead of finding freedom, he became enslaved to his own selfish desires.

On the other hand, the older son shows us a different kind of misuse of free will.

Lent isn’t meant to be oppressive, or weigh us down, or enslave us; if we let it do that, then we are like the older son who merely goes through the motions of doing the right thing. His misuse of free will is that he does it out of obligation ... it wears him down ... and there is no freedom in that. He doesn’t freely choose to do the right thing, he does it because he has to.

God created us in His image, and He loved us so much that he let us go. And just like the father in the parable who lets his youngest son go only to eventually have him return home, God releases us because he wants us to freely choose him instead of being forced to choose him.

Wisdom teaches us that unless we are free to say no to something, we are not free to say yes to it. During Lent we are reminded that our free will of saying “yes” and “no” is a gift from a loving parent.

And that is what Lent is: a time to say “no” for a while so that we can fully appreciate it when we say “yes”.

John Paul II said, “Freedom consists not in doing what we like, but in having the right (or the free will) to do what we ought.”

And that’s what I want my Lenten journey to be about . . . to choose God in everything and experience that freedom he so desires us to have.

(originally posted 3-8-11)

Buen Camino: Finding the Way

For you, on this Feast Day of St. James ... 

           

In the very northwest corner of Spain is a beautiful shrine called the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela where, according to tradition, the apostle St. James is buried. Beginning in the 9th century, this cathedral was the destination of what became known as The Way of St. James (El Camino de Santiago), a leading pilgrimage route for people all over Europe; in fact, the pilgrimage to the shrine became the most renowned in Europe, and it was customary for those who returned from their pilgrimage to bring back a scalloped shell as proof they made it to the coast and completed their journey. Over time, the scalloped shell became a traditional symbol of the pilgrim because the shell’s grooves, which meet at a single point, represent the various routes to Santiago de Compostela.

           

Today, people still make that pilgrimage, walking el camino (the way) over mountain ranges, alongside streams, through beautiful open fields and, at the end of each day, stopping to rest in one of the countless villages along the way. The pilgrims typically carry three things: a walking stick, a scalloped shell as symbol that they are a pilgrim, and a “pilgrim passport” which is stamped with an official St. James stamp at every village where they stop to spend the night. By the time they reach their destination this passport is filled with stamps marking the points along their walk.

           

Just this week I watched a beautiful movie entitled The Way starring Martin Sheen and directed by his son, Emilio Estevez. The movie tells the story of a grieving father walking to Santiago de Compostela carrying the cremated remains of his son. Along the way he meets other pilgrims, each one with a different reason for walking el camino: to lose weight, to get over a relationship, to grieve, to find God. Even those who were doing it for no reason whatsoever, in the end, found meaning.

           

Perhaps the most beautiful part of this modern day pilgrimage is this: over and over, as people pass each other on el camino, sit down for a meal together at the end of the day or stand in line to get their passports stamped, you hear them wishing each other a buen camino. Translated literally, buen camino means “a good walk/path”, but within the context of a pilgrimage the phrase takes on a deeper meaning. To wish someone a buen camino is to wish them well in finding meaning and purpose on their pilgrimage.

           

And during this time in which the way is unclear, this is what I wish for you … a buen camino. 

Stations of the Cross ... Bringing them Home during the Coronavirus Pandemic

Lenten Friday during a Pandemic. Sharing a few ideas on how to pray the Stations of the Cross from home ...

Our favorite way to pray the Stations involves placing fourteen votive candles across our mantle, with a black and white etching of each station taped below. Then, as we read a station we blow out the corresponding candle until, when the last one is blown out, we sit in the darkness in silent contemplation. On Easter morning we gather to read the 15th station, and instead of blowing out a candle, we light an Easter candle in celebration.

As a family, we love praying the Stations of the Cross using candles; it encourages active participation, and by reading aloud, lighting candles and then blowing them out, we become part of a ritual as old as time itself.

Here is a link for the etchings.

This year I decided to try something different. Rather than using our mantel, I placed fourteen tea lights in a French bread serving board and, as we sat around the kitchen table, we took turns reading a Station and then ceremoniously used a candle snuffer to put out the candle.

Another idea is to pray the Stations of the Cross virtually via Skype or FaceTime. I plan to do that with my parents. We will also have our traditional Sunday dinner together via Skype.

There are many versions of the Stations of the Cross. Sometimes we like to keep things traditional, sometimes informal, sometimes short and sweet. Here are some ideas:

St. Alphonsus Liguori
Scriptural Stations of the Cross
Stations of the Cross for Children

The Stations below are from my childhood. They are perfect for fidgety toddlers or antsy teens and are often a springboard for discussion.

Finally, Pope Francis gives us 8 reasons why we should pray the Stations of the Cross, and no matter if we meditate upon them in church or around the kitchen table, the important thing is to enter into the story, follow in Christ's footsteps as he heads to that cross on Calvary, and then be guided from that cross to resurrection. 

FIRST STATION: JESUS IS CONDEMNED TO DEATH
Jesus, we stand in silence as you are condemned
by Pilate. Standing in silence is not new to us; we have stood in
silence as you went hungry by our tables, as you were orphaned
in our wars, as you walked powerless in our world. We stand in
silence because, like Pilate, we are bowed, broken, and afraid.
Give us the courage to speak in your behalf. Amen.

SECOND STATION: JESUS ACCEPTS HIS CROSS
Jesus, we watch you bear you cross and do not
understand. We are afraid of suffering. We flee sickness,
sorrow, and pain. But you carrying your cross says something
different about suffering. Help us to follow you even when we
do not understand. Amen.

THIRD STATION: JESUS FALLS THE FIRST TIME
Jesus, you have fallen with your cross. Everywhere
we see signs of weakness: in our Church, our nation, our world.
We see dissension, controversy, turmoil. We do not understand.
Our faith falters. Help us know and understand your strength
beneath the cross. Amen.

