Moving Day

A week after Kris and Adrian moved to their apartment, I started to take over her old room.  First step was vacuuming and moving the futon from Don's study to the future guest room/sewing room/photo framing workspace.  The only problem was the event of yesterday.  Illness and eminent surgery equals no heavy lifting for Don.  So my son-in-law and brother came to the rescue whilst Krista and Don  supervised from the front row seat.

 

I am here to tell you that heavy futons and narrow hallways are an exercise in geometry.

Several geometric moves later, the move was accomplished. 

There was no cursing in the course of the effort.  Doorways survived unscathed.  One minor sliver injury occurred.  All in all, a job well done.

Our heroes

The cheering section

The floor supervisors gave instructions from the sideline on finishing touches.

One last test (it held together) and it passed  inspection.  Now lucky me gets to shop for a new futon cover.

Postcards from Paradise - The Healing Heat of Joy

Sometimes we see pictures, hear a song, see something of exquisite beauty and we find ourselves just glowing with joy.  I was feeling especially happy this morning when I happened to run across these two images in my Facebook feed.  The pure JOY was so infectious, I HAD to put them together.

So, why the joy?  Well, to get to that, I have to tell a story.

Yesterday evening was unsettling and these two images were object reminders of faith at work and confirmed.  Don, reformed ornery man (ROM) at times, has reached a state of wisdom where he does not mess around and ignore the state of his body.  Our daughter, Krista, would no doubt disagree with him, but like I would say to her - "There is always room for improvement".

Don, hence for, in this post, to be called ROM, was not feeling well yesterday.  It all started at 8:30 a.m.  Naturally, ROM continued with his plans for the day and finished off some heavy yard work  cleanup after the yardmen did the heavy lifting and transplanting of some bushes from the back to the front.  By 10 a.m., he was looking a little grey.

ROM cleaned up and then laid down to take a nap.  I, in the meanwhile, settled in to watch some episodes of "Rosemary and Thyme" on my laptop (thank you, YouTube) and the day gently moved into quiet mode.  Later, after he woke up, I laid down.  Somewhere in the midst of all of that, I was aware of a couple of things - ROM was vomiting in the bathroom and the dogs, particularly Delly, would not leave me to my rest, but with increasing frequency, jumped up to nose my cheek and lick me.  Tanner joined in from time to time.  By this time, it was 4:30 ish and I gave up trying to get a nap.  Of course, as it turns out I DID get a nap, time HAD gone by and the dogs had finally gotten through to me.

ROM was still pretty grey, if not more so, and he could not stand up straight.  Sitting, he was dizzy.  Laying, the pain became worse.  One more wave of nausea and he was breathily telling me to call 911.  Something wasn't right.  My brain went into frozen mode but finally I figured out that to call 911, I had to actually pick up the phone, not just walk back and forth.

The short story is that ROM had a hernia, a big ol' grapefruit size hernia.  The doctor worked his magic, the pain subsided, and next week we see Dr. Bailey (who did his appendectomy 4 years ago) and arrange for surgery to fix that bad boy.  And, about those pictures; that joy.  Those two pictures totally embody how I was feeling last night with the diagnosis and the temporary fix.  And with that, the brain freeze I was experiencing quickly melted away.  There is nothing like the heat of joy to heal fear.

Haiku My Heart from the Book of James

Yesterday I wrote about the little whisper forcing me to pay attention.  These are the result of my hour with James the Apostle.

James 1: 13-15 - Addicted

God does not tempt us
Evil tempter draws us away
Birth of sin, cold death

James 1: 5 - Curious About God

If knowledge you lack
God's gifts, liberal and free
Ask and you receive

James 4: 13-15 - Future?

13
Make a plan today
Tomorrow put in motion
Put in the work. Earn.

14
Future's mysteries
Life is vapor, dreams will die
Time was not well spent.

15
Say again. Repeat
God's Will, His Will, God willing
Divine gifts pour forth

James 5: 14-15 - Sickness/Pain

14
Sickness of the a soul
Gather in prayer and anoint
Healing blessedness

15
Healing blessedness
Abounding in healing grace
New life is pardon

James 4: 7 - Temptation

Therefore submit to
God.  Resist the devil and
he will flee from you.

