Are We Really That Old?

 I would be lying if I said that my 50th High School Reunion snuck up on me. My husband is a few years older and he used Covid and needing to wear a mask as an excuse to avoid his reunion. I had subconsciously kept the possibility of a long road trip this year in my budget planning. 

When the date was announced I had a mixed bag of emotions. Traveling 1200 miles to spend a few hours with some people I knew when I was a teen might not be the best use of my time or money. But then, I haven't been back to that part of the country for a while and might not have another excuse/opportunity. I have lost touch with the girls I hung out with in high school for the most part, but I have been communicating with some of the people I didn't know as well on social media for a while and it would be good to see them in person. 

After tossing the idea around in my head for a couple of months I decided that we could afford the trip time-wise and money-wise. My husband and I made reservations, requested time off, and started planning our trip. Stopping to see relatives along the way and hitting one or two tourist spots helped justify the trip that I still had not convinced myself would be worthwhile.

Long story short; I went, and I dragged my husband along who ended up being the hit of the party at my all-girls school. We attended a casual party the evening before where we had an opportunity to catch up. The next day we went to mass together with the other honored classes and then we toured the school and had dinner together. Our discussions convinced me that despite fifty years of life, each of us was still the same person who walked across that stage in 1973. The talkative ones are still talkative, the organizers still organize, the worriers still worry, and the elegant dressers still do. One thing I found fascinating was that more than half of the class claimed to be the "shy one".

Walking through the school we noticed how well the building had aged and the updates that we could not have imagined. The Home Ec Room is now used for the band and orchestra, while the library is now a media center with no books. The reverse image Xerox machine is long gone and I am sure that no current student could imagine what a mimeograph machine is for. We talked about what teachers we had in each room and how much we appreciate them.

We finished the evening catching up on each other's lives and trying to learn about those we had not heard from. We chatted about who had passed away, who has kept in contact with whom, and who let us know they couldn't make it, and we wondered about the people no one has heard from.

Fifty years is a long time but these are the women that I spent my formative years with and the women who have lived through much the same reality during our adult life. We lived through NASA, Civil unrest, and Vietnam physically together and we are still emotionally together experiencing five decades of personal, American, and World history from similar lenses.

I took the time to spend a few hours with the girls, now women who I care about because they are part of my history and I am glad I did.

Lori's Tomatoes

 There is an older gentleman who goes to my church and can be seen most weekends in summer handing out homegrown vegetables to whoever is interested. He offers tomatoes, squash, and peppers to anyone he sees, no matter how well he knows them. Inevitably someone makes a comment about how he must be such a dedicated gardener and how much he must enjoy growing and eating from his substantial garden. He answers that he doesn't eat tomatoes or squash or peppers, he just plants them for his wife. This sounds like a sweet thing for him to do and she must be very grateful. What makes it even more sweet and nice is that she passed away more than a dozen years ago. Jake has been planting a garden for his dear deceased Lori for over a decade even though he doesn't eat anything that comes out of it.  This amazes me that he would show his love for so many years with such dedication. 

When she was alive, they were a very typical older couple; they had raised a larger family, and like most families, there had been some rough spots and stresses. They weren't the type to make a big public display of affection. But Jake still goes out every spring and plants a vegetable garden for Lori. One time I told him that I think of Lori whenever I eat one of the tomatoes and he muttered a thank you but I could see the depths of the thanks in his eyes.

I have not had to deal with the loss of a spouse or a child, but I hope if or when I do I can honor that person with the elegance Jake does.

In the Moment

 Not too long ago I had the pleasure of watching my one-year-old grandson at my house. He was fun to watch playing with his toys, checking to see if he could outsmart the baby-proof cabinet, and running down the hall to visit Grandpa. Then, after about forty-five minutes exhaustion hit and he was in tears. The only thing that calmed him down was snuggling up in my lap. Not only did he have to sit there, but he had to have my complete attention. If I picked up my phone or a book he started whining again. I realized that he wasn't going to be happy unless and until I was totally present to him. So we sat together and in a few minutes, his head dropped to his chest. I moved him to my shoulder and went back to my multitasking, but realized how important those moments with him were.

Afterward, I started thinking how that time of being totally present is something I do not strive for nearly enough; on the phone with my kids, listening to my husband talk about his interests that I do not necessarily share, in prayer. If I could focus and concentrate like that during mass, what would that do to my spiritual life? If I spent even a few minutes concentrating on my husband, how much could that improve my marriage?