FOURTH STATION: JESUS MEETS HIS MOTHER
Jesus, we are moved by Mary’s love for you. She
saw beneath your grime and agony. She saw your hidden beauty.
We know she does the same for us. We need to be understood
these days, and with Mary we are not alone. Amen.

FIFTH STATION: SIMON HELPS JESUS
Jesus, we have to admire Simon. He took up
your cross and followed you. He had so little doubt, so
little hesitation. We see you suffering all around us: in
the poor, the powerless, the misunderstood. We are often
hesitant to come to your aid. We find so many excuses.
Grant us the wisdom and the courage to help the least of
our brothers, and in doing so we help you. Amen.

SIXTH STATION: VERONICA WIPES THE FACE OF JESUS
Jesus, you rewarded Veronica for her courage.
You left your face upon her veil. Help us forget our fears
and reach out to serve others so you will leave the imprint
of your face upon our lives. Amen.

SEVENTH STATION: JESUS FALLS THE SECOND TIME
Jesus, you must have been discouraged by your
second fall. We, too, know discouragement. Our best efforts
sometimes end in failure, and life does not bring us peace. What
shall we do? We will imitate your example and try again …
even in the face of futility. Amen.

EIGHTH STATION: JESUS SPEAKS TO THE WOMEN
Jesus, in the midst of your sufferings you had
compassion for others and their pain. Too often we are so
self-centered. We want pity, kindness and understanding,
and yet, we are unwilling to do the same for others. Help us
forget ourselves. Awaken us to the pain of others. Amen.

NINTH STATION: JESUS FALL THE THIRD TIME
Jesus, your third fall is the beginning of your
death agony. Our world I filled with dying people: in war,
in famine, in hospitals, on highways. Many this day will die
alone. May our prayers be some comfort to the dying. Amen.

TENTH STATION: JESUS IS STRIPPED
Jesus, there is something fearful in thinking of
you stripped before the crowd. Even the privacy of clothing
is taken. You have given up everything for us. May we have
the grace to give of what we have to help our brothers and
sisters around us. Amen.

ELEVENTH STATION: JESUS IS NAILED TO THE CROSS
Jesus, the pain of those nails was unjust. Your hands
which did such good and your feet which walked on errands of
mercy are now punished. You received little gratitude for the good
you did. Help us to be like you: to give, and ask nothing in return.
Amen.

TWELFTH STATION: JESUS DIES ON THE CROSS
Jesus, you have the greatest love for us. What
can we say in the face of it? We can only try to imitate
you by responding to the brothers and sisters you have
given to us to love. Amen.

THIRTEENTH STATION: JESUS IS TAKEN DOWN
FROM THE CROSS
Jesus, you are laid in the arms of your mother.
The agony is over, but resurrection is not yet. Your Father’s
plan requires patience. So it is with us. We reach moments
when only patience can carry us on. We know that something
better will come … but when? Help us find some of your patience
in our lives. Amen.

FOURTEENTH STATION: JESUS IS LAID IN THE TOMB
Jesus, the end of life is so definite. We fear it
deep within. We do not want to die, but help us understand
that our lives are but a prelude to a new life … a life with
you and your father. Amen.

O, Our Jesus, guide us from the Cross to the resurrection and teach us that evil shall not have the last word, but love, mercy and forgiveness. O Christ, help us to exclaim again: "Yesterday I was crucified with Christ; today I am glorified with Him. Yesterday I died with Him, today I live with Him. Yesterday I was buried with Him, today I am raised with Him." 

– Pope Francis, Good Friday, April 18, 2014

Speak to Me Sunday: A Modern Parable

This fall weather has been just gorgeous, and so in preparing for a bike ride a few days ago I decided to bring my camera. There is a certain spot along the canal that, if you didn't know better, you would think you were in the rugged wilderness of Colorado. And with the crisp, blue sky and the sun's rays dancing among the trees, I knew it would be a perfect morning for photos.

When I reached the area I wanted to photograph, I got off my bike to walk alongside the canal's edge. I took some pictures, then walked a little further and took some more. Suddenly, a cyclist whirled past me at a high speed, only to come to a screeching halt in a whirlwind of dust. He turned around, and came back toward me.

"Are you okay?" he asked me. "I saw you  pushing your bike and thought you might need some help."

Of course, I was perfectly fine, but it didn't escape me that I was experiencing the biblical parable of The Good Samaritan in a very real and modern way.

As far as parables go, it's one that offers drama: a mugging, a near-death, and ultimately the rescue by a kind and caring stranger. Perhaps one of the reasons the parable resonates so well is because all of us, at some time or another, have played all the roles in the story. There have been times we have needed help, other times we have been the source of help, and sometimes (and this may be painful to admit) we have walked on by.

To further complicate matters, life is messy, and in our ongoing quest to find the perfect job, have the perfect marriage, raise perfect children, and develop perfect bodies we do not like to be reminded that, in fact, we are living in an imperfect world. We don't want to be in the position to need help, or to complicate our lives by becoming involved, or to face moral decisions of what is the right thing to do.

Ever since his election Pope Francis has said that he prefers a Church which is bruised and dirty from having been out on the streets; that we need to come out of our comfort zones – leave our schools, churches and homes – and go out to confront illness, poverty, ignorance, injustice, prejudice, pain. All those elements of humanity which are messy. All those things which make people not experiencing them, uncomfortable. Offended, even.

Which is why the parable of The Good Samaritan reads like a modern-day how-to manual on what it means to truly love our neighbor.

In the end, I was grateful this morning that I didn't need help from my kind Samaritan, but I was also very, very touched that he didn't know that but went out of his way to stop anyway. And because he stopped, two strangers spent a few minutes talking, sharing, and marveling at the beautiful sunrise over the Savannah River.

Speak to Me Sunday: A Perspective on Gratitude

On the morning we left Venice, I was delayed at the Air France check-in counter because the computer system had somehow merged my ticket with that of my sister-in-law. In a way, I could understand ... Maria Anna Novajosky and Mary Treacy Novajosky sound and look very, very similar. It was a problem we had encountered earlier in the trip when Mary checked in for our Atlanta-Amersterdam flight and they gave her my boarding pass.

