a break in the clouds

This is long.  It is rambling.  And it is somewhat repetitious.  It is mostly a place for me to get things out of my head.  (Because there is already not enough room in there as it is!) The pictures are some I've taken this summer.  You can read as much or as little into them as you wish!

 The last year or so have had some rough patches.  But right now - and for the past few months - there seems to be a "break in the clouds" and I will take that for the gift that it is.

I have blogged about some of the events that have taken place in the last few months, but to do so as the tapestry is still being woven has left some gaps and missing threads.  I truly have felt like I was watching someone else's life unfold, and it has been amazing for me to watch.  

School has been bad for a long time.  It has gradually gotten that way, over a matter of years.  Our 'demographics' have changed.  A "failing" school nearby was closed a few years ago, and we absorbed many of those kids when we were already struggling to keep above water.  No one ever answered our SOS calls. The people I have worked with have, for the most part, been awesome, and that is one reason why I have stayed.  I think that happens in many struggling schools - the teachers band together and support each other because they don't get the support from anywhere or anyone else.  So while things were challenging, this school year was the first time ever in the 24 years that I had been at the school that I requested a transfer (requesting to transfer is NOT the same thing as actually getting a transfer...it just opens the door for you to pursue it).

This past year, I regularly calculated the amount of days remaining until retirement.  The formula went something like (3.5 x 182) + r, if r = the number of days remaining in the year.  I never purchase alcohol and rarely drink, but this year by the Thursday of testing week, I was rummaging in the kitchen drawers for a corkscrew.  I was sure the pain in my neck and shoulders would require professional assistance.  I could barely turn my head or tilt my head back to drink.  

Married life has also not been all sunshine and rainbows for some time now. Without dragging all of that out, lets just say that someone's expectations exceeded someone else's capacity to give.  And that some people seem happiest when they are miserable.  And that misery seems to expect company.  

In  mid April our principal stood before the school board and explained that she needed to be able to pick her own team of teachers and that she needed teachers that could teach these "children of poverty".  The school board, by a narrow margin, granted her permission to "reconstitute" her staff.  We would all need to reapply for our jobs and be interviewed if we wished to stay.  Having been told earlier in faculty meetings that we need to "own" the students' lack of achievement, it was the proverbial final slap in the face for many.  All of the blood, sweat, and tears we had given for years was so unappreciated.

I assumed that I would stay.  I had my reasons.  I had *only* 3.5 years remaining.  I didn't want to start over somewhere else.  I didn't want to move.  Better to stay with what you know than to go with what you don't know.  But truth be told, you can boil those reasons down to two:  fear and laziness.  

The pain and stress in my shoulders and neck intensified.

Nearly a week later - on April 23 - I was at daily Mass at the church near my school.  The first reading that day was from the Acts of the Apostles, and the first few sentences were something along the lines of the good that happened because of those who were scattered by persecution.  The Gospel spreading because of those who were persecuted.  This resonated with me, because by that point, it had become apparent that many on our faculty (good)  were going to choose to leave (scatter) because of the attitude and treatment (persecution) they had received.  

It was NOT a lightening-bolt moment.  It was just a quiet, "hmmm, that's interesting" moment.  I was at a point where I didn't even realize that I had a decision to make.  I just assumed it would be made for me.  If the principal wanted me, I would stay; and if not, I would go.  There is adoration after Mass on Tuesdays, and I had a few minutes before I had to be at school, so I stayed.  I jotted a few questions in my journal.  I said a quick prayer to be open to God's plan.  But I wasn't planning on making any life-changing decisions - at least not that day.  I had no idea what opening the door just a little bit had done.

When I got to school, I chatted with a co-teacher friend about 8th grade math and inquired about her plans for the coming year.  She was not returning.  I went on about my business for the day.  I can not explain what happened, but sometime before lunch, the thought formed in my head, "You do not have to come back here next year." (Was it that quiet whispering voice of God?)  By the time I went on lunch duty, I heard those words coming out of my mouth, "I'm not coming back here next year!"  And it felt good! 