Multitasking by itself is not a bad thing. If our minds did not drift to what we need to get done, many things would never get done. But maybe trying to be more present with our family and friends and more focused during prayer are good goals. We are not wired to laser focus on each task we do, but how wonderful it is when we have the opportunity to be totally present for a moment or two.

Guest Paper

 When I was born, we lived on the East side of Manhatten in the top-floor apartment of a brownstone. The landlords were Mr. and Mrs. Hyman, an older couple with who my newlywed parents had a good relationship. We eventually moved out and had a house in the suburbs and I had several siblings. I remember one Sunday we packed up the car and went down to Manhatten to visit the Hymens. As a youngster of about five, it was pretty uneventful. I knew the routine for visiting adults: don't touch anything without permission, don't argue with your sister, be polite, and so on. At some point, I had to go to the bathroom and after getting permission, I went in. It was a typical old people's bathroom with a cover on the toilet and just cluttered enough that you knew it was used regularly. I noticed that on top of the toilet there was a roll of toilet paper that was noticeable thin and scratchy. Scratchier than I had ever seen in my short life. On the toilet paper holder was a nice soft roll of two-ply quality paper. For some reason that really set my mind spinning. Why would anyone buy such scratchy paper? why not use the nice stuff all the time? will they use up that roll of good paper after we leave or put it away someplace until the next time they have guests? Do they actually like scratchy paper? I certainly was too shy to ask Mrs. Hymen directly and I never did talk to my Mom and Dad about it.

I started thinking about this incident when I dug out a roll of not-so-nice toilet paper that I bought in the Spring of 2020 when there were not many choices. As I wish that I had not bought such a large package of this thin, not-soft paper I remember the Hymens.  They were definitely of an age to have been affected by World War II, I do not know if they were in the US or Europe at that time and I also do not know if they had friends or relatives who were in battle or in concentration camps. Were they in the habit of being frugal, even with toilet paper, or did they feel bad about small everyday luxuries? Did they switch the rolls to honor their guests, or did they think that these young people could not handle austerity?

At this late date, I cannot ask anyone for more details, but I can ponder. How attached am I to small, and not-so-small creature comforts? Am I grateful for all these first-world comforts? Do I ever think about those who live much simpler lives, either by choice or necessity?  

So I guess I have learned to not put the single-ply toilet paper in the guest bathroom. But also, put out the better, matching dishes, open the new box of crackers, use that better bottle of wine, celebrate that I have friends and family that come over to spend time with me. Also, remember those who don't have the option of better toilet paper.

At Least I Am Not in the Belly of a Whale.

 My very religious, very Evangelistic neighbor has been telling me lately that she is excited about all the mayhem going on in the U.S. because it is making so many people turn towards God and pray. It is an unusual take on how to handle what you do not like about what is going on around you. She is seriously rejoicing in things being bad. This got me thinking about what should I be doing as far as praying and acting to improve things I know are not good and not God's will.

The Old Testament readings at Sunday mass the past couple of weeks mention Samuel and Jonah. Both were called by God, both had some trouble at first, but then eventually did listen and follow God's will. What does that mean to us living in 2021? Are we listening to God? How is he calling us? I don't think many of us are woken up in the middle of the night by the voice of God. Neither are we told specifically where to go and what to do like Jonah was, nor are we likely to be swallowed by a giant whale if we do not act on what God is asking of us, but we need to be alert to listen to what God is calling us to do and be. 

How do we know what God wants of us? Listening at church and following our Church traditions teaches us to pray and ask for what we need. But how do we know if God wants more than prayer? Somebody needs to do the action. How alert are we to the quiet voice in our heart that leads us to a particular action whether it be working at a food pantry, praying in front of an abortion clinic, spending some extra time on the phone with a friend or neighbor who needs your companionship, writing to elected officials, running for office,  peaceful protests, going on a mission, fasting for an intention, or even something more life-changing? Many of us have already set the path for our major vocation, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't be constantly listening for God who might show us what he wants by having a job layoff and then a very different opportunity arises, a nagging feeling that you need to be doing something for a particular group or cause, obstacles that get in the way of what you want to do that make you have second thoughts. 