So one at a time, members of my group received their boarding passes while I stood at the counter waiting for Air France to fix the problem. I finally told the group to go through security and that I'd meet them at the gate. My sister, who had her boarding pass, remained with me.

Time passed. The nice Air France attendant typed furiously on her computer. She made three phone calls. Four. Then five. She called her manager. Finally, she had to cancel my ticket and re-issue it, and by the time she handed me the boarding pass our plane was already boarding. Luckily, the attendant had stamped our passes so we could race through security. Honestly, I have never gone through security so quickly--straight to the head of the line, throw our bags on the belt, leave on our shoes, run through the metal detector, and grab everything and go. We made it to the gate just in time.

Now, while all this was going on I had been very calm. I knew the issue would be resolved. I was even happy that, out of everyone in the group, it had happened to me because I could speak Italian (which facilitated things greatly with the ticket agent).

But when I boarded the plane I realized that, in canceling and then reissuing my ticket, my seat assignment had been changed. Prior to our trip I had been so careful with my seat selections; in fact, on that particular flight (Venice to Paris) I had even paid for an upgrade so I could have more leg room. Now, however, I was stuck in the middle, with an elderly American woman on one side and a gentleman of Middle-Eastern descent on the other.

I was mad. And hot after my airport run. Then I thought how my seat assignment on my next flight--the one from Paris to Atlanta--was probably changed too.

So I sat there stewing, with my elbows wedged to my side, typing a text to Joe asking him please (when he woke up) (hopefully before I landed in Paris) to go online and try to get back my original seats. I ignored the lady to my left (who, I was sure, was going to talk my ear off) and the gentleman to my right (who, I was sure, had nothing in common with me).

You know how someone can give off an air that tells people not to mess with them? Well, I gave off that air. Don't look at me, touch me, talk to me. Don't smile at me. Don't be nice to me. Just. Leave. Me. Alone.

I was in a mood.

A little later the pilot announced that there was a clear view of the Alps out the window, so I leaned over to take a look. What a view! Grandiose. Majestic. And it put things into perspective for me. Our plane was so insignificant compared to that majestic mountain range, just as my little ticket problem was insignificant compared to what had been a wonderful and problem-free trip. I thought back to the past 13 days of traveling with 31 women, a trip I had organized, and of the thousand--no, the MILLION--things that could have gone wrong ... and nothing had.

It's so easy to complain that the rose bushes have thorns instead of rejoicing because thorn bushes have roses.

Just then the flight attendant came by offering snacks and drinks. The woman next to me asked the attendant for a gluten-free snack, but they were out so she settled for a cup of hot tea. I took a deep breath and turned to her with a smile.

"As it happens, I have a gluten-free muffin in my purse," I told her. "It's from our hotel breakfast this morning. You are welcome to have it."

And I handed it to her. Then, because I didn't want ignore the gentleman on the other side, I turned to him.

"I'm sorry," I said. "That was the only muffin I had."

He smiled and, in broken English, asked where I was headed. And there I was, having a conversation with a gentleman from Egypt who was flying to Paris on business and nervous about everything because he had never been out of his country before.

As we started our descent into Paris, I was awash in gratitude--for our wonderful trip, for the memories and laughter and experiences, for the time with my sister and the visit with my relatives, for smooth flights and good health for everyone, for the view of the Alps and the sight of Mont Blanc. I was grateful for the elderly American woman on my right and the Egyptian gentleman on my left. I was even grateful for my ticket woes and wherever I happened to be seated on the next flight.

There was so, so much for which to be grateful.

Mostly, though, I was grateful that when I was so quick to resort to childishness when something didn't go right, God's grace enabled me to see the roses through the thorns.

Speak to Me Sunday: Remembering When

Last night at Mass, Timothy opened up my both my missalette and his to the correct readings, something he always does whenever he's not altar serving and can sit in the pew with us. It's a sweet gesture from a 6' 2" fifteen-year-old with scraped knees from playing soccer earlier that afternoon, and it transported me to a place of remembering when ...

Timothy is busy. He's dragging a stool, rummaging in the drawer for a cloth napkin, lining up kitchen chairs, and looking for a plastic cup. He asks me for a prayer card.

He announces that it is time for church and everyone has to come. RIGHT NOW.

He means business.

We sit in chairs before his makeshift altar. He lifts his hands and says please rise and sets mad at his older brother who is a little slow in responding. Vanilla wafers are the host. Water is the wine. He makes us say the Our Father and the Prayer to St. Francis. When his brother asks for another vanilla wafer, Timothy tells him to be quiet.

Then, he blesses us and tells us to go in peace.

And calls us back in ten minutes to do it all again.

Original post from 2009, but re-visited today.

Speak to Me Sunday: Surrender, Forgiveness, Mercy

Once upon a time I interviewed a woman named Maria--an interview I had to conduct over two days because it was so emotional for both of us. She cried telling her story, I cried listening to it, and for two days there we were, two strangers, crying over the telephone. I was overwhelmed with the responsibility of telling her story, and it's one that has stayed with me all these years ...  

Maria’s Story

                Not everyone personally knew Patrick Foster, but his story is one that is familiar to members of his parish. Some might remember it as a story of suffering and loss, but it was also one about love, heroism and, ultimately, peace. It’s a story so rooted in faith that it didn’t end with his death but continues today, five years later, with his wife, Maria.  And it’s one she feels compelled to share, for out of her pain over Patrick’s death, she experienced God’s healing grace through surrender, forgiveness, and mercy.

                When Patrick and Maria first started dating, one of the first questions they asked each other was, “Are you Catholic?” Both came from strong Catholic backgrounds, and establishing the importance of faith early in their relationship set a foundation upon which they built their marriage.  Maria says they put God in the center of their life, their marriage, and their home. When God blessed them with children – first Hillary and then Patrick – they recognized the responsibility they had as parents and turned to God for wisdom on how to be an example. And as a husband and father, Maria says Patrick was someone who trusted God with all his heart and who loved his family tremendously.