As I drove home from school that day, I noted that I could turn my head without pain.  That, alone, was confirmation of my decision.  It has been nearly 3 months since that day, and that pain, that stress has NOT returned to my body.  One of my co-workers noted later that it "sounded like a healing".  Maybe it was!

I walked into my house, dropped my keys on the counter and said to my husband, "I'm not going back there next year."  "Good," was his reply.

The next day I went to Mass at my own parish.  I am sure the homily was not very memorable to most who attended that day, but all I could say when he finished was "wow!"  My good priest, had chosen to preach on how we hear the Spirit.  It starts as a seed planted in the Liturgy (just like at Mass yesterday).  Then it is nourished by prayer (staying for Adoration) and in talking with others (like my friend before school and other teachers during the day).  "We seldom hear God speak to us in a booming voice" (I sure didn't), he went on.  The Spirit works through ordinary things.  The more he said, the bigger my smile got.  It was as if he had been following me the day before.  I had to email him and tell him "thank you", even though I'm sure his homily was in no way intentional...more like following the Spirit.  More confirmation.

As I told my co-workers of my decision in the following days, I received responses ranging from high-fives to sadness to questioning if it was really God that I was hearing.  One of my favorite responses was from our 80-something year old clerk...the only person who has been there longer than me.  "Good for you!" she said.  The next morning, I found a fortune-cookie sized slip of paper in my box from her.  I taped it to an index card and stuck it on the door to the cabinet behind my desk.

As the year drew to a close, my co-workers and I began to dream of what might await us beyond our current situations.  There were a huge number of resignations and retirements during the school year throughout our system, so chances were excellent that there would be some desirable positions available.  If we chose to be displaced, we had to be placed somewhere, and we had first choice of what would be available.

"Don't work for a woman." (that piece of advice from a woman)
"Get off of this side of town." (From our campus cop)
"It's a matter of you choosing who you want to work for."
 "Don't go to a 'D' or 'F' school."
"You might like a mild/moderate class."  (from my friend who taught the mild/moderate class at our school)
"I think I might like a school where children actually bring pencils to school."
"My dream school will have its own Brainpop account," I messaged a co-worker one night.  "Way to dream big," she replied.
"I want a  good boss," I had texted one of my old [good] bosses.

"Where are you going?  What are you going to do?" people would ask.  "I don't know," I would reply with a smile.  "They have to put me somewhere and I'm sure God has a plan that is better than mine.  I'm sure wherever I end up, there will be a reason."  I stuck with that line throughout.  "God has a plan."  People would tell me that they were praying for me to get a "good school" and I would ask them to simply pray for me to know the "right one" when it presented itself.  But truthfully almost anything had to be better.

On May 6, ironically the first day of Teacher Appreciation Week, at a faculty meeting that lasted past 5 pm, as a huge roach crawled across the ceiling in our library, we were given papers to sign indicating whether we would (a) reapply for our jobs (b) voluntarily be displaced or (c) resign or retire.  Nearly 2/3 of the faculty checked the second option.  Only 6 core teachers of 19 asked to stay, and one of those has since accepted a job in another system.  Words like "blindsided" were whispered in the coming days, but I don't know if that was really the case.  However, I am glad the task of filling the shoes of those that chose to leave is not mine.  Other schools are gaining some wonderful teachers.

The next day, I returned to Mass at the church near my school.  "Sometimes it is better not to stay," said the pastor in his homily.  The Biblical reference was to the Ascension of Jesus, who could not stay with His Apostles,  but the application to my life was too obvious to be missed.  I had to hug him after Mass.  After 24 years, I had chosen not to stay.  More confirmation.

Married life continued to limp along.  Things were seemingly calm on the surface, but the anger and resentment leap out of any writing I did at that time.  My good confessor had told me months earlier to offer the anger to God every day.  He said it wasn't wrong to be angry, but to offer it so that Jesus could help me channel it.  And every day, to ask God to help me be as patient with   as God is with me.  And so I did.  About mid-May, with all the other stresses of special ed paperwork and moving and planning my last Honors night, my frustration with married life was overwhelming.  "I can't fix it. Only God can," were the words that ended a long, ranting journal entry - I guess that is where I channeled the anger.  Those are true words.  In our weakness is often when God's power is shown.  

