The One That You Love

When you read a story from the gospel, put yourself in the story. Ask yourself which character you are. Are you just watching it all take place, or are you a main player in the tale being told?  Look around the scene and observe what it would look like, smell like, feel like, taste like. If you could pause the scene and talk with Jesus, what would you say? Father Chris spoke just a little about this Ignatian Imaginative prayer in Mass today, and I am all about it.  Be warned, if you are an imaginative person, it's gonna be intense.  If you're NOT an imaginative person, try to pretend someone just slipped a pair of VR glasses on you and you're suddenly immersed into this whole new scene.  Except it's in your mind.  (Imagination...) 

Try it.  The gospel reading at Mass today was John 11:1-45. It's the lengthy story of Lazarus getting sick, his sisters letting Jesus know, Lazarus dying, Jesus coming to see them, ---Jesus wept--- and Lazarus being raised from the dead "for the glory of God, that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” 

Now read it for real and live in it. Read the whole thing, then come back to the beginning with me.  The beginning of this chapter tells us who we're talking about.  These are his friends. He's spent time with them and shared meals with them.  Can you feel it?  Jesus and the guys hanging out with Lazarus and Mary while Martha makes some food. Mary rubs his feet with expensive oil and wipes them with her hair.  They're laughing and talking and Jesus is sharing the important things with them. He LOVES them. They know it. It's not because of the food or the wine, or anything particular. It's friendship. It's just... Jesus. He just loves them.    

"So the sisters sent word to him, saying, “Master, the one you love is ill.”"-John 11:3

So, using our imaginative prayer, Who am I in THIS verse? I am definitely not the Master.  I'd mess that up in a hurry.

I am sometimes the one who is ill. I do have a heart condition. It's also that time of year when the inhabitants of the elementary school where I work share every possible germ and virus, They're pickers and lickers, but I love them. (More about them another day.)  

It feels vain to say it, but I know I am the one he loves. Even so, am I fully trusting that he will help me? If his help is long in coming, or if it isn't playing out the way I think it should happen, can I trust that the outcome will be for the Glory of God? Can the Son of God be glorified through MY illness? I'm working on it. 

The only other option is to be one of the sisters. This is it. It's real and raw and sometimes brutal, but this is where I am. I don't just sense or imagine the desperation in Mary and Martha's message, I remember it. I remember being in the hospital with my mom as she was dying. I remember visiting in the hospital with Levi, my grandson, before and after his heart surgery.  In all of those moments, I remember "sending word" to Jesus in prayer.

"Master, the one you love is ill."

"Master, the one you love has cancer."

"Master, the one you love had a stroke."

"Master, the one you love is lost, broken and scared."

"Master, the one you love is fading, losing strength and hope."

"Master, the one you love has a heart that won't work right."

"Master, the one you love is barely holding on." 

"Master, the one you love is dying."

"Master, the one you love is grieving."

"Master, the one you love, I LOVE TOO, and I can't fix it."

That last part breaks my heart. As I'm sobbing over here, I am encouraged by some other words in this reading... Jesus wept. Same. 

But also, 

"Master, the one you love is encouraged!"

"Master, the one you love is redeemed."

"Master, the one you love loves you back."

   

Father Chris challenged us to ponder these words as our homework from Mass. I think you just read my homework.  I recommend you do it too! Write your own words to the Master, and remember that YOU are the one Jesus loves!

The Family Shrub

I walked out into my back yard and was met with this lovely sight.  This same Rose of Sharon once grew in the front yard of my Grandma and Grandpa Thompson's house in Steubenville Ohio. It has lots of new shoots popping up, but then, so do my grandparents, really. We're just prolific that way. That might be what got me thinking more deeply. I can see my whole family in this shrubbery.  

The first thing I see is the bloom on this beautiful Rose of Sharon (also known as a Hibiscus tree.) The bloom is large, as big as my hand, and the deep burgundy base of the petals make the white part look even whiter!  This bloom will only last a day or two (three if it's lucky) which makes this a big deal, kind of like childhood. Right now, this bloom is having the time of it's life. It's radiant and beautiful, and you can't help but smile just watching it. I love seeing the joy in those little blossoms of mine.    

Have another look at the photo.  What else do you see?  I mean, the bloom is lovely, but there's no bloom without the greenery.  Every single leaf is basking in the sun, soaking up all that warmth, and turning it into chlorophyll.  Each leaf is making the food and feeding the plant, so really, that greenery is what keeps it all together.  When the petals fall off (as petals do) that exquisite foliage remains. Just look at it!  Look what a beautiful shade of green, and those delicate scalloped edges. It surrounds the blooms, and lifts them up, and seems to be enjoying their beauty as much as the rest of us are. Just. Like Us. We, the parents and we, the aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends.  All of us make up the foliage of our families.  We feed them and nourish them, and rejoice in their blooming. We are beautiful in our own right, with our lush green scalloped edges, and in the way we stay together, working to keep each other healthy and well.  