Looking back, I can see some times in my life where God led me to be somewhere or do something. After losing a teaching job due to the school closing, I stumbled into a job working in a shelter for homeless, pregnant women. It was hard but very fulfilling, I grew and I know I helped many people. I was led to work in a Catholic school with some very supportive co-workers the year that we had several family crises. It wasn't exactly being swallowed by a fish and being spat out where you belong but I still ended up going someplace I had no intention of going. If you think about it, I suspect you can find some times when God managed to get you where you belong, even though it was not your first choice. 

So I cannot rejoice as much as my neighbor about bad times bringing people closer to God, but I can and will pray and be alert to where I am being led and to say "Here I am Lord, I come to do your will." 

Socially Distanced Cookies

 This year my daughter-in-law, my daughter, and I decided to try a drop-off cookie and pastry exchange. Normally we would be bringing such treats to multiple gatherings on both sides of the family, but with the Covid restrictions, we had to figure out a way to get our baking fix without eating six dozen of the same cookie ourselves. 

So I got to work and made my personal favorites, chocolate biscotti, and chocolate chip cookies. I decided I had the time and energy to make one more type and asked my husband what he wanted. His reply was he loves iced sugar cutouts, like my sister makes, with lots of details and really pretty. My sister usually bakes about 20 dozen cutouts each year and spends several days painting them and using them as gifts for business associates. and church friends. She is much more artistically talented than I and I usually only bake cutouts when I can't get any of hers.

So I pulled out my favorite recipe and set to work. The dough came together without mishap and I put it in the fridge to firm up. I looked over my collection of cookie cutters and pulled out about eight, reminding myself that I need to not do more than I have the time or talent for. The icing looked and smelled good and I was ready to get to work. Then I realized that if you only decorate cookies every few years, you don't necessarily have all the tools you need. A toothpick and a spoon worked well enough to cover the large areas so I was a little emboldened. That is when things started to unravel. I could not get the colors to blend the way I wanted so each Santa had a dusty rose hat. My hand was not steady enough to get the eyes straight and then I started rushing and realized I was going to have a lot more to clean up because I was rushing. After an hour or so I decided that a single color on each cookie and some sprinkles would do. They taste good and my husband is satisfied, even though they do not look like bakery quality.

I started thinking about how this baking experience relates to Advent and how I should be preparing myself for Jesus coming. It feels like I was fighting most of my bad habits during this project, rushing, trying to do too much, not taking the time to find the right tools, giving up, and taking shortcuts. I will probably get more compliments on the cookies that I bake more often, just like I can do most things better when I practice them. Like the cookies, I am pretty good as is. But this time of year we as Catholics and Christians have the opportunity, even the duty, to try to become more prepared for the coming of our Lord, not only at Christmas but when we meet Him face to face at the end of our life. 

Make sure to find a way to enjoy the Christmas season, even if it means some major changes in tradition. We can all learn to enjoy simple things and appreciate all the wonders of the season.

A Walk or a Hike?

 I just wanted to let you know that my husband and I completed a 3.25-mile hike on the Peewah Trail at Trail of Tears State Park. My husband said that it would be impressive and I could tell everyone about my accomplishment. If you are not duly impressed, I better let you know the rest of the story.

Ron and I enjoy taking walks, usually in the neighborhood, sometimes when we are out of town. We recently took a couple of days off for our anniversary and drove to Cape Girardeau, MO. We knew that there were a couple of state parks with some hiking trails in the area and we thought that walking a mile or so along one of these trails would be a good way to enjoy an hour or two together. We went to the Visitor's Center at the park and got a map of the trails. I should have worried when I asked her how hard the trail was and she replied that we should be able to do it since we were wearing hiking shoes. As she described that there were some hills and tree roots I should have been listening better. She gave us a trail map that Ron stuck in his pocket.

So we drove to the trailhead and grabbed the 1/2 filled water bottle that was in the car. (We had left the cooler at the hotel.) Despite the weather report calling for rain, we started out with the sun shining and the temperatures in the mid-seventies. We went up and down the first couple of hills and they were a little steep. Ron said it was about the same as the hill leading to our house, I reminded him that the road to our house is paved and isn't 3.25 miles. He also on every uphill shouted out that downhill can be harder than uphill. I responded only when you have sore knees, and that is not a problem for either of us. 