Maybe it was that day, or maybe it was a few days later, I stood in front of the tabernacle in the quiet, empty church, and told God the same thing:  "I can't fix it.  You show me what I need to do, but you are going to have to handle the rest, Lord, because I am fresh out of ideas. You made him.  He's yours.  You fix him."  I think sometimes God gets right on those prayers...the prayers of desperation or surrender.  It didn't take him long before he showed me what I could do.  It was something I knew already, but haven't done nearly enough of.  I have had the sense for quite some time, that "this kind only comes out by prayer."

Later that morning, I met up with one of my favorite substitute teachers at school.  She is an older black lady, and there has been a connection from almost the first time she subbed for someone in my classroom.  We have had good conversations, and I love talking to her.  So that particular morning, I went out of my way to visit with her while she was standing outside of a classroom.  She started to tell me about a book that she had gotten the night before from her church library (where I had just visited hours earlier)  that she could NOT put down.  "The Power of  a Praying Wife," she said.  "Please, you HAVE to read it," she begged.   "OK, God, I hear you," I thought.  When I got home that evening, I dug out the Amazon Gift Card I had gotten for Christmas, downloaded the book, and began to read.  It was good.

Sunset over the Mississippi River 7.9.13

The school year was wrapping up.  Packing picked up steam.  The week before Mother's Day, I had placed a box on one of the desks in my classroom and labeled it "Give Away Box".  I explained to my students that they could take anything they wanted out of that box. Two items that were placed in there early on were a half burned candle in a cute container, and a kind of ugly yellow flowery coffee mug that I had used to hold pens and pencils.  Things I neither wanted to throw in the garbage or move.  Two different kids plucked them out of the box, and each kid asked me if I had some wrapping paper.  They were so proud to have something for their moms for Mother's Day.  It was sad and sweet all at the same time.

The Give Away box became two, and then covered a couple of desks, too.  I have a friend starting her own homeschooling business, so her husband came and picked up much of it.  I emptied filing cabinets (except for one drawer I had no idea what to do with).  I bagged the contents of my desk in ZipLocs and wiped out the drawers.  The closet gradually emptied.  I threw away so many things.  Finally it was done. The room echoed. There was a little twinge of sadness, but mostly relief.

I had heard about a potential opening at a middle school 4 minutes from my house.  It met one or two of the requirements on my list.  It was a mild moderate class in the back of the school somewhere.  I dropped off a resume and a cover letter and even interviewed with the principal, but the teacher who was leaving had not yet resigned.  I did what I could to make that job happen, but it did not.  So I assumed God's answer on that one was "no".

When Human Resources began to make the long-awaited phone calls, I once again found myself in the quiet church.  All along, I had prayed to know the right job when it came along, but now it was crunch time.  "How will I know?" I asked out loud to the good Lord.  There was silence.  But I clicked open my journal (it is on my iPad and is one of the best things ever).  I made 2 lists:  Jobs I Would Say Yes To and Jobs I Would Say No To.  There were 4 on each list.

Finally, I called HR, because they didn't seem to be calling me, and they started fumbling around for openings I was qualified for.  There were not many.  A self-contained class at School J, I automatically dismissed because it was "too far" to drive.  Others I said "no" to because they were worse than what I had left.  Nothing on my "yes list" was offered.  There was one more - one that I had put on my "no" list. But it seemed like the lesser of the evils being offered.  So in the heat of the moment, I accepted it.

When I met with the principal that afternoon, I found out that I had not gotten the whole story from HR, and that I would also be teaching 2 regular subjects in addition to 2 Special Ed classes.  I regretted the choice almost immediately.  The planning and paperwork would have been epic.  The next morning, June 21, I set to work trying to find out if the spot at School J was still available.  I emailed the principal.  I called.  I put the address in my GPS and drove to the school.  Took the chance that someone would be there, and ran into the principal and another staff member.  It felt right.  By that afternoon, the change had been made and I was elated.

As the weeks have passed, I have had time to process it, and check the items off of my wish list.

