Category Archives: Faith

A little more than two decades

Leave a comment

That’s how long Richard and I have been married. Twenty-one years in December.

That’s also how far we got saying a family rosary tonight, before Lillian stormed out of the room, stomped her feet all the way to her room and slammed the door. Why? Because Cliff was whipping her with the rosary he was holding, and she wanted to lead every prayer.

Which is actually admirable.

But if you have to tell her everything to say in bite-size phrases, it gets a little cumbersome for everyone else. Distraction is inevitable. We decided to quit while we were ahead. Twenty-one Hail Marys amid kicking, whipping and screaming has to count for something.

Better luck next time.

Hope floats

Leave a comment

As do many household items, verified by the baby in the toilet. Lots of things sink, too. But hope does actually float.

I think of all the thing for which I am hopeful. The things and intentions for which I pray. Healing of loved ones and acquaintances. Peace for those in sorrow and pain. Happiness for those with new roads yet taken.  I pray for joy, forgiveness, calm, charity, love, family, prosperity, wisdom, sleep, good coffee (’cause although I’m always hopeful for good sleep …) thoughtfulness, compassion, intellect, challenges, trials, humility, mercy, resourcefulness, friendship,  yesterday, today and tomorrow and all that is yet to be.

And I always pray to continue searching for God confident in his presence.

All those prayers are surrounded with hope that only comes from the One who has risen and reminds me that hope actually does much more than just float, it soars.

Lord of all hopefulness,
Lord of all joy,
whose trust, ever childlike,
no cares could destroy,
be there at our waking,
and give us, we pray,
your bliss in our hearts, Lord,
at the break of the day.

Lord of all eagerness,
Lord of all faith,
whose strong hands were skilled
at the plan and the lathe,
be there at our labors,
and give us, we pray,
your strength in our hearts, Lord,
at the noon of the day.

Lord of all kindliness,
Lord of all grace,
your hands swift to welcome,
your arms to embrace,
be there at our homing,
and give us, we pray,
your love in our hearts, Lord,
at the end of the day.

Lord of all gentleness,
Lord of all calm,
whose voice is contentment,
whose presence is balm,
be there at our sleeping,
and give us, we pray,
your peace in our hearts, Lord,
at the end of the day.

–Jan Struther

Press on

Leave a comment

Nails?

That song by the group Selah? Which I’ll link to for interest.

No.

I’m talking coffee.

Cause that’s what I need right about … now. I’m exhausted. Coffee alone isn’t going to do it. I need to pray more, work out, eat better, get more sunshine, get more sleep. But at this moment, the only thing available to me is my coffee press.  So, that’s what I’m going to do. In Jesus’ name. Press on.

Speaking of exhaustion. Hilarious re-post at Simcha Fisher’s blog.

Secret agent man

Leave a comment

“I am an agent of God.”

That’s the sentence Henry wrote in his effort to use his spelling word agent.

When we were praying at dinner, he said that when he prayed at school, the two boys around him asked what he was doing. He told them. They said they don’t go to church. He asked if he should hide his prayer. We said, no. It’s fine to pray silently before your meal.

Then he asked if he could wear his St. Michael necklace or his Miraculous Medal to school. (I didn’t even know he knew it was called the Miraculous Medal.) He gave a quiet, “yessss,” when we said he could. Richard reminded Henry that by his good example, he could encourage other boys and girls to want to know God.  Henry smiled and nodded. His IS an agent of God.

I’m not really sure what his teacher is going to think of our secret agent when she reads Henry’s other sentence: “I practice shooting guns at the range.” God and guns. Great.

Dear John

Leave a comment

If you don’t listen to Fr. John Riccardo’s podcasts of his weekly homilies, you should. He’s pastor at Our Lady of Good Counsel in Plymouth.

I do it on my itouch while unloading/reloading the dishwasher. It makes one of my least favorite housekeeping tasks something to look forward to. I go back and listen to old ones, too. 8 minutes of always enlightening, meaningful good stuff.

Here’s the link. Or you can get them free on itunes.