The views of the Mississippi River were fantastic and the autumn leaves were stunning as we ambled along. The temperature was creeping up and the hills were starting to feel steeper. Ron pulled out the map and we realized we had not even gotten even halfway along the loop. I finally looked at the map and realized that those topographic lines that show you how steep the hills are were very close together and there was a whole lot of them. I was kind of watching the clock and figured that walking on pavement we should do about three miles an hour, so a casual walk on a path should be maybe twice that? About this point, the walk became a hike and was less enjoyable as I started thinking about how tired and out of breath I was becoming. I was also getting jealous of my husband, who is a good five years older than me, moving at a pretty quick clip and wearing a dress shirt and khakis. Every time I stopped to catch my breath, he would be concerned but confused. I started having "what if" thoughts about possible illness or accident way out in the middle of nowhere and no way to get rescued. It didn't help any when Ron decided it would be a good idea to spread out about ten feet so if one of us falls, we don't knock down the other one. I definitely was not enjoying this chore of finishing the hike at this point.

We kept tramping along, got off the trail by about 100 feet once, and had to stop to figure out where the trail went three or four times. I did trip and fall one time and threatened Ron with his life when he started to pull out his phone to take a picture. Eventually, after almost two hours we figured out where we were on the map and I felt better knowing that we were heading back toward the trailhead. About this time I also noticed that the breeze was getting cold and damp and there was a faint sound of thunder in the distance. Thinking about the impending rainstorm just made us move a little faster.

We got back to our car after two hours and fifty minutes. I looked at the sign and besides listing all the hazards of the trail, it gave a suggested time to plan for the trip. 3.5 hours. I just looked at the sign, then at Ron, and then back at the sign. We had just basically sprinted around that trail! I had not enjoyed the hike because I thought that I was lazy and out of shape when we could have stopped many more times and still been typical hikers. Ron is almost a foot taller than me and his legs are much longer so he was taking fewer steps. Also, my ego wouldn't let me admit that he is just better than me at long walks, probably genetically. 

Yes, we will go hiking again. No, I will not feel guilty about setting a slower pace. I will definitely plan better, bringing enough water and looking at the map more carefully. I will try to be less competitive and just enjoy the moment.

It Shows

 I had the opportunity to spend two weeks in a kindergarten classroom recently and was reminded of how honest they are about what goes on in their life.  I also was reminded that they usually do not have the communication skills to express their feelings well, nor the ability to make many changes in their lives. 

When they get tired, they either fall asleep in their chair or do whatever it takes to stay awake and alert; often this involves making noise or moving in ways that the teacher does not condone. When they are scared or worried, you might see tears, but you are just as likely to see anger or silliness.

I think as parents or other involved adults, we often are so wrapped up in our own problems that we forget that our children have feelings about what they see and perceive. Most teachers can tell when a child is exposed to some kind of change at home. It might be a sick relative, a missing pet, a change in the family routine, or something else that they have no control over. Often the adults have little or no control either. But some things the adults do have control over. No child should have to listen to the adults around him/her argue or fight. They should not have to listen to one adult put down another adult.  They definitely should not have to be exposed to immoral behavior whether it is drug use or theft, or violence towards a person or place. 

Yes, your child's teacher knows when there is something that your child is struggling with, whether it is a change in your work hours, a fight with an ex-spouse, or any of a myriad of other things. But you, as a parent, can do much more to help your child verbalize and deal with his/her emotions. Sometimes you can fix the problem, sometimes, not, but you are the one most likely to be able to pinpoint what it is that is hurting your child's heart.

So, when you are at your wit's end, even if it is not intuitive, give your child an extra hug, spend a couple of minutes talking to him/her, remember that they are feeling most of the same stresses you are and they cannot control anything about it.