• Male principal. (Don't work for a woman.) Check.
• On the other side of town.  I think it is the furthest point away from my old school.  Check.
• Not a D or F school.  It's a D, oh well. (Editing to Add:  In October new "grades" came out, and the school improved to a "C")
• A Mild/Moderate class.  Check.
• In the back of the school, out of the drama. There is a garden outside my door.  Check.
• At a school where kids bring pencils. To be determined.
• With its own Brain Pop account. I checked it out, and it worked!  Check.  
• Principal with a soul.  I have heard promising things.  Check.
• Decent supervisor.  Again, I have heard good things.  Probably a check.  (Editing to Add:  Check.)

When I look at that list and see that God answered my prayers, pretty much down to the most ridiculous detail of having its own BrainPop account, I am in awe.  (There is still something in the back of my mind that thinks that may all go out the window when actual people show up, but for now, I am going with gratitude and answered prayers.)

Sometime in the midst of this, things began to be better on the homefront.  It is a superficial kind of better, but I will take that for now.  It is a happier attitude, acceptance, a smile.   I do not know why.  I don't know if it is prayer, or medications, or a reaction to my lack of stress.  But whatever the cause, it is something to be grateful for.

I am looking forward to the coming school year with hope, instead of dread.  God is so very good!

11/29/13 Editing to add:  When the "School Report Cards" were issued in October, my new school moved up from a "D" school to a "C" school.  Now even that can be checked off of the list.  Everything I asked for, I received, through no merit of my own.  Glory be to God!

  

metanoia

It's an interesting word - metanoia.  I've heard it defined as a spiritual turning of sorts.  Wikipedia offers several possible meanings.  Mirriam-Webster defines it as "a transformative change of heart."  It's what we are called to do.  On an ongoing basis, I think.

It has been a long summer in some ways.  Lots - did you hear me LOTS - of family togetherness.  Can you have too much?  My boys have not participated in any extra activities this summer (their choice), my husband has worked very little (not his choice), and with limited funds, I have mostly kept the car parked.

I have also resented it.  With my husband's anxiety, he has made it known that he likes it best when everyone is home.  So I have gone with the flow.  By default, he has had things the way he has wanted them in that respect, but he doesn't seem much happier.  And for me...."Absence makes the heart grow fonder?"  There hasn't been near enough absence, I assure you!

By the end of last week, I could feel a weight somewhere inside.  It was really nothing anyone had done, but I knew a bunch of feelings were brewing below the surface.  (Side note to interject that the seemingly unrelated pictures were taken last night as a storm gathered. The reddish tint made things look really weird).  I finally found some time to visit Jesus at the little Adoration chapel near the house Sunday evening.  I took my journal and I wrote... Peeled back some of the layers to see what was below the surface.

I was able to return again on Monday and as I sat, I asked Jesus, "If I were to go to confession soon, what would I tell you?"  Well, I don't know about you, but He is always pretty accommodating in answering that question for me!  Again I wrote.  And there was The List.

 

I almost always prefer to show up for confession within the scheduled time frames, but this time, I knew I wanted more than my share of the 10 minutes allotted before daily Mass.  So, needing wisdom, I emailed my  confessor and asked if he had time after Mass one day soon. "... See you tomorrow," he replied.  

I began by saying that I didn't mean for this to be a complaint session about current issues, and he uncharacteristically stopped me.  "When there are issues - and there are - don't apologize for being honest with God.  We are not doing this to be slanderous, but to give the issues to Jesus."   I continued.  There was stuff.  Sin is icky.  Attitudes and thoughts and feelings which I will spare you.  Discouragement and doubt in spite of God's goodness.  Tiredness.  

  

He listens.  Really listens.  He hears where I am at - not just the sin list.  He speaks.  Little by little, he turns things just a bit.  What he says really does nothing to change the situation I am dealing with.  But what he says changes the way I view (and respond to) the situation I am dealing with.  He pulls forth a little compassion that has been dormant for far too long.  Not by chastising, but by pointing the way.  Slowly, gently, chipping away at some of the hardness of heart.  