                “As a husband, he made me feel like a princess,” Maria says. “He was the kind of person who would tell me that he would die to protect me. He would leave me notes telling me I was beautiful and smart. Later, those notes helped me in my grief. He was also a loving and supportive father. Every time he came home he would immediately hug the kids. He was always checking on them to see if things were going well with their friends or with school. The kids were so important to him, and that’s something they remember to this day.”

                Then came that tragic night of March 13, 2010, the events of which later unfolded in the headlines: Patrick was working as a cab driver when he picked up a passenger, Darryel Garner; Garner shot Patrick five times in an attempted robbery; gravely wounded, Patrick subdued his attacker, called 911, and managed to pin him down until the authorities arrived; and that after calling the police, he called Maria.  

                “The night of March 13 will be stamped in my heart forever,” Maria says. “When Patrick called telling me he had been shot, I didn’t ask who, where, or even what his injuries were. I just wanted to know if he had called 911. He was very calm and told me that he could hear the sirens coming and for me to meet him at the hospital. I yelled for the kids – I was in such a panic – and Hillary hugged me and told me it was going to be okay and that I just needed to go and take care of Dad. Even the drive to the hospital was terrifying because it was raining, it was very dark, and I got lost.”

                When Maria arrived to the hospital Patrick was alert, but in a great deal of pain. The hospital staff kept asking him questions – What is your name? What is the date? – in an effort to keep him awake. At one point they asked Patrick how much he weighed, and when Maria answered 180 pounds Patrick corrected her by saying 185. Finally he looked at his wife and said, “Maria, tell them to help me.” They were the last words he would ever speak.

                Patrick was transferred to the Advocate Condell Medical Center where he underwent six hours of surgery, and despite the fact that there were no complications, Patrick never woke up again and remained in a coma for 73 days. He was transferred to Froedtert Medical Center in Wisconsin, and every day Maria would make the drive to be with him. When the doctors eventually brought up the subject of removing Patrick from life support, Maria refused, fervently believing that a miracle would bring Patrick out of his coma and that he would begin to heal.

                “God knows us before we are even born,” Maria says. “God also knows the hope and fear we keep in our hearts. So He listens, understands, and performs miracles for us. We can see those miracles when we trust in God, His love and His mercy.”

                And so she waited for her miracle. But days went by, there was no improvement, and one day when the pressure of those daily drives and the uncertainty of the future became too much to bear, Maria fell completely and totally to pieces.

                “I was in despair,” Maria remembers. “I told God that I was human and so very tired. But even in the darkness I still felt the love of God that I had known since childhood, so I surrendered to God’s will knowing that I couldn’t hold on to Patrick anymore. And I gave him back to God. At that moment I felt such a release in my heart; the only thing I asked God was not to leave me because I couldn’t do this alone. I then went to the chapel to pray and I felt God’s presence holding me.”

                Five days later, Maria was with Patrick when the nurse came in to bathe him. When Maria offered to help, the nurse left them so that they were alone. For two hours, as Maria bathed her husband, talked to him and comforted him, she went to another place – a spiritual place – in which the hospital room fell away and there was just her, Patrick, and the presence of God. And finally, Maria received her miracle.

                “I told Patrick to let God decide,” Maria says. “I told him he was the love of my life, the father of my kids, and that he shouldn’t worry. I promised him that I would stand on my faith and find my strength in God. I reassured him that we would be okay. As I bathed him his fever went down and his heartbeat returned to normal. I held him and he felt healthy. Then he opened his eyes and looked at me. He was aware, he heard me, and he was comforted. His heartbeat slowed and then stopped. Patrick went to God knowing we would be okay. And this was God’s gift to me. This was my miracle.”

                In the days, weeks, and months following Patrick’s death, whenever the pain seemed more than Maria could bear and she woke up crying in the night, the morning sun would dispel the darkness of the night and Maria would once again feel Christ’s light and His presence.

                “My faith in God, my relationship with him is stronger than ever,” Maria says. “I will never heal one hundred percent, but He comforts me, dries my tears, and gives me the courage to face the cross that I accepted when I surrendered to Him. Faith is the only way to make sense of the storms and confusion, and it is the only thing that can give us the confidence we need to move forward.”

                Amazingly, a big part of Maria being able to move forward was dealing with her feelings concerning her husband’s attacker, Darryel Garner.  In the beginning, she never even thought of him; she was too busy focusing all her attention, love, and prayers on Patrick and his well-being. Later, after Patrick died and the charges against Garner were upgraded to murder, she saw him for the first time in court and admits that she had mixed emotions seeing him there, alive, while her husband was gone. But throughout everything, she never – not once – felt any hatred toward him, and instead placed her trust both in the legal system and in God’s final judgment.

                “My heart loves God, and to have God’s love you need to show mercy and to forgive,” Maria says. “We must forgive because we need to be forgiven. Every day I pray for all those in jail, including my husband’s murderer; I pray for them to find God in their hearts.”

                Today, Maria says that she and her family are doing well. The sad memories sometimes still overwhelm, but they know that talking about the sadness opens the way to remembering the good times which, in turn, leads to healing. And with these past few years Maria says that she sees another miracle in witnessing her own children grow in their faith; that they find comfort in knowing that their father did an amazing job while on this earth and that he is now with God.

                And because nothing will ever stop Maria from loving God, she is taking one day at a time, finding the peace that can only be found with God, and telling her story.

                “I want to share my story,” Maria says. “I want those who are suffering – from the loss of a loved one, from unemployment or illness – to know that they are not alone. We can unite our suffering to Christ’s suffering on the cross, and in God’s mercy He will not abandon us. God wants us to be a light in the world, and we need to let His light shine.”

Speak to Me Sunday: Connecting the Dots

This is a story about Tanzania, Georgia, Texas, North Dakota, and Kenya; it's a story about connecting the dots.