Change

Change is hard; at least that is what they say. I have been going through some changes in my life lately and I don't know if "hard" is the right word. "Unsettling" or "confusing" might be better, but I am not sure.
Back in January, my husband talked me into retiring from a non-profit job that I was getting very stressed about and start taking social security. I took on a part-time job to avoid getting into our retirement money too quickly. Then, like everyone else, we had to deal with Covid-19, lockdowns, travel restrictions, and fewer job options. Around April someone asked me how my retirement was going. I answered that it felt like I was on lockdown, almost like a prison.  I finally started to realize that I was having trouble adjusting to not only the change brought about by Covid-19 but also and even more so the change of being retired. That was hard to wrap my head around; who wouldn't want to have more free time and less responsibility?
As I was reflecting and adjusting I realized that the struggle I was having with change was something I had gone through many times as a parent and a family member.
Everyone expects you to be overwhelmed with the change of getting married and the change of having your first child. When a family member passes away, everyone supports you through the change. But there are plenty of life events that can throw you for a loop. But, you often do not expect it and those around you can't see your struggle. Things like a child starting kindergarten or moving out of the house permits you to have tears, but you are expected to move on pretty quickly.
Children growing up, starting school, graduating, moving out, marrying are all obvious changes and your friends and family realize the change and are supportive Death of loved ones, career changes and relocating are also changes that garner support.
But even with support from friends and family, you need to shift your thinking as life changes.
One of the life changes that I have struggled with and that I see others struggle with is acknowledging your child is an adult. I remember sitting in my daughter's apartment at a family event and looking at the kitchen table where four adults who looked and sounded like my children and children in law were acting like adults and having a discussion about something very mature, like cleaning methods and supplies. That was a reality check, but I still had a learning curve on how to relate to them as adult children instead of dependent children. I am getting better, but I still need to work on suggesting instead of telling; giving advice without either of us feeling obliged. As I have learned to step back and treat my children the same way I would any other young adult, our relationship has grown and improved. My children are all out of the house, gainfully employed, and don't need someone telling them what to do. I have had to learn to be the friend that I could not be when they were young and needed much more direction. I am also beginning to see the shift to them helping us. I am learning to not feel bad about asking them to bring a dish for dinner or come over to fix something.

I have always loved my children, now I love them in a different way than I did when they were little. It is a big change, but not a bad one.

“In rivers, the water that you touch is the last of what has passed and the first of that which comes; so with present time.”― Leonardo da Vinci

Forgiveness

There is much written in scripture about forgiving those who wronged you. But scripture does not give you a step by step instruction, nor does it go into detail about the complex emotions involved.
A couple of months ago I was falsely accused of being abusive to a client. Somehow through poor communication, lack of checking on documentation, and who know what else I was invited to resign. I was furious and had no idea who to be mad at. I presumed a supervisor had taken advantage of the situation to hurt me, but couldn't figure out who. Fast forward five days to when I finally got to talk to the CEO of the organization who apologized and assured me that was not her intention that I leave on poor terms or that I leave at all. She requested that I rescind my resignation, which I did since I had no other employment lined up.
At this point I should be able to forgive and move on, right? No, human nature keeps it from being that easy.
At this point I cried, a lot. I calmed down enough to go back to the office and waved down my supervisor. She was a little leery of coming into my room considering how angry I had been acting the previous few days. I broke into tears again and told her I was sorry that I didn't trust her. We talked for at least a half hour and things were good between us. That was easy. The hard part was yet to come.
I knew I had to reconcile with the two workers who ran that "termination meeting."; one of whom I have known for over 30 years. I had heard that she was very upset about how events had spun out of control. I sent her a text, " I forgive you, lets talk." It took her a week to respond and we finally sat down at a coffee shop and talked. I wanted so much to tell her about how hurt I was that she could believe that accusation, how I hadn't slept since that day, about my physical symptoms of the stress I had gone through, but I consciously chose not to. I let her do most of the talking, Her apology did not admit any fault on her part, which bothered me, but we were talking again and things were not quite back to normal, but close enough to function.
Reconciling with the other worker was a little problematic. She was the HR person and was in a different building. I have little or no opportunity to socialize with her but then I have to deal with her because she runs the HR department. It took a while but I decided that I need to treat her like nothing happened. I had to call her about my time card and was civil and polite. That might have surprised her. Last week she was in our building for something and I sat down a cross from her at lunch. She was uncomfortable at first, but got pulled into the conversation and seemed to relax. We passed pleasantries back and forth the rest of the afternoon and she went out of her way to wish me a pleasant weekend when she left. I think she feels forgiven.
This past month I have learned that forgiveness is an action, not a feeling. Feelings don't necessarily go away, but forgiving is still part of the healing process. I don't think I could have continued at this job unless I chose to forgive those who hurt me. I still carry the hurt; but it is hurt, not anger. I have learned that you can't force an apology, especially one that you will be satisfied with.
"Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us." Yes, forgiveness is freeing. We all get hurt by other humans. We need to forgive whether or not the offender apologizes or even shows any remorse. We need to learn to let go of the anger, anger does not heal hurt. The hurt will heal faster without that layer of anger and hate on top of it.

Lent is Over, Now What?