Sometimes it seems that everything I do has a cost - the disapproving look or thoughtless rude comment.  The good priest does nothing to change that fact, but acknowledges that it is probably true.  To be a follower of Jesus, we do have to share in His Life - in the Paschal Mystery.  And here is my chance!  Not only does it have a cost, but I can take that and offer it back to God on behalf of and to benefit the other.  That's about the best economic news I've heard in a while.  Nothing is wasted!  

Twenty or so minutes later we are done.  I leave, not embarrassed or ashamed, but filled with hope and encouragement.  This may forever be one of the mysteries that I don't understand.  How one can [nervously] walk into a little room in the back of the church, sit and admit to another human the worst of who you can be, and then float out hope-filled and encouraged mere minutes later.  But it happens - often.  God's good grace is simply amazing!

Just a little different way of looking at things, and everything seems to change.  Metanoia?  A transformative change of heart?  Correction?  Healing? Embracing thoughts beyond our present limitations?   All of the above?  God is so very good!

journey

It is a journey that we are on.

I was raised Catholic in an average Catholic household in the 70's.  We went to Catholic schools, where the extent of religion class was "Smile!  God loves you!".  Our family went to Mass on Sundays, confession once or twice a year, and that was about that.  I continued on with that through college and into my 20's.  Then the 30's came.  I was pregnant, tired, and didn't like the new priest we had gotten.  It was easy to skip Mass, and it got even easier when I had a new baby and then, two.  Attending Mass didn't really get any easier with 2 toddlers.

Then 9/11 happened.  I was far away from Ground Zero, but the sense of vulnerability that day caused me to take a good look at where I was, and it wasn't really where I wanted to be.  We went to Mass that Sunday, and we've been going ever since - at least the kids and I, have.  A few months later, after finding no loophole, I went to confession.  I have blogged about that before, and that was really the beginning of an incredible journey for me.

We joined a church not too far from our house.  One Lent 6 or 7 years ago, I thought that I might try to attend daily Mass 3x a week.  Lent had already started when I made that commitment, so I figured 4 or 5 weeks left x 3 was something I could manage.  I did, and it didn't take long before I was hooked!  I felt for so long that it was a well-kept treasure.  It made a difference in my days that I noticed.  There was no Mass on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, and it seemed like Thursday would never get here.  When Lent was over, I knew this was a keeper! This was the map and the Food for my journey.

My boys became altar servers, and a year or so in, I offered to do the monthly schedule for the servers.  It gave me a connection to the parish.  It is a job that I continue to enjoy today - a side trip on the journey.

One winter evening, as my boys and I walked to our car after our annual Advent Penance Service, my then-11 year old asked why we only went to confession once a year.  I had no answer for him, but we did start going more often.  Every three months, and then I started looking for opportunities to ask for directions on my journey more often.  (I am female, so I don't mind too much stopping to ask!)

When our present pastor arrived in our parish five or so years ago, one of the things that he said was a passion of his was Adult Education.  After a decade or more of "Smile!  God loves you!"  I jumped at the chance for this.  When he announced it in church, there was *something* that told me that it was for me.  His adult ed takes the form of the Great Adventure Bible Studies.  We have studied Revelations, the Bible Timeline (the 14 Narrative books of the Bible), Matthew, James, and Acts.   Each of these has been wonderful.  I have taken so much away from these studies.  GPS for the journey!

One thing that was a frequent struggle for me was finding time and space for personal prayer.  About a year ago, the Lord showed me that I could find about 20 minutes of time for that in the church near my work before school.  I'm sure some people would think I'm a little crazy going to Mass at one church and then later stopping at another church just to sit with no one there.  But it's a place to gather strength or to rest when I am weary from the journey.  I have also found Adoration chapels, and while I don't have a regular hour, it is a treat when I can sit in the Presence and stay for as long as I need.

I have met fellow travelers, and we have provided each other with mutual conversation and support on the journey.  People at daily Mass, Immaculee, others in our Seven Sorrows Rosary group, co-workers, other moms.