There's one more thing I see, and it makes me a bit sad. Just above the bloom and to the left, you will see the brown seed pods. They already had their turn to bloom, and they were spectacular. Now they have a new purpose. They contain within themselves the priceless treasure of their knowledge, experience, and creativity.  They must break to share what they have nurtured within, but it's so hard to watch them become such brittle, fragile versions of who they once were. They are ready to share the means by which something old becomes new again, and they'll share their pearls of wisdom with the Earth. 

Then a new shoot will begin.   

First one small leaf, then another.  The leaves will give way to a stem which makes more leaves and more. The next "little bud" in our family is due to bloom in December. Our family keeps growing. I'm thankful for the blooming, and for the opportunity to be the foliage.  I hope when it's my turn, I break gracefully, surrounded by leaves and blooms.     

     

The Poor Kitty

I can't imagine what she thought when her son brought me home.

She probably had that same feeling a mother has when her son chooses the kitten with a gooey eye that doesn't open all the way, missing parts of an ear and the tip of a tail, and breathes like a heavy smoker.  He picks it up, which is fairly easy, as the poor thing limps around with one leg shorter than the other three (an old wound never properly healed) and declares this bony ball of fur and sickness "the most beautiful, perfect kitty in the whole world!" I AM that kitty!

I was broken down, used up, devalued, starved, pitiful, and hopeless.  I"d been played with for a minute, then thrown out the window of the moving car.  I was worthless and pathetic.  And sad. I was just another stray in a vast sea of strays who are lost and looking for a home. I'm sure she could see it and feel it and sense it.  I will never be good enough for her son, We both know it.

When faced with the kitty, most Mom's are thinking, "Right.  I'll give this poor wretched thing two weeks, and if it doesn't die of this respiratory infection, I'm sure it's intestinal worms will work their magic and put the poor dear out of her misery." Then, because she loves her son and her son CLEARLY loves this kitty, she helps him nurse it back to health. She may be secretly hoping he loses interest in this poor wretched thing, but his love heals this desperate, broken soul.  His love feeds her and returns the shine to her eyes, and the softness to her fur.  His love softens Mom's heart, and soon Mom sees his beloved through the son's eyes.

Mothers-in-law have a certain reputation.  For a reason.  It is the mother's job to protect the son.  This child is the fruit of her womb!  His care and protection is no small feat!  This particular son is not like any other man on the face of the earth!  He is her beloved son!  It is his mother's job to protect him.  It is the mother's job to keep away the rabble and those women who would suck the Spirit right out of him until he's a shell of the man he was intended to be.  It is the Mother's job to make certain that his lady understands how special and wonderful he is.  He deserves to be loved and appreciated for all of the wonderful things that he IS, and adored for the way he loves so completely.

And in the case of Mother Mary, it is her job to see me, her son's beloved stray kitty (me), through Jesus's filter of love.  What an incredible job for a human woman.  Even one full of Grace.

So now I have the responsibilities of a daughter-in-law, where it comes to her. I will learn the traditions, the recipes, the history of his family through her.  I will ask her to share the stories of him as a child, and learn the special language that each family has to communicate with each other. I will get to know them because I love him.  She and I will share him lovingly.  We will mourn together remembering his crucifixion, and rejoice together on Easter remembering his Resurrection.  We will each hold a beautiful and perfect place in his heart.

We will love each other. His love makes me worthy, and his love makes her accepting of me. We will love each other for love of him.  I hope that all that I do gives proof to my loving intentions towards him.  I hope that my words and actions illustrate my affection and adoration.

I hope to live up to my Mother-in-Law's expectations.


 ***Any discussion of daughters-in-law must come with a disclaimer.  I have been one, and I have some.  I've walked this path from a variety of directions, and I know that I have been blessed by both of my Mothers-in-law, and both of my Daughters-in-law.***

The 'Dirt Blessing'

Two years ago I waited in the hospital in Alabama for my granddaughter to make her entry into the world.  She arrived as scheduled, and promptly made us wait to get to hold her.  Her lungs didn't inflate well when she was first born, which reminded us all of a great lesson...we are not in control.

Yesterday she received ashes on her forehead for Ash Wednesday.  I should say, she and a good deal of the earth's population received these ashes as a reminder of that great lesson also.  We are still not in control.  We get to make choices and decisions, but the truth is exactly what the priest or deacon says as he traces the cross of Christ on our foreheads "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you will return."