Several years ago an African priest visiting our area asked our family if we would welcome into our home a nun from Tanzania who was studying in New Jersey and needed some place to go during spring break. We wholeheartedly agreed, and soon Sr. Gaudiosa arrived wearing her blue habit, speaking broken English, but flashing a smile which drew everyone to her.

Since then she has been here four times, even spending two Christmas vacations with us. We've taken her to the movies (she loved Hairspray and The Lion King), we've gone bowling (she bowled a strike on her very first try), we've traveled (to the World of Coca-Cola in Atlanta and the state museums in Columbia), and once, after a visit to the planetarium, we returned home and used flashlights and rubber balls to explain the workings of the Solar System.

We are blessed from knowing her. Just being in her presence makes us kinder and gentler.

From Tanzania to Augusta, GA ... we both still marvel at that.

After her last visit sister went to study at Our Lady of the Lake Catholic University in San Antonio, TX where she was working on a Master's Degree in Social Work. We stayed connected via email and the occasional phone call.

In the meantime, I had been writing on two fronts. Personally, I wrote some "sister stories" both here and through various presentations I did at a Women's Bible Study (one of those stories was even published in Canticle Magazine). Professionally, I was working for a Catholic Company and writing articles for parish newsletters. The articles involved interviewing people from all over the United States.

One day I received an assignment to write an article on a couple from Bismarck, ND who would be spending three months that summer serving as missionaries in Kenya. I spoke with the couple for a long time. They explained their work in Africa, and when they mentioned they had met with some African nuns to get a crash course on language and culture I mentioned our family's connection to Africa by way of a nun from Tanzania.

There was a pause on the phone. Then, "Is your nun by chance studying in Texas?" they asked.

"Uhm ... yes! In San Antonio. Her name is Sr. Gaudiosa," I replied.

"We know her!" they exclaimed. "We went to San Antonio for discernment training and met with several sisters from Africa who shared some insights with us. Sr. Gaudiosa sang and danced for us! She taught us some words in Swahili!"

I was overcome with emotion. Sister has sung and danced for us many times, too. She taught us how to say jambo (hello) and asante sana (thank you). When she visited our boys' school, she taught the class the Our Father in Swahili.

But more than anything, I was humbled how God, in creating this vast, beautiful world, can still make it seem small and connected.

Tanzania, Georgia, Texas, North Dakota, Kenya.

Connecting the dots.

For more sister stories ...

Upon Simplifying Christmas
One Good Deed a Day: A Helping Hand
One Good Deed a Day: Those in Authority
Our Very Own Christmas Miracle
Asante Sana, Sister
A Hankie for My Pocket

Visiting Timothy's Kindergarten class

Sister dancing and singing for us

Visiting the Augusta Museum of History

Sister, Joe, and the boys

Speak to Me (Advent) Sunday: Setting forth

There is a YouTube video of Fr. Manno giving a lesson on what we should be doing during Advent. His answer? We wait. But then he explained the difference between active vs. inactive waiting, and how during Advent we should be actively waiting; that is, as we wait for the Christ Child we are not meant to sit around doing nothing. Instead, we prepare. 

His commentary reminded me of the motto verso l'alto (towards the height), words often associated with the life of Blessed Pier Giorgio Frassati. While on one level the words refer to our earthly struggle as we climb toward the summit of eternal life, on a very practical level the words are also a rallying cry for what we do while climbing. 

For we should always be doing something ... just like that waiting time before a trip. That period of preparation for a future action, a period of activity in waiting for the moment we can finally take that step and go forth. 

The suitcases were packed and standing in a line by the back door; I was in that in-between place of being ready, but not yet going.

I have often said that preparing for a trip is almost as fun as the trip itself. In the months leading up to that pile of luggage by the back door I applied for a brand new passport, purchased some new clothes, and managed to pack everything I needed. For months I gathered maps, read guide books, conducted Google searches, made reservations, and planned daily itineraries; in short, I did everything I could to help guide me into the unknown, and it was terribly exciting to imagine the possibilities and anticipate the adventure.

But it was also all kinds of scary.

Then something happened the morning of our departure as I stood between two worlds – the one I was leaving (familiar and safe) and the one I was headed toward (full of the unknown). As I reached into my purse to check (yet again) if I had my passport, I remembered the Dutch proverb that goes like this: He is who outside his door, already has the hard part of his journey behind him. It's a proverb about taking that first step which, without a doubt, is the hardest step of all.

So that’s exactly what I did – I picked up my suitcase and took that first step out the door, and for the first time in months I was completely and wholly at peace. I was on my way, come what may.

During this Advent as we embark on a journey connecting memory and hope, I am reminded how any journey – spiritual, physical, redemptive, etc. – begins with that first step. It may be the biggest step you may ever have to take, seemingly impossible and impossibly difficult. It may be a hesitant step, or a bold one. It may require a leap of faith. But in the end it's just a step.

And with that one step, you're on your way.

My sister's friend, Karla Falk, designs these unique etchings on slate taken from 
the roof of her family's 100 year old dairy barn in rural northeast Ohio. 

Life Lately: Bringing Thanksgiving

This year our Thanksgiving plans have changed. While we had intended to drive to Virginia Beach to spend Thanksgiving with Joe's family, we are instead heading to Little Rock. Nicholas is still not feeling well (an endoscopy this past Friday revealed an inflamed stomach and esophagus), and since he wasn't up to traveling home with such a short turn around time, we decided to bring Thanksgiving to him.

So, this past weekend I made lists and shopped at THREE stores (Costco, Lidl, Publix) because there is no way I'm going to a grocery store in Little Rock the Wednesday evening before Thanksgiving.

I have two cardboard boxes filled with everything I need for Thanksgiving dinner. I'm also bringing food for several meals--pork tenderloin and polenta, chicken and dumplings, roast beef and oven potatoes--because I plan to cook nourishing, homemade meals that will hopefully aid Nicholas in his recovery. Some of it we will eat together, some of it I will leave in his freezer.