Missing in all of this, is my dearly beloved.  He has chosen not to travel with me on this, for reasons that only he truly knows.  Yes, some of it conflicted with his job, but the job is also an excuse - a way to avoid what just doesn't appeal to him.  And now...we find ourselves in different spots.  Me, very much enjoying the the trip, and him - angry that he has been left behind.  Fearful??  His response now is to try to hold me back.  I have done no more than to try to follow where Jesus has led.  But I am labeled a fanatic - measured by what the rest of the world does or does not do.

I asked my good priest the other night if he offers marriage counseling, and he told me who I could call.  We talked briefly....he knows my situation.  Our Bible study that night had coincidentally (?) mentioned something about Paul being a "fanatic".  I told him I, too, was now a "fanatic".  He looked at me and said, "Karen, I care about you enough that if I saw something that looked out of kilter, I would tell you.  But I don't see anything."  The next morning, we celebrated the Feast of Sts. Philip and James.  His homily centered on the Apostles, how Jesus called them and how he calls each of us.  We are all called to spread the Good News.  But just as the first original Apostles were martyred, we don't have to look far beyond our immediate family....spouse, children.... to find those whom the Gospel makes uncomfortable.  And we are called to respond with fidelity to His call.  I knew that homily was meant for me.  Encouragement and prayers for the journey.

More encouagement at Mass this weekend.  ...and everyone that does [bear fruit] he prunes so that it will bear more fruit.  Is God pruning??  Remain in me, as I remain in you.  Exactly what I plan on doing!!

connecting the dots

It has been a week!

A pretty good one with my fifth graders.  I don't know why. 

Our Curves didn't close.  Rumor (grounded in fact) had said that they would close on Monday (Oct 31).   I didn't go last Friday because I was in the twilight zone of a high school lockdown.  On Monday, our Mass schedule was rearranged, which meant that my routine was out of sync, so I didn't even go for the "last" day.  On Tuesday, though, after dropping my kids off at school after attending Mass for All Saints Day, I decided to pass by Curves and see what had transpired.  I was surprised to see the lights on.  And people inside.  I hadn't planned to work out - just to be nosey, so I sat in the car for a minute before I decided just to stick my head in to say "hi".  There was a sign on the window that said, "Curves Ladies, your prayers have been answered."  And inside I got to meet the new owner...the angel.  She was a former member who - at some point in the last couple of weeks - had come to sign back up.  When she was told what was happening, she decided to buy the business.  My pastor is fond of saying that there are no coincidences in God.

The kids got haircuts last week.  My rock-star wannabe child had to cut off his Slash-like curls in order to try out for the wrestling team at school. 

The hair on the floor when they were done looked something like a poodle.  Regrettably, I don't have an after picture of him....yet.

And then there was the one who wanted "hair surgery".  In the last few years, his very thick hair has become very coarse with curls underneath.  It is just a mess - a "poof".  Nothing much can be done with it.   Mine also has a coarser, frizzy texture - especially as it is getting grayer, and last time I had it cut, my stylist told me about a new Keratin treatment that had good results on hair like ours.  It was a little pricey for me, and my life doesn't revolve around having "good hair", but for my dear teenager, life is ALL about the looks.  So he has been begging for this "hair surgery" ever since I told him about it. 

Part of the treatment involved straightening his hair.  (It didn't stay straight after he washed it, and I'm not sure how well the treatment actually worked...)  But here he was with "normal" hair for a couple of days. 

Saturday morning found us doing the church parking lot painting gig again.  We knocked it out in a couple of hours.  The weather was a little chilly, but I do think it was better than the hot June morning that we picked last time. 

Have I mentioned that our dog likes citrus fruits?  Especially the oranges and satsumas?  

Oh - and about connecting the dots.  My fifth graders drive me absolutely out of my mind this year.  They do not want to do a.n.y.t.h.i.n.g.  Sometimes copying the answers (yes...COPYING the answers) is just too much effort for them to undertake.  And show up at school with a pencil?  Oh my gosh...that is *really* asking too much. 

Lately during my prayer times - my time alone in the Lord's Presence - I haven't really "felt" much of anything.  I "know" that He is still there.  I'm pretty sure He's awake.  But other than that intellectual knowing, there's not much right now.  We discussed this a bit last time I went to confession, and I got some good feedback - reassurance that it is normal - that it happens when God wants to draw forth something from us...when He wants us to seek Him. 