Jordan told me Evie was all excited that she got a "dirt blessing".  She's right, it looks like dirt.  It's actually the burnt remains of the palms from last year's Palm Sunday Mass.  That was the one where we were all excited by the triumphant entry of Jesus into Jerusalem and the people were SO excited that he was there and laid palm fronds on the road before him as he rode in on the colt of an ass. Just before my sins nailed him to a cross.  Mine, yours, all of ours, because he didn't have any of his own.

Evie's right!  It is a dirt blessing.  We started as dirt and we'll end that way.  The important part is what we do while we are MORE than dirt.

For that brief moment of time between when our lungs inflate with the breath of God until we give back our last breath of God when our time here is over, we are more than dirt.

I have been taught that the breath of God contains within it some of His divinity, which is in each of us.  So maybe our job while we're here is to give it away.  Give your divinity to every person you meet by acknowledging theirs.  Give away the stuff that really matters.  Give time.  Give Love.  Give kindness and gentleness.  Give forgiveness and acceptance and find the beauty that this world is searching for and can't seem to see. Share your vision while your eyes are still able to see.  Share your laughter while your mind is still able to see the humor in life.  Share your song as long as your voice holds out.  Then just love.

Evie's a big girl now with her very own dirt blessing, and even though she's only been with us for 2 short years, it seems like she's always been.

This year, for Lent, use your days wisely.  Be a blessing, even if you're a dirty one.    

I Am What I Am....

Once upon a time I was a goofy crazy little child with chubby knees, big brown eyes, and a sense of adventure and imagination that never slowed down from the moment my eyes burst open until the minute I finally fell asleep.  I wasn't a pretty little girl in frilly dresses, but if you needed to find a lizard or a snake, there was a good chance I might have a spare one in my pocket, or at least knew a good spot to find some.

If a food fight was needed in the school cafeteria, I was your girl! I wasn't afraid to go fishing with the boys, since I could bait my own hook AND take the fish off with no problem, but I wasn't dumb enough to bite the head off the fish to join Jimmy and Rusty's fishing club either. I may have been the brother MY brother always wanted...except I was a sister.

But by the grace of God I am what I am!

For a while, I was a very awkward band geek that could play the bass clarinet despite having a mouthful of braces, and a very large white-girl fro that my Mom swore was "adorable".  (I have pictures. Don't make me share them.)  I had this weird new body with no operators manual and no clue what to do with all these...curves... and emotions.  So I covered them with T-shirts and jeans, and just kept being that crazy, goofy child inside, but knowing that I couldn't stay that little child broke my heart a little, and I needed something to ease that pain.

  But by the grace of God I am what I am!

I didn't know those words then.  I may have read them, but they didn't really speak to me like they do now.  

Some time later, I awoke to find myself married with a couple of kids.  "Worthless." "Ugly." "Ridiculous." When you hear them enough you begin to believe them.  Turns out he has a problem with lying.  


But by the grace of God I am what I am!

Then in another stop along the timeline of my life, I find myself surrounded by beautiful people, except they don't know their own worth.  Like me, they're broken.  "Queer." "Fag." "Homo." They've heard it all.  They know you don't approve, so they put up a shell.  Inside they are dying to know the truth, that they are wonderfully and beautifully made in the image and likeness of their Creator. Just like you. Just like me.  My best friend wears a mustache to hide the scar on his lip where he was beaten in the face for trying to feel beautiful. I'd love to go back to that time and yell with them from the rooftops: 

 But by the grace of God I am what I am!

Through the times when a bottle was my friend, and the times when I had no joy left in my soul save the tiniest micro-dot of love. In the times when I was completely alone and scared and learning to care for myself again.  As I nursed my wounded soul back to health and started looking, tentatively at first, into the mirror, I began to learn the truth about myself:

   But by the grace of God I am what I am.

I spent a few minutes of "quality time" with the Creator when my heart stopped.  Just long enough to feel the most perfect, complete, flawless, all-encompassing, forgiving, rejuvenating, renewing, joyful Love that ever existed. Love so intense in that one moment that it's enough to last forever!    

Now I can hold my head high because I don't just think I'm loved.  I KNOW that I am the beloved child of my doting Heavenly Parent! Lizards and perms and braces, and sadness and brokenness and all!  Loved!  

All that I was.  All that I am.  All that I will EVER be is a gift of grace from God.      

...and his grace to me has not been ineffective..."- 1 Cor. 15         

Feast your Eyes!

New York City was a feast for the eyes!  It was full of amazing architecture, beautiful skylines, and gorgeous people!