Our trusty minivan (220,000 miles!) will be packed with the four of us, along with winter coats, suitcases, and boxes of food. There will also be a bookcase strapped to the luggage rack. Over the (Mississippi) River and through the (Ozark) woods to Nicholas' apartment we go!

And we're excited! Having recently spent five days with Nicholas (And God Sent Three Strangers), I know how cozy and comfortable his apartment is. We don't have any big plans other than to enjoy our time together. We will eat, watch football (the guys), read (me), and play board games. I will cook, and the aroma of roasting turkey will permeate the apartment. After eating we'll go for a walk, or drive around to see Christmas lights. When we come back we'll have a slice of cherry or pumpkin pie.

And like we always do, when we gather around the table we will continue the tradition of our family's Thanksgiving prayer.

Because we have much to be thankful for.

Obrigado Senhor

Thank you, Lord, for my healthy limbs, when so many are crippled,

For my perfect eyes, when so many are without light,

For this voice that sings, when so many are mute,

For these hands that work, when so many have to beg.

It is wonderful, Lord, to have a home to return to,

When there are so many who don't know where to go.

It is wonderful, Lord, to laugh, love, dream,

When so many cry, hate, and die before being born.

It is wonderful, Lord, to have so little to ask,

And so much to be thankful for.

{This prayer was written by a Lino Villacha, a poet in Brazil who suffered from leprosy. He corresponded with our family through Sandro Nottegar, a physician and missionary who was the husband of my mother's best friend. Sandro passed away suddenly in 1986, and as of this time he has achieved the title of venerable in the process of beatification and canonization in the Catholic Church.}

To Behold

Over the weekend I came across this post from a few years ago, and it was one I needed to read again. Same feelings, same conversations, same insecurities. Why is it that we need to hear the same lessons over and over again? Will we ever learn? Can we ever move on?

And God saw all that he had made, and behold it was very good.

~Genesis 1:31

Once upon a time, not too long ago, my sister and I were having a serious discussion on the following: losing weight, gaining weight, the benefits of this exercise program over that one, and the never-ending quest to be skinnier, fitter, and wrinkle free. Truthfully, it's a discussion we've had millions of times over the years.

"When does this ever end?" I eventually asked.  "I mean, are we going to be worried about this stuff when we're ninety-nine years old? What is the magical age when we can be comfortable with who we are and sit in our bathing suits at the beach and not obsess about our thighs?"

My sister didn't have an answer and, quite frankly, neither did I.

Later that day I took stock. I spend an inordinate amount of time being dissatisfied with what I weigh, how I look, what outfit I'm wearing, and whether or not I am having a good hair day. As part of my quest to be a better me, I exercise, eat healthy meals, and set goals for self-improvement.

But it's one thing to try and be a better me,  and it's another thing to try and be a better me and still be dissatisfied with the image staring back at me in the mirror.

With my sister's conversation still in my mind, I pulled out a few photo albums and purposely flipped to photos of vacations in which I remembered feeling frumpy or fat. I turned to our recent trip to New Orleans this past March. My husband and I had a great time -- a fantastic time! -- but I remembered not feeling at peace with my body. Prior to the trip I had some vascular surgery done and I was still wearing compression hose from my ankles to my thighs (which limited my wardrobe). I still had swelling in my left leg, and because of the surgeries I hadn't been to the gym in almost three weeks. But as I was looking at a photo of that trip, I realized what an idiot I was. I mean, I looked fine. Really, what in the heck had I been fretting about? And, more importantly, why couldn't I see that then?

In New Orleans, not seeing then what

I see now.

The truth is, when we look in the mirror we are not kind to ourselves. We perceive ourselves much, much differently than other people perceive us and, quite frankly, other people are often much, much kinder.

Last fall my husband and I attended a marriage retreat and, during one of the sessions, they illustrated this very point. Scattered around the room were chairs arranged into groups of three. We were told to go sit in a chair, but the caveat was we couldn't sit in the same grouping as our spouse. As it turned out, I ended up in a group with two men ... both of them strangers. We were then given instructions to take 15 minutes and jot down complimentary things you notice about the two people in your group. Since we couldn't speak, it had to be physical characteristics. Then, at the end of the time period we were to share our compliments with each other.

Compliment two men? Strangers? And have them compliment me? I wanted to die on the spot. This was so out of my comfort zone, but the fifteen minutes started and I was under pressure because those two gentlemen began writing.

In the end, here's is some of what those two gentlemen said about me (and I am sharing this simply to make a point):

-You have warm eyes that sparkle when you smile.

-You have an engaging presence which invites conversation.

-You have pretty brown hair with a feminine cut.

-You exude a calm, collected exterior.

-You have a genuine smile with a nice, authentic laugh.

-You have a feminine stature with a cute petite frame.

Boy did I feel all warm and tingly, but to hide my embarrassment I jokingly asked them to read that last one again. Seriously, talk about a morale booster! (But I cannot even begin to tell you how embarrassed I was, and even as I'm typing this I can feel my face grow red). Of course, within the framework of the marriage retreat the purpose of this assignment was to teach us to not only accept compliments, but to step back and see what others see in us.  The more I thought about it I realized this exercise paralleled the Dove Real Beauty Sketches video which was floating around the Internet. The video shows how women perceive themselves versus how others perceive them and, amazingly, sitting there with those two gentlemen I felt as if I had just participated in the very same experiment.

Did they really see all that in me? The sparkly eyes? The authentic laugh and genuine smile? The calm, collected exterior? The (eh-hem) feminine stature? Did they really? Because if I were to look in the mirror my list would have included my frizzy hair and my curves ... all things of which I am highly critical.

But just like in the Dove experiment, I can see how my opinion of myself can be so skewered. Hasn't my husband been telling me for years that he loves my curves. Hasn't my sister told me again and again that my curves give me a proportional shape? Doesn't Timothy like to sit next to me on the couch and twirl his finger in my hair as he tells me it's pretty and soft?