James 3: 17 - Gentleness

Prayerful, gentle
Peaceable, yielding
No boon, none mocked

When you ignore that little whisper . . .

. . . it finds a way to be heard.

Since returning home, I've made a list of projects, actions, calls, errands, obligations, etc. that I need to follow up on.  One of the little projects I've not been responding to is following up on the whisper that I need to write a series of Haiku poems based on the Book of James from the New Testament.  I have no idea why this particular whisper has been so insistent or even why James.  I haven't read much of James so perhaps I read a few verses in a daily devotional that made an impact and led me off in this direction.  St. James the Apostle is also associated with pilgrims and it can't be denied that this past year has been a sort of pilgrimage for me.   In any event, the whisper became very, very loud this morning, so much so, that it took matters into its own hands.

I left for Starbucks much later than usual this morning, getting out the door around 10 a.m.  I had my St.
Benedict novena booklet and current reading material ready to go.  I picked up my purse and headed out the door.  A few minutes later, I parked and reached for my book.  Great!  I had left it on the table at home.  Can you say "exasperated"?  Yeah, that was pretty much what I was feeling.

But then I looked inside my purse and there waiting for me was a small pocket edition of the New Testament, Psalms, and Proverbs.  You know the ones; the ones that the Gideons hand out in random public places and fair booths.  This one happened to be found in the church vestibule at Little Rock Air Force Base in Arkansas.  It would seem that the little whisper to write the haiku's was tired of waiting and had put itself front and center.

The rest of the morning was very fruitful.  There were nine haiku's waiting to emerge from the twilight dimness of my mind.  The number “nine” has a great symbolic richness. It is derived from the Trinitarian and Divine number “three” – being “three times three”.  “Nine” is also a number of imperfection because it is one lacking from “ten”.  The number nine is often linked to suffering hence, a novena cycle of prayer is commonly offer for nine days in anticipation of a response to a heart-felt petition.  So, it wasn't lost on me that just as novenas are typically associated with the number nine, I found nine haiku's waiting to come to the light.  Each has their own special intent.  I'll share them in my next post.

Why the Veil?

Since talking about my veil in my last post, some have asked why the Church required a head covering and why it doesn’t now.  The short answer would probably include an exhortation of obedience to sacred scripture and the tradition of the time.  The wearing of a head covering, however, is a discipline; it isn’t and never was a matter of doctrine.  Traditions change and the importance of an action can be lost and can become just habit.  The Code of Cannon Law 1983 ended the obligation of the discipline.

With the obligation lifted and with the changes wrought by the implementations of Vatican II, a more modern way of thinking crept into the choice of wearing or not wearing the veil.  By the time I returned to the Church, the wearing of veils was entirely gone.

From the reading I’ve been doing on the subject and from the few women I’ve talked to on the choice, I’ve learned that the wearing of the veil is very much the answer to a call from the Holy Spirit.  In my case, I was hearing whispers of the possibility long before I actually took the veil back.  When I did, it had absolutely nothing to do with submissiveness to men.  It was about humility before God and my obedience to Him.  The veil covers my head but not my face.  At Mass, I am surrounded by a lightness that allows me to focus entirely on Him while not cutting me off from the community within the church.

I also feel a close attachment to Mary, His Blessed Mother.  She was always veiled and like her, I understand that the veil is a symbol of the different roles of men and women.  I like this distinction.  I like the veil as an outward sign of my special calling, as a woman, to serve Him as He asks me to serve.

I also honor St. Veronica who, when Christ carried His cross, recognized His real presence and gave Him her veil to wipe his face.  He gave her the blessing of His image in return for this act of kindness.