He’s my brother

Leave a comment

I watched Clifford free fall from the hearth into Henry’s waiting arms. Cliff would chuckle; Henry would rub the baby’s head. Then Clifford was back on his feet, climbing up, ready to do it again (and again and again). I have to admit, I had to stop myself from stopping them. I think I silently gasped each time. Although it’s only about an 18 inch drop, it was a sight to behold: Cliff’s absolute faith that Henry would be there to catch him.

He's my brother

I finally said to Henry, “Wow, he really trusts you.”

“Of course he does,” said Henry. “I’m his brother.”

That is what Christ asks of us. Complete trust. He is, after all, our brother. We should look to him with the simple trust of a little child.

It took a while for me to come to grips with that particular familial relationship with Christ. It sounded a little groovy to me. You know, like people calling each other brother or sister. As in, “Peace, my brotha.” Farrrr out.

But once I finally got it: God father, Christ brother, Heaven home–his place in my day-to-day life forever changed. I finally realized I could put my trust in Him in all things. Big and little. Even when I’m in a free fall. He is, after all, my brother.

At that time the disciples approached Jesus and said, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” He called a child over, placed it in their midst, and said, “Amen, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children,  you will not enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever receives one child such as this in my name receives me.” –Mat 18 1-5

School daze

Leave a comment

And I’m talking about me.

After five years of homeschooling, kids are back in school. Helen’s off and away studying music, Lil in Montessori school. And our lives are drastically different. And I am dazed and confused.

Cherished evening time has become evening rush time. Homework, soccer practice, piano lessons and practice. Today we actually stood around the fridge to pray. Instead of lighting a candle for day one of our novena in lovely nine-candle plate, I ran off a copy of the prayer on a sheet with a table of days so we can check them off. Plunk. Used a magnet and stuck it on the fridge. It felt kind of pathetic. And that made me sad. That’s not what I want.

When we homeschooled, we didn’t have homework. We just had work. We finished and then went on with our lives.  But since we had such a difficult year last year, with Helen’s senior year and all the events associated with that, with college apps and auditions. Not to mention a new baby and (scarily diminished) business. I felt like a homeschooling failure. Or at least inadequate. We didn’t even belong to a group or go on many field trips. I couldn’t begin to contemplate the logistics of any of that. My brain and body were maxed out.

So after lots of prayer and questionable moments of sanity, we decided school would be best.

And I’m not saying it isn’t. Teachers seem great. The kids are adapting beautifully, are well prepared and enjoying their days. But I have to figure out how to cope. If we’re called to be a people set apart, how can we do that when we’re stuck in the throes of all this? Can I still do my very best job keeping faith as the focus in the the lives of these precious gifts from God? How do we add a rosary at night when we’re scrambling to finish dishes, homework and get them to bed on time?

I know we’re only in the second week.

But this is our new normal. At least for now, and we have to figure out how to make it all work.

Prayers would be great. (Ain’t too proud to beg …)

Fly like a bird

3 Comments

Fly Like a Bird (a clip of Helen and me singing at our benefit concert.)

Well, today was the day. The day we moved Helen to school. The moment the  soundtrack to our daily lives changed, forever.

This is the day, as parents, we look forward to. Not because our fledgling is gone, but because she can fly. I can’t feel sadness. How could I? She’s wonderful. But I can feel the pain of separation. And, that is what I think we all fear most and try to avoid. The pain of separation.

Flying high

I could give you a blow- by-blow of the events. From my avoidance (not going upstairs at all through most of this week), to the the tearful goodbyes of the younger sibs, or the sweet note she left for Henry, and the gut-punch sound when it finally hit my dear spouse. We both kept so busy focusing on the process to try to avoid the inevitable feelings of disbelief that we could even be at this stage in our lives. Our daughter could not possibly be leaving our safe little nest.

But she is. And it’s good. (We’re happy she’s not too far away.) It’s her turn to fly,  and our turn to sit back and wonder how high.

Fly like a bird to the Lord, my soul.
I want to soar like an eagle.
Though I may journey far away from home,
I know I’ll never be alone.

O God, you know who I am.
You know my hopes and my dreams.
In my pondering and fears,
in my joy and in my tears,
O God, your presence is real.

Where can I run from your love?
Where can I hide from my God?
From the dawn of morning’s light
to the darkness of the night,
O God, your presence is real.

–Ken Canedo