It is said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. There are several layers to this saying, but let's focus on the word behold. To behold something is to see or observe a thing or a person which is especially remarkable or impressive; in other words, to BEHOLD something or someone is not the same thing as LOOKING or SEEING. To behold is to appreciate all that is good, beautiful, meaningful and pure. To behold is to find the perfect in the imperfect.

Back to the conversation with my sister. I know we'll probably have that same conversation again, but I am finally able to acknowledge the fact that I am hardest on myself ... and maybe that's a good place to start. I don't have all the answers, but I do know that I am going to stop comparing myself to others (there will always be someone cuter, smarter, skinnier, more talented, etc.), I'm going to start listening to my family and close friends (in the end, it is their opinion that matters most), and I'm going to BEHOLD those around me.

And this includes the person I see in the mirror.

Speak to Me Sunday: Making a Catholic Connection

Earlier this week I was talking to a stranger about faith when she asked what religion I was. I'm not going to lie. This conversation occurred just two days after the Pennsylvania abuse cover-up made the headlines, so when I told her I was Catholic I felt as if I needed to apologize, or explain, or even defend. I felt uncomfortable knowing that I could possibly be judged for the evil of those who misrepresented our faith in such a despicable manner. But I also knew that now, more than ever, we need to be the face of the Catholic Church -- not only members of the clergy, but those of us who are one the front lines living ordinary lives as parents, doctors, lawyers, youth ministers, students, political figures, teachers, cashiers, waiters, writers. We need to take every opportunity to live our faith, person to person. Even when we are dining at Arby's ... 

Last night we treated my parents to a dinner at Arby's, specifically because Jonathan was working. We like to do that -- bug Jonathan when he's working --  and last night we had double the fun because his friend, Taylor, was working, too.

When we sat down to eat we noticed we were missing a sandwich, so I went back to give Taylor a hard time about messing up our order. (See? That's why Jono groans when we walk in the door ;-) When I approached the counter there were two black gentlemen in front of me (one retired, one a little younger) who told me to go in front of them because they saw that the rest of my family was waiting. When I tried to protest, they insisted, saying they had plenty of time before heading to the movie theater down the street.

A little later the younger of the two walked past our table with their order, and I asked him what movie they were going to see. He told us, we chatted for a minute, and then he asked, "Are you guys Christians? I can tell that you are a Christian."

"Yes," I replied. "We are."

"What are you?" He wanted to know. "Are you Evangelical? Apostolic?"

"Actually," I said. "We are Catholic."

"Oh," he said, nodding.

I could tell he didn't quite know what to make of that, but he smiled and we chatted a little longer before he continued to his table.

After we finished eating I walked over to them and told them to have a nice time at the movies. The younger gentleman stood up, shook my hand, and said it was a pleasure meeting us.

And because making a connection (a laugh, a story, a compliment, a conversation) with a complete stranger  reaffirms for me the wonderful interconnectedness of humanity, and because it's one of my absolute favorite things about this world, on the way out I ordered two apple turnovers and told Jono and Taylor to deliver them to the two gentleman ... compliments of the family who had been sitting at the table next to them.

Hopefully it left them with a sweet memory of having met a Catholic family.

The Road must be trod, but it will be very hard.

And neither strength nor wisdom will carry us far upon it.

This quest may be attempted by the weak with as much hope as the strong.

Yet it is oft the course of deeds that move the wheels of the world:

Small hands do them because they must, while the eyes of the great are elsewhere.

~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

Speak to Me Sunday, vol. 14 (Thoughts on the Priesthood)

*Last night at St. Mary's,  Monsignor Costigan returned to our parish to celebrate a special Mass in honor of the 50th anniversary of his priestly ordination. It was a beautiful service, and it reminded me of the time a fellow blogger wrote and asked how I would feel if one of my sons were to become a priest. Here was part of my response to her ...



Recently I attended a luncheon when the subject of the priesthood came up. During the course of the conversation, I mentioned how I would consider it a blessing if any one of my sons decided to become a priest.


To my surprise, most of the women present looked at me as if I were crazy; in fact, many were truly horrified. It’s a lonely job, it’s too demanding, there won't be grandchildren, and he will be sent to a parish far away, they said.

Now, some of the women weren’t Catholic, so I understood their objections.


What really puzzled me were the reactions from the Catholics present who saw marriage as the only viable course for their children. Many of them came from large families in which marriage is held to the highest esteem; after all, marriage ensures the growth of family and solidifies future generations. Marriage brings grandchildren and large family gatherings. Marriage provides inroads to society.


But in the eyes of God, marriage is about service (to each other, to children, to the Church), and as John Paul II stressed time and time again we are called to serve God in different ways -- whether by marriage, as dedicated single persons, or through religious life.

The point is, each of these is a vocation. Each one is about answering God's call. Each one is about service. Each one has purpose and meaning.

Recently our friend Pablo celebrated his first Mass as a newly ordained priest, and during the service we sang a hymn called The Summons. The first verse of the song begins with Jesus asking what we would do if He called us by name to come and serve Him:

Will you come and follow me if I but call your name?
Will you go where you don't know and never be the same?
Will you let my love be shown?
Will you let my name be known, will you let my life be grown in you and you in me?

These words bring me to my point. As parents, my husband and I strive to give our sons the gift of our faith, but if God should call any of them to serve Him further, how could we deny the strength, purity, and love of such a calling? How could we deny the good that could come from our son serving another in Christ's name?

When a newly ordained priest celebrates his first Mass, two special gifts are traditionally presented to the parents: to his mother, he gives the maniturgium, or the cloth that was used to wipe the holy oil from his hands during ordination; to his father, he gives the stole that he wore when he heard his first confession. These items will be placed in their hands when they die, making it known that they are the parents of a priest.

So, how would I feel if one of our sons should answer God's call to the priesthood?

Truthfully, when I look at my sons I don't think how such a thing could even be possible ... they are about as un-priestly as you can get.