So this week, I have thought more about actually "seeking".  That's an active thing - seeking.  And it occurs to me that sometimes in my spiritual life I am like my fifth graders.  I show up.  I am there.  But beyond that, I find myself sitting back and saying to God, "You do it.  Go ahead.  I'm just going to sit here while you do your thing!"  I wonder if He looks at me like I look at my fifth graders and thinks, "You are just sucking the life out of me?" as I do with them sometimes.

Which leads me to my next [unanswered] question.  I know that "surrender" is almost synonymous with "faith".  But what, exactly, is the difference between "surrender" and "laziness"?

And last, but not least,  one person who embodies the difference between surrender and laziness is one of the moms from my children's elementary school.  She was diagnosed with lung cancer about 2.5 years ago, just before her 40th birthday.  She has already outlived expectations, but the news is not good.  Last summer, lesions were found on her brain and treated with radiation.  Last week, scans showed that the radiation had not helped.  That was the last treatment.  She asks for prayers for her children (ages 8, 13, and 16) and for her parents.

a little silence

Sister-in-law and I had signed up for a women's "day of recollection" in early November.  I had seen it in a church bulletin (it's a sickness - picking up a bulletin of whatever parish you visit), and we had sent in our $$ in plenty of time.   But we got back letters saying that we were being placed on the waiting list. 

Tuesday was the long-anticipated day, and since we had both gotten subs for the day, we decided to go anyway.  If they let us stay, fine.  If not, then we would have our own day of recollection somewhere.  They warned us that we might have to sit on the floor, but they let us stay.

There were two presenters, and there were a lot of messages woven into the day.  Femininity, waiting, loving, listening, quiet, utter active receptivity (try that one on for size!), slowing down, surrender, and more.  Wonderful advent messages.

But the best part for me - maybe for all of us - was the silence.  After we listened to the first presentation, we were told to meet back at 11:30 in the cafeteria for lunch.  There would be silence until then.

So SIL and I walked outside.  

It was a little cold, but we found spots in the sun.  

I stretched out on a bench.  

She walked on further and found a chair.

Very peaceful. 

 

I found that it wasn't a time so much to talk to God, as a time to listen.

It was confirmation for me that I'm not the crazy one for craving silence in my daily life.

That, in fact, we NEED it. 

 

I had forgotten my journal, so I had to improvise.  I still found a place to write.

And I reached into my bag and found some things to meditate upon.  

Things that seemed to be just what I needed to hear.

God has a plan for my life.  I knew that already.

And that plan includes paperwork and meetings.  

Why?

Only God knows.

And he wants me to be patient.

He is there.  In the craziness.  In the mind-numbing paperwork.  In the endless meetings.

We were behind an old, historic church.

There seemed to be cemeteries on all sides.

A reminder of  the promise of something better.

And then there was school today.

The stupid IEP program wouldn't work when I had time to use it.

And so it begins.

The chances to practice patience and looking for God in the paperwork.

One of my co-workers so neatly summed it up...

Re-entry's a b!tch, isn't it?

Yeah, but worth it!

While I was there, I signed up for a 3-day silent retreat in September.  Can't wait!

our lady of the bayou

10-1-11 - Updating to Add:  On October 29, 2011, there will again be a gathering in Theriot.  Holy Mass will begin at 2 p.m. to be followed by a 5-decade Rosary. 

Set out on an adventure yesterday.  A pilgrimage of sorts.  My sister-in-law and three friends along for the ride.

In a little place on the bayou, a few hours from where I live, the Blessed Mother appears to Claire -Rose.  Apparently, Claire Rose and the Blessed Mother go WAY back; she's been appearing to her for years.  But for the past many years, the last Saturday of every month has been a "public" apparition.  Not that anyone else can see Our Lady, but there is a message for the public.  This is within 200 miles of my home, yet the first time I ever heard about it was last month.  As luck would have it, today was the last public apparition.  So we went.

The morning started off with not being able to find my keys.  This is a favorite trick of Satan's at my house, I believe.  After several minutes of fruitless searching, I grabbed the extra set from the safe, and was on my way.