I was blessed with the opportunity to represent WomenHeart at the Red Dress Collection Fashion Show, which was attended by tons of people far more fancy and famous than I will ever be.  The gowns were lovely, the hair and makeup was impeccable, and the love in the air was palpable.  It's this last part that I found so incredible. Many people were at this event, not just to see and be seen, but because they legitimately care about women's heart health. They have mothers, sisters, aunties (and lots of men, too) in their lives who have been affected by heart disease, and they showed up to support all of us!  Kudos, and thanks to all who support those of us living with heart disease, and working to make the world a healthier place!    

Those of us who are not "city dwellers" have a hard time understanding those who prefer the city life. It all moves so fast, and us Country Mice prefer things a little more laid back.  Everywhere you look in New York City there is something shiny or flashy or newer or bigger to see!  It would be easy for little old me to feel very small here, but instead, I felt strong and capable, and like things are truly possible for me.  Not on my own merit, or of my own accord, but because of where my hope lies. This may seem odd that I felt this in the middle of one of the largest "concrete jungles" in existence.  This place seems very much like "Babel" of old, with it's super towers climbing to Heaven, and the people below speaking a myriad of languages.  It sounds odd, but I kept finding God everywhere, even when I wasn't looking! In the middle of Times Square, is a smaller area known as Duffy Square. There's a big statue of a Celtic Cross and a man identified as Father Duffy.  Here's what the New York City Parks Dept. website says about Father Duffy.

   Father Francis Patrick Duffy (1871-1932) was a military chaplain and a priest in the Times Square area. Born in Cobourg, Canada, Father Duffy moved to New York City in 1893 to teach French at the College of St. Francis Xavier (now Xavier High School). He was later ordained as a priest and in 1898, he accepted a teaching position at St. Joseph’s Seminary in Dunwoodie, New York, where he remained for the next fourteen years.

Father Duffy’s military service began in the Spanish-American War of 1898, serving as First Lieutenant and chaplain of the legendary Fighting 69^th Infantry of the National Guard as well as Post Chaplain at the military hospital in Montauk Point, Long Island. In 1912, Father Duffy left St. Joseph’s Seminary and moved to New York City to establish the Parish of Our Savior in the Bronx.

In 1916, Father Duffy returned to the 69^th Infantry, serving in Europe during World War I as part of the Rainbow Division and earning a number of medals. After the close of the war, Father Duffy returned to New York, and in 1920, was appointed pastor of the Holy Cross Church, located at 237 West 42^nd Street. Serving the theater-district community for over a decade, Father Duffy died on June 26, 1932. In 1949 veteran character actor Pat O’Brien portrayed Duffy in the Hollywood film based on his life, The Fighting 69^th, which also starred James Cagney.

There he stands.  Right in the center of it all!  It's a reminder to me of exactly what St. Augustine was saying here in the passage at the top.  LOOK at all the beautiful things!  Look at the handsome young men and the beautiful women.  There's no denying that Kelly Osborne and Jillian Michaels are beautiful young women! See the beauty in the natural horizon behind the buildings that men dreamed of, then built with their hard work and sweat. See the beauty in all of it! Then remember who is the Creator of it all.  If my Creator can plan such undertakings as the Empire State Building and the Museum of Modern Art, just think of what He can do with the raw materials that are me?!? 

See the beauty.  Love the one who created it.  Lord, my God, please be my hope, too!    

       

A Blizzard of Blessings

The snow is plentiful this morning.  There is so much that it weighs down the branches of my trees, and makes my shrubs look like they are made of clouds.

But if you look really REALLY closely, what you would see are billions and billions of individual snowflakes.  Each one is a unique six-sided work of art, crafted expressly for the purpose of being a snowflake.  If only one were to fall from the sky, you'd never notice it, but when they get together they close schools, and make roads impassable.  If the "Mayhem" commercials are to be believed (and they're usually trustworthy) they also get heavy enough to collapse rooftops.

Together they change the world.  They turn green lawns white.  As they are blown and drifted, they determine which roads we can travel.  They cover all the stuff in my side yard, including the shovel I will need to move them. All because they came down together.

It hit me this morning that this is EXACTLY the reason we worship together.  Certainly we could pray alone at home, and we should, but if that's all we do, then that one prayer is like that one single flake falling alone. When we pray our prayers together we become a blizzard of blessings, changing the world!

Together our prayers can close roads leading the wrong way.  Together our prayers can weigh down the branches of our pride, reminding us to be humble and lowly.  Together our prayers can cause snow days from school (and life), allowing us time to stop and refresh and renew our spirits.

Jesus said that wherever 2 or more are gathered in His name, He will be among them. Come join Jesus and  your friends this weekend.  Let's pray down a blizzard of epic proportions!