“The Strife is o'er, the battle done.” 

is the first line in an Easter hymn. After seven weeks of making sacrifices for Lent, sometimes I feel the battle is done at Easter. It is really easy to quickly get back to where I was before Lent as far as resuming what I had given up and stopping the extra things I had done. It would be so easy to spend the entire Octave of Easter sitting in a comfortable chair eating and drinking what I had given up for Lent and playing mindless computer games.

But I started thinking, how does doing something special for two months and then stopping help me become the best person I can be? The short answer is that it probably doesn't. I needed to evaluate what I was doing and the motivation behind it. I used to give up desserts or chocolate every Lent and often managed to drop a few pounds. I did not give up sweets or really any food this year and I also didn't lose any of that winter weight I was planning to lose. But maybe that is a good thing. Making a sacrifice for the Lord is good, getting my weight down is also good.; but can I really do both at the same time? If I give up candy or other food item with the intention of making myself look or feel more attractive, it is not a sacrificial action. I am just fooling myself that I am doing it for God.

I did give up some leisure things I take pleasure in. My friends with whom I used to play on line games might have noticed. The benefit to me was more free time to pray, to think and reflect and to make better use of the time which is a gift of God. Now that it is the Easter season I need to continue to keep a balance in my life. So far I have managed to not start any new games and I have been pretty good about doing something more useful when I have a few minutes to kill. So now instead of conquering the next level I am conquering the pile of laundry in the basement. I may slip back before next Lent because I am human, but hopefully I will have made some permanent gains.

What about the extra things I have done: increased prayer time, adoration, weekday Masses? It is so temping to slow down and relax now that Lent is over. It is hard, with our hectic lives, to continue daily Mass or adoration or an extra prayer time if we set Easter as our goal line. The ideal would be that I have come to love my time in prayer so much that I am not tempted to cut back after Easter. The reality is that, as a typical human, I love my prayer time, but I also love sleeping in and a myriad of other things that soak up the time I was going to use for prayer like a sponge. I am beginning to realize that I need to keep sacrificing, at least in some ways, if I really want to grow more in the direction of holiness.

Maybe my thoughts on Lent need to change. Like an athlete who practices a specific move over and over again in anticipation of being able to execute during the big game, I need to use the time of preparation, (Lent) to build the skills I need to conquer sin and death. Like that clutch hit or last minute free throw, I am a whole lot more likely to attain my goal, (heaven) if I do the preparation.

Christ opened that gates of heaven on Easter, we all are called to try to improve ourselves during Lent and beyond so we can enter those gates when the time comes.

Phone Conversations With Dad

My Mom has been struggling with Alzheimer's. It is a horrible disease that slowly robs the victim. But I want to talk about my Dad who has been having to deal with his wife of over 60 years slowly disappear and his world turn upside down.

My Dad has always been kind of quiet, especially at home. He seldom told you what he was thinking and would never disagree with Mom in front of us. Most of our conversations were about sports or about family members or maybe his giving us some advice. He was strict, but seldom emotional.

When we grew up and moved out of the house we were all expected to call once a week and talk to Mom. Dad would get on the other line and listen in, but he seldom said anything. Mom would pick up the phone, she would call Dad, then she would check to make sure he picked up and then we would talk. Often Dad would not say a word until it was time to say goodbye. I guess I presumed he was listening, never really thought about it, but he always knew what was going on with me.

When Mom was diagnosed several years ago, it was hard for both of them. Dad had been taking care or the financial needs and Mom would take care of the physical needs but that was going to change. Dad cut back on his work schedule and his social life and also allowed us kids to help him for the first time. He gradually stepped in and took some of Mom's load and paid for help in the areas he couldn't handle. About a year ago Mom got to the point that she could not live in the house and moved to the skilled care center. That is the point that I was not calling home to talk to Mom, but to Dad.

In the past year I have gotten to know my Dad in a different way. He couldn't just sit and listen on the phone. At first the conversation was mostly about Mom, but gradually we have learned. He tells me more about how he is doing and what he is doing. He is gradually learning to ask the questions Mom used to and I am learning that he really was interested in what I was saying all along. We talk about the weather, and the family and about sports, but sometimes we start to get on a more intimate level. He will talk about his reminisces and his memories; that conversation was always be filtered through Mom in the past.

Last week he told me about reading through the letters he and Mom wrote back and forth while he was in the service. She told him about her new niece, my cousin. Dad reflected how much has changed. That baby is now a grandmother and the young lovers who were fascinated by that baby were married, raised six children of their own and have been blessed by 20 grandchildren and two great grandchildren. This is a part of my Dad I had never met before.