I should say - the morning started off with hubby cooking me breakfast.  Today was our 17th anniversary, and although we don't usually make a big deal out of the day, I felt more than a little guilty for not spending it with him.  But it's not every day that Mary is this close.

After eating lunch at the Olive Garden (yum), we went on the location of the apparition.

Draw bridge along the way.  Nothing quite like a see-through road.  

Claire Rose's house.  It was raised after being flooded with nearly 5 feet
of water after Hurricane Rita.  They lost "nearly everything" . 

Most of the activity took place under the house.

We got there in time to stake out a place with our chairs and to look around.

Confessions were heard by a couple of holy priests.

Well of healing water.  But not for drinking.

Roadside shrine to Our Lady of the Bayou.

The weather and surroundings were beautiful.

The cross was erected as a place for people to pray for holy priests.  It is open at any time, day or night, and everyone is welcome. 

There were quite a few images of the Mother of God.  

After a while, the children were asked to gather at the foot of the cross and given roses to bring.  There, Claire Rose prayed with them.  She said that the Blessed Mother has said that three Hail Mary's prayed daily from the heart of a child are enough to save the soul of a priest.  After they prayed three Hail Mary's, she gave the children a message from Our Lady.  She reminded them of her love for them, and told them to remember that their bodies are living tabernacles. 

Claire Rose praying with the children.

Stations of the Cross around THE Cross. 

After this, we gathered back under the house and prayed a chaplet for priests. There were probably 300-500 people in attendance.  It was also noteworthy that there was nothing for sale.  Not food, nor drink, nor religious articles.  This was not a money-making endeavor.

Then we settled in to pray all 20 decades of the Rosary.  For each decade there was a meditation relating to holy Priests.  There were decades led in Latin, French, Spanish, Italian and another language which I couldn't guess during one set of mysteries.  This took quite a while (praying 20 decades) and it was during that time that Our Lady was appearing to Claire Rose and 2 others.  

After the Rosary, they shared the messages that Our Lady had given them.  Again, this took quite a while. It was all a little overwhelming.   All three began by describing what she was wearing, and their descriptions were some what different.  However, there were several things that ran through all three:  

• she loves us
• we need to pray
• we need to repent; convert; make use of the sacrament of mercy
• gratitude to her priest sons
• gratitude to those religious, her "little doves" who wear their habits
• she wants us to pray for holy priests, and she wants us to gather on the last Saturday of each month in small groups to do this
• each person who was there was blessed with an "angel of protection" which would go with us always and everywhere
• mention of a "new springtime" or a "new Pentecost"

One also mentioned a special gift of grace unique to each soul for those who were there.

After that, Mass was quickly celebrated.  The website had given the impression that Mass would begin at 2:00, but it was nearly 6:00, and we were feeling a combination of overwhelmed and tired by this point.  Daylight was fading fast, and there didn't appear to be much in the way of outdoor lighting.  Mass is always wonderful, and we were all grateful that the homily was meaningful, thoughtful, and brief.

10-1-11 Editing to Add:  Mass was delayed because the priest celebrating it had a wedding at 2:00 an hour away.  Claire Rose notes that it was God's schedule and plan - not ours.  Very true.  She said that the priest (and others) saw the "miracle of the sun" when he was consecrating the Eucharist. 

Holy Communion was distributed at the foot of the Cross.  There was something very powerful about receiving Jesus there.

We were sent on our way, as the sun was setting over the bayou.  We stopped for a bite to eat at the first hint of civilization.  It was much later than we expected when we arrived home.  My dear husband was so good about it.  Perhaps another gift given to me.  And I found my keys after some searching.  Something told me that they were in my bedroom, and I found them there - between my jewelry box and the window - knocked there by the cat.

The ride home was lively - five women in a Suburban trying to process the events of the day.  We joked about the five extra angels who were now riding with us, but felt comforted by their presence and appreciative of the gift. 

In the end, it's all about Love.  A Father who sent His Son because He loves us.  The Son who gave us His mother, because He loves us.  And a Mother who relentlessly tries to lead us to her Son because she loves us. 

Amen.