But, if one day God should call any of them ... what an incredible blessing that would be.

Speak to Me Sunday, vol. 10 (room for improvement)

{I don't look good here. Not at all. But there is room for improvement. Lots and lots of room for improvement ...}


The other day I had some errands to run so I made a list to maximize my time. Stops A and B on the way to school for carpool line, and then a quick stop C on the way home. Quick, efficient, and timely -- I could do this.

Stop A went off without a hitch, but Stop B was messing things up. Red lights, a closed lane, an accident. And if that wasn't enough, I was stuck behind an extremely slow driver who seemed to be heading in the same direction. Great, just great.

He drove 30 mph and kept tapping his brakes.

When he made a slow right turn exactly where I needed to turn, I groaned.

I was still stuck! Come on!

He went even slower as he tried to find what he was looking for, but finally he signaled and pulled into a parking space in front of the same store that was my Stop B.

In exasperation -- and to make a point -- I zoomed into the spot next to him, parked, and marched quickly into the store.

I was in there ten minutes, and when I came out the driver was just locking his car door.

I thought about this. I had parked, made my purchase, and was back in my car while the driver was just getting out of his. Sheesh. Talk about slow.

And just then I saw why, and it felt as if I had been sucker-punched.

The man had two artificial legs.

I watched him open the trunk of the car and pull out a walker. Slowly, laboriously, painfully he shuffled into that store.

Shame, humility, remorse. I can't even narrow down what I felt to just one word. Needless to say, I never made it to Stop C. It just didn't seem important anymore.

In thinking back on that day I still have those feelings, but I am also overwhelmed with gratitude for a loving Father who wanted to teach me something in a way which was clear and succinct. No parables. No proverbs. No room for misinterpretation.

Just a lesson that was gritty and very, very real. One I needed to hear.

Speak to Me Sunday, vol. 7 (a quote and an idea for seven books)

This week I have two golden nuggets of inspiration. One quote and one idea ...

~1~

This past Friday we traveled to Milledgeville for Jonathan's initiation ceremony into Phi Kappa Phi, an all-discipline honor society. During the ceremony, Dr. Samuel Muttiti spoke about his work in Kabwe, Zambia where a 100 year old government-run mine and smelter has resulted in highly toxic levels of lead, cadmium and zinc in the soil. Here, in one sentence, is the point of his talk:

"Whatever you do, whatever your major, do it honestly, ethically,

to the best of your abilities, and in the service of others."

~Dr. Samuel Muttiti

keynote speaker, Phi Kappa Phi Initiation Ceremony

~2~

Today we are headed to Columbia, SC for my nephew's Confirmation and, per our tradition, we are gifting him seven books representing the Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit.

The list changes depending on the recipient and his/her interests. For example, with our eldest son (an avid reader) I included many literary classics, but with our middle son (who would rather dribble a basketball than read a book) I included several sports biographies. Sometimes the list includes the Bible (if they don't already have one) with their name engraved on the cover. Sometimes I explain which book represents which gift of the Holy Spirit, and sometimes I let them figure it out; mostly, I try to find books that are appealing, inspiring, thought-provoking, and stand the test of time.


Dear Thomas,

For your Confirmation, we wanted to give you seven books representing the Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit. As you read these books, we pray that the Holy Spirit will reveal his gifts so they will help you grow in your faith.

Be a gracious receiver of these gifts! St. Teresa of Avila said, “Christ has no body now on earth but yours, no hands but yours, no feet but yours; yours are the eyes through which Christ’s compassion is to look out to the earth; yours are the feet by which He is to go about doing good; and yours are the hands by which He is to bless us now.”

Thomas, allow the Holy Spirit to guide you and watch in amazement as God works through you, with you, and in you.


Love,
Uncle Joe, Aunt Maria, Nicholas, Jonathan, Timothy

1. The Gift of Wisdom gives us the desire for the things of God.

The Robe (by Lloyd C. Douglas)

2. The Gift of Understanding enables us to know more clearly the mysteries of faith.

Of Mice and Men (by John Steinbeck)

3. The Gift of Counsel helps us to see the difference between right and wrong.

To Kill a Mockingbird (Harper Lee)

4. The Gift of Fortitude strengthens us to do the will of God in all things.

The Count of Monte Cristo (Alexandre Dumas)

5. The Gift of Knowledge enables us to know oneself and to know God.

The Hobbit (J.R.R. Tolkien)

6. The Gift of Piety gives us a deep respect for God and for the Church.

Daily Meditations with the Holy Spirit

7. The Gift of Fear of the Lord enables us to recognize an all powerful God.

Unbroken (Laura Hillenbrand)

St. Joseph Feast Day Box

Today is the Feast Day of St. Joseph, or la festa di San Giuseppe! It's a big celebration in southern Italy, and it's one we celebrate as a family. Some years we go all out and host a big party, inviting the parish priests and setting a table filled with Italian food and wine; some years we celebrate quietly with just the family; one year I hosted March Bunco and shared the tradition with my friends.


This year I wanted to give the means for our older boys to carry on the tradition no matter where they are in the world, so I prepared a St. Joseph Feast Day box and mailed it to them. The contents included: a small St. Joseph statue, prayer cards, a published article I wrote on St. Joseph, the story behind the tradition, a package of pasta, a container of breadcrumbs, and fava beans.


Now, I don't know if my sons will do anything more than open the box and give its contents a cursory glance. And that's okay. But maybe, on a March 19 in the future, they will share the tradition with a girlfriend or some roommates; maybe one feast day they will prepare a simple pasta dish and set out a bowl of breadcrumbs signifying sawdust of St. Joseph the carpenter; and maybe there will be a year when they will need the comfort of family and tradition and reach for the box.


St. Joseph will be waiting for them.

**********************************************************************************


You can read about our traditions below:


I Never Knew, a published article about my affinity to St. Joseph


Celebrating Italian Style, how we celebrate St. Joseph's Feast Day


Photo collage of St. Joseph celebrations through the years ...