It is hard to watch my Mom deteriorate and my Dad suffer through it with her. But I am very blessed that I am getting to know a part of my Dad that he used to only share with Mom. I know that as both of them age, our relationships will evolve and there will be some sad times; but I am learning to embrace the positive pieces, the intimate times.  

Writing with God's Little Pencil

Okay, I have a blog, I have a theme for my blog and I have a few ideas. But you might wonder why I started this? This really isn't my idea.

Now don't get me wrong, I like having people read what I write, I really like when they tell me that I write well and that they enjoy what I wrote. But God told me that this in not what the Catholic Pickle Jar is about. Let me explain.

I do enjoy putting my thoughts on paper, I think I write better than I speak. But I had gotten away from writing anything to get published the past few years. I did some professional writing in an educational journal about 15 years ago, but since then the most creative thing I wrote was our annual Christmas newsletter. However, I occasionally toyed with the idea to write for profit.

Recently I started seeing posts about www.Catholic365.com looking for volunteers to write essays. These posts kind of ate at my heart and I finally sat down to the keyboard and wrote an essay to contribute. The next day I checked and there were over 1000 shares, I don't have that many friends; I am pretty sure I don't even know 1000 people that I could convince to open up a web page, much less to share. Of course my ego goes into high gear and I start thinking about being a rich, well known author and living off the income all through retirement. 

Then God laughed at me. Second article was not nearly as popular and I get a case of writer's block. I start second guessing myself and backing down from my grandiose plans.

Then Saturday comes and I go to the Catholic Women for Christ Conference. I can't tell you what the speakers said, I think the theme was something about setting the world on fire, but I know what I heard. Between the lines God was telling me that I do need to write about being Catholic; I didn't need to worry about numbers of hits or appealing to a broad audience; he would take care of making sure the person who needed to see my message would. By the lunch break I was in a cold sweat and my heart was pounding in my chest. I wasn't actually crying, but felt like I was about to start. I told the ladies I came with to not wait for me for lunch and headed for the Adoration Chapel. I sat down and asked God what did He want of me. It only took me about ten minutes and I had mentally committed to writing from a Catholic viewpoint, not plan on being a financial success, know that even if my audience is small, God will help the people that need to see my page find it. (If this whole scene sounds weird to you, imagine how I was feeling.)

I went home and by the next day had www.theCatholicpicklejar.blogspot.com set up. I still am not quite sure how this all came together. If anything on here ever inspires you, please share with others. I promised God that I was going to do my best work and not just throw just anything up there to increase traffic or boost my ego.

I was thinking while I was driving to work today that God is asking a lot of me, I go to church, I raised my kids pretty well, I try to be a good wife, I even work at a Catholic homeless shelter. How big a piece of me does the Lord want? But I know the answer to that; He, who gave me all, wants all of me. I guess I will just have to see where this ride takes me.

“I am a little pencil in God's hands. He does the thinking. He does the writing. He does everything and sometimes it is really hard because it is a broken pencil and He has to sharpen it a little more.”

Blessed Mother Theresa of Calcutta

P.S. to the Catholics who keep track of feast days, note the date. Holy Mary, Mother of God, Pray for us sinners

Catholic Food for Thought

Originally Published on Catholic365.com

A while back I was talking to someone at work and she told me that she knew I could cook because I was from a good Catholic family. It confused me because even though I do cook and I am from a Catholic family; I really couldn't see a relationship. I mean, I do know some very good Catholics that are mediocre cooks, and I know cooks who are not Catholic, even some who are not even religious. So what is the relationship, if there is one? I don't think that years of bringing food to pot lucks and helping at church dinners is what she was talking about.

There is one meal everyone in our “good Catholic” family attend at least weekly whether we are together or apart and that is the Eucharistic Celebration. Part of being Catholic is eating the body and blood of Jesus at Mass. As Catholics, food and meals are woven into our worship. Not only with the Last Supper but throughout the Old and New Testament breaking bread together is filled with meaning. Abraham eating with angel messengers, Joseph inviting his brothers to the banquet table, the miracle of the loaves and fishes; all these events revolve around food and hospitality. Doesn't it just make sense that food and eating together is a major part of our Catholic culture.

Our religion along with our ethnic cultures intertwine with lots of food symbolism; fish and fasts during Lent, special food on the table for Easter, Christmas and many saint days and other holy days. Most of these times include dining with family and friends.