Many people regard scriptural references to women and submission as a negative but these references do not mean that women are less.  Men and women are equal in dignity and value before the Lord.  In a marriage governed by the principle of submission, both husband and wife are called to submission; she to her husband and he to Christ.  Just as Christ loves his Church and would not harm it, so a husband loves his wife and would do nothing to harm or diminish her. 

I’ve had to battle through my feelings of discomfort and self-consciousness as I’m often the only veiled woman in a church everywhere I go.  But six months of veiling has brought me to an understanding of why I have answered this calling.  I love the Lord and I choose to honor Him with this symbol of my submission to Him, my humility before Him, and as a sign of my special place as a woman in His plan for us.  I also love Mary, His mother and our mother.  She is my model of womanhood and whether a woman works, chooses a career, has a family, and often, in our society, is trying to do both, she is the exemplar of strength that has something for all women, no matter how they lives their lives.

I would encourage women of any age to try the veil again but with thought and discernment.  It is a calling and isn’t necessarily something that all women should even try to do.  But, if you are attracted to the possibility, it would not hurt to try it.  I started in the winter when it was cold and in church, I simply did not lower my scarf.  It was a start.  Each of us can find our own unique way if the call is answered with a “yes”.  It’s just a matter of listening, discerning, and then, deciding.

Mornings with Mary - Wearing a Veil

I was eight years old when I received this statue of Mary from my father.  I don't remember the occasion; perhaps we were moving yet again.  Or, perhaps he was going on deployment or returning from one.  Whatever the occasion, I treasure her.

I started wearing the veil in Mass again this passed January.  I had been reading about the movement toward returning to the veil, especially by young Catholic women.  I was attracted to the idea; I never really understood why it became optional and then just utterly disappeared.

I started wearing the veil again quite by accident.  It started during mission in Missouri and it was so cold in January.  I arrived at Mass in gloves, coat, and at least two scarves, one of which was draped around my head. I left it up that first day and it occurred to me that I liked it.  I felt feminine before the Lord, I felt a connection to his Mother.  I felt a connection, as well, to St. Veronica who, on that terrible last day, as Christ carried His cross to His death, recognized His real presence and gently wiped his face with her scarf.

I also felt a whole lot out of place, like I was shining a light in my direction saying, "Hey, look at me".  Part of me felt like I was a real distraction but part of me very much wanted that veil back, so, I took it.  Since then, I've seen a few other women wearing veils, one most memorably at the Basilica of the International Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in Washington, D.C.  I notice a very tall and elegant black woman off to my right wearing a beautiful suit and her head wreathed in a lovely veil.  

As it happened, I had occasion to actually say hello to her as we were both near the same side altar after Mass.  We both agreed that the loss of the veil was something to regret.  There is nothing imposing or oppressive about wearing a veil.  Just as a man takes his hat off inside a church/building, a woman may keep hers on.  It was part of what set us apart from each other and yet made us one and complete.

So now, six month on, I'm still wearing my veil and looking for a couple more. I might even make one.  Now, that would be something.

Answering God's Call

Answering God’s call is something we are called to from our birth.  From the earliest age, when our parents answer for us with the Sacrament of Baptism to our own growth in awareness of the presence of God and listening for his voice, we are called to hear Him and allow Him to share intimately in our lives.

My journey away from Him happened quietly enough.  The silent and lonely drama of a failed marriage was enough to leave me believing there was nowhere for me in my church.  I was now a divorced woman and I didn’t know that there was still a home with its door wide open to me.  Reflecting on that long ago time now, I realize that had I been more fully informed of the teachings of my faith, I might have saved myself a lot of heartache and loneliness.

I was just Catholic enough that no Protestant church would work for me.  Eastern religions weren’t my thing and New Age was meaningless and newly appearing . . . so . . . it was just me and God; just the two of us.  Well, that didn’t work either.  It’s hard keeping the voice of God alive and audible when there is so much noise in your life.  Work, marriage, family, going to school, and child-rearing all clashed together to effectively silence His whispers that sought my attention.

But, there were the random moments when I heard Him.  One such time was in an old cemetery in Missouri.  Our son was nine months old and suddenly and acutely I felt the fact that he was not baptized.  The cemetery was on the grounds of an old Catholic Church that still served the community in the rural mountain area it resided in.  I wondered aloud to my husband if the priest would baptize him if we asked.  He did not enthusiastically support the idea and the moment slipped away from me, the voice muted once again.  But I never forgot the moment.

Fast forward six years and another child, now around eight months old.  The whisper was finding me again but this time it arrived in a shout of unmistakable address.  At this time, a series of billboards was moving around the South Bay area between San Jose and San Francisco.  An artist had painted an image of Christ with outstretched hand.  She had the image placed on four billboards with the words “I’m speaking to you”.  Every three months, the billboards’ locations would change.  On this particular day, as I drove home from running errands, I came across one of these billboards and I nearly drove off the road.

I quickly readjusted, went around the corner to home, parked, and ran upstairs to our apartment.  I remember flinging the door open and telling my husband what had happened and that I was going to call the office at St. Patrick’s Cathedral and find out how I could get back the Church.  The message had been received, crystal clear, and I wasn’t just musing aloud this time. Whatever reservation he might have had, I was moving forward.  This was a message to me and I was not going to ignore it again.

Life moved on.  My desire to return to the Faith was achieved and Don made the journey with me.  But, I still had a long way to go and I have my son to thank for getting me on the road to really learning about my faith and educating myself on the teachings and its history.  His road became my road.  

Suffering Humanity
by
Uriel Starbuck  of St. Louis, MO

In the course of moving to this next step, God got my attention again.  I needed to forgive someone.  In an instant of recognition, I asked the Sisters of the Cross, a cloistered order in Modesto, CA, to pray for the man who was the instrument of the destruction of my marriage.  I was still fill with fear and anxiety about him, even twelve years after the fact.  

Forgiveness is an extraordinary gift.  You think you are giving the gift to someone and in reality, the gift is to you.  I remember going back to the hall where I was attending the dedication of the sisters' convent and I could feel all the hurt and fear and pain drain from my body out through my hands and my feet.  It was a physical sensation that I still remember over 20 years later.  I had heard God's voice again.  He was saying "Enough already.  Let it go.  Give it to me".  And I did.  It was just that simple.

There is no question in my mind or heart that we eventually always hear God's voice, but, we only hear when we are ready to listen.  Somewhere along the line, I started asking for a purpose, a task, something I could do as service in His name.  It felt like it was taking forever for Him to answer me.  Yes, His problem, not mine.  My hearing was fine.  Not.  

I imagine there were more than a few missed opportunities over the years but finally, one day, that crystal clear address got through to me.  Husband was stressed and unhappy.  As a consequence, I was stressed and unhappy.  So, I sat him down and told him I thought we needed to make a big change in our lives.  Certain activities needed to be eliminated and we needed to make a plan to go on a domestic mission.  With that encounter, everything changed.

Looking back on it now, I have to ask what I might have done differently so that the desert of voicelessness would not have been so long between each oasis of encounter.  Who did I have as an active Christian friend; did I read the Bible and understand it's message; did I pray regularly; did I share my beliefs and what I was learning in my own private growth?  The short answer is "sort of."  If my own living of what I knew to be true was just lukewarm, then the volume on my hearing was probably set too low as well. 

Holy Agony Chapel
at Mother Seton's Shrine in Emmitsburg, MD

We are back from mission now and have been living with the changes wrought by the experience for three months.  There is much that has been assimilated and integrated into our lives and much more still to be understood.  The experience of mission does not end when the mission time ends.  The take-a-ways are not all immediately obvious but only slowly surface through time.  

I am so grateful for this time we had.  It was enriching on not only an individual personal level but also enriching on us as a couple.  We pray together.  We talk more. Harmony has been uncovered and rediscovered.  And we are both listening God.  Our hearts are wide open.  Help us continue to see through your eyes and hear with your heart.