Knowing that our meals reflect so much of our faith does seem to affect our attitude towards food. We make it a priority to eat together. We start our meal with grace. We often invite others to join us in our meal. When we place so much emphasis on meals it is only natural that we put a goodly effort into the quality of the food.

So it does fall together: As Catholics we worship and celebrate using food. As a family we use food to celebrate and to worship. As Catholic families, is it not normal and good to socialize, to grow to celebrate around a good meal? 

When Your Son is "Father"

This was originally published on Catholic365.com
on March 15, 2015

"Oh, Fr. X is your son, you must be so proud" I have heard that quite often in the five years since my son was ordained. I usually smile and say thank you but I am usually thinking that what I am proud of is different than what that speaker is thinking. I am proud of my son for listening to God and doing his will and persevering through two masters degree programs in half a decade of seminary. I am proud of him for giving up a lucrative career in the secular world and giving up the physical intimacy and joy of being in a family because God called him to be his servant.

What is it like to have a son who is a priest? When people ask me that question, many things come to mind. I worried about him being happy while he was in the seminary; that he would not be discouraged by the long, hard process with years of classes and formation. I pray that he does not feel isolated or overwhelmed with his many duties, most of which he does alone. I am grateful that he and his brother priests have a strong bond and that with modern technology he can text or call one of his former classmates for support. I am concerned when I hear about discrimination and hatred towards Christians anywhere in the world because men like him are the brunt of that hatred and are in danger. And yes, I am proud when I go to Sunday Mass where he is presiding, and I see attentive faces and smiles of understanding around me during the homily. I am also proud when I see his look of total concentration during Mass.

There are also some interesting perks related to being part of the sisterhood of mothers of priests. Someone pointed out to me that I am guaranteed not to have an empty church at my funeral because most of my son's friends and acquaintances at church goers who will be supportive of him. At his ordination, he gave me a box with the cloth he wiped his hands with after the bishop anointed him. He claims I am supposed to show it to St. Peter when I die and it should be a passport to heaven. (I sometimes worry that my family won't find that box when the time comes; it is in my bottom dresser drawer, guys.) Sometimes we get to benefit from some of the generosity of his parishioners. He has bought an occasional dinner from the stack of gift cards he received at Christmas or sometimes shows up at the house with a dessert that someone gave him. Then is the down side of not knowing what to get him for Christmas; we can't shop for shirts or ties for him at the local department store.

Being a parent is an amazing experience. The parent of a man who is doing what God has called him to do is even more so. I know I cannot take any credit for his vocation except for trying to help him know God and not discouraging him. Yes, I am proud of my son in many ways and I am grateful to God that he is fulfilling his calling as a priest.

Why a Pickle Jar?

I am starting this blog with the intention of writing about being Catholic and being part of a family.

So what's with the pickle jar?

Since I am a newbie as far as blogging,I found out that picking a name for a blog is a little tricky. Since there are many, many other sites on the Internet, I needed to come up with a name that is unique and creative. So the first twenty or so ideas I had were not going to work. The story about my sister and the pickle jar is one of my favorites and shows some of the quirkiness of my family.

Back when my sister was pregnant and the mother or two preschoolers, we were talking at a family gathering about getting basic things like shopping done when you are very pregnant and also have kids in tow. She said that someone told her to put a jar of pickles in your grocery cart and if your water breaks to drop the jar on the floor. That comment perplexed my brother who, at the time, had not experienced being a parent. He had all kinds of questions like do you actually buy the pickles or keep returning them at the last minute, what if you are at a store that doesn't sell pickles, and what are you going to do with three or four jars of pickles? Even now I can visualize my sister's kitchen with a whole shelf of pickles.

So how does this tie in with my theme?

Making a mess to cover up a mess is wrong but very human. We lie to cover up a lie, we hurt others when we feel hurt by them, even abortion is done to cover up a messy situation. We find it very hard to let go of our misguided plans and put that jar back on the shelf and find ourselves stocking up on negative solutions to problems.

God will give us a better solution to our problems if we just ask; just as the store manager doesn't want to keep returning jars to the store shelves or clean up broken glass.

I want to share with you some of my experiences with my faith and my family. Some are silly, some serious and some that remind me of my humanity. 

So keep checking in and I will tell you some of my thoughts on being a Catholic parent and family member. (and about my quirky family.)