Miracle Stories

Miracle Stories. I glanced through a few old journals tonight, taken from my 10 gallon tub of them accumulated in the past 15 years.

Some greatness popped out.

Like when I left Ireland after a semester abroad in college. My dear Irish friend wrote me a departure letter and included a Scripture verse: Mark 2:11. I looked it up with another Irish friend later; it read: "Pick up your mat and leave."

She laughed so hard, she ended up seated on the floor in my closet.

After that, we reminisced about the semester and looked at every nook in my room to remember everything. Then, just for fun we embarked on some rebellious evangelization: we climbed into the top of my desk and wrote "Jesus Saves" with our names and the date above the doorway, very small near the molding so you couldn't see it from the floor--I bet it's still there and blessed every person who ever stayed there...

The man who wrote the letter once put an orange on my desk in the middle of class; another time, he tried to split a minuscule piece of chocolate with me, which was impossible to break because of its size. My sister and I stayed at his house two years later, and he showed us how he taught his cows to lick the toes of his boots.

In 2008, I wrote a reflection on the plane ride home from India my senior year of college. "Lord, help me to realize my own worth is the gift of life you gave me, your love within me."

In 2011, I asked my mom how people can be content in this life. She said: loving people so much that you forget yourself (but still renew yourself so you can give), letting go of pride, detachment from material things. Live simply and love God.

That same night, I met a woman at a Lectio Divina gathering who said, vocation is the meeting of what you are most passionate about with what will most help the world.

DIT: Do It Together!

If Nike and Pinterest got married, we’d get a new slogan: Just Do It (Yourself!) #JDIY. There’s a trend now of DIY projects. DIY stands for “Do It Yourself,” but I’d rather DIT: Do It Together.

It’s easy now to YouTube how to build one’s own coop, raise one’s own chickens, and apparently, make one’s own cupcakes with ingredients from grocery store displays (different than the tried and true box mix…??).

DIY is cool in some sense because it makes people realize their own creativity, practice resourcefulness, and feel a sense of accomplishment. But does it also promote competition and isolation?

DIY successes and failures are posted all over social media…and I love to see them when I’m trying to make gluten-free, organic, clean, paleo, wild-grown blueberry, food-processed raw almond flour muffins, but the thought of “DIY” kinda makes me sad.

I’d rather harvest wild-grown blueberries in community.  And watch close by as plumbers fix my hot water heater, and shine their flashlight on the squash I’m cooking, and say… “Ok if I move your fruit?”… I’d like to DIT: Do It Together!

I think Mary is the bridge for this communion. This past Saturday I had an organic experience of prayer outside an abortion center. Catholics and Protestants prayed for an end to abortion—together.

First, my friend and I arrived and were about the start the Rosary when a Protestant man and family joined. My heart wanted communion, but I didn’t know how it would work.

The Protestant man and the family prayed spontaneously. It was beautiful. Totally life-giving. But I still desired to pray the Rosary.

My friend and I prayed the first decade. The man said, “Yeah this just isn’t for me.” He prayed an incredible spontaneous prayer about family, and the Holy Spirit inspired me to ask, “Why don’t we just do that for every decade?”

He agreed.

We prayed the Rosary with brief scriptural meditations on each mystery. Between, this faith-filled man added spontaneous praise and prayer.

Our little group prayed together for an hour. My friend and I committed to stay another hour, but the first inspired the second: we were so filled with the Holy Spirit from our experience of communion that we sang children’s songs and handed out more crisis pregnancy pamphlets than ever because people were moved by our joy.

We’re made for communion!

Mary, unite Christians worldwide especially this Holy Week. And bring all your broken people to Christ to heal us TOGETHER!

Amen.

Ash Thursday

It's still Lent. I was reminded this morning when one child blessed another with holy water and an ashen cross appeared on her forehead. Marker hands. Act of love.

You Are Mine

“Teacher, remember to read You Are Mine.” My student asked me for two days. Today, I stopped the lesson and just read it.

You Are Special. You Are Mine. These Max Lucado books capture the hearts of my children and me. You Are Mine tells the story of little wooden man Punchinello who sells his house and loses his friends to have the most balls and boxes so the other wooden people will say he is the best. He stumbles upon woodcarver Eli’s house while en-trek up a mountain of greed, ambition and selfishness.

Eli looks at the poor creature he made and doesn’t condemn him. He simply reminds him that he is special not because of what he does but because of who he is. He tells him, “You are mine.”

In the end, Punchinello has no place to sleep that night. Eli invites him to stay in his shop. Punchinello sleeps on a bed of straw and sees stars through his open window. He rests and smiles with joy.

Today I looked through old pictures and came across a room where I stayed in Canada. I remembered that I had a simple bed there; I fed hay to animals; and my friend appreciated the stars on a winter night with me. I experienced joy.

God brought me to that place of simplicity, community and told me, “You are mine.”

The book You Are Mine finishes with Punchinello at rest, but that is not the end of his story. He doesn’t have a permanent house; he hasn’t reconciled with his friends; he has no job and no money.

I’ve felt that in my life.

But God provides. He says again and again. Emmanuel. I am with you.

Today is the feast of the Annunciation. I prayed for a miracle.

My car was in the shop twice for a month and still has trouble starting. I’ve seen more doctors that I can count this year and I still feel sick. I feel sad when I think I am 30, my family is "broken," and don’t have a clear “vocation” or “mission.” 

(And yet I sometimes think of my brother's wisdom...#30andflirty... and remember the year's just begun!)

Nevertheless, God gave me Himself…he tells me, "I AM the miracle. I am the depth of your need. I never promised that there would be no pain, no suffering. I said there is light in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it."

My God is a place of rest. I can go to Him when I am lost mid-hike up the mountain.

Today I choose joy. Because I saw the stars in the sky. Because I listen to children every day. And I am His.

Hope Springs Eternal

Here's my snow day gratitude list.

I'm grateful for humor.

My Candian friend said she's glad she's not in America today! ... As if the whole country got the three inches that let me off school.

#"I'mcanadian"

#"oursnowemergenciesaredifferent."

I'm grateful for hopeful stories of victorious perseverance.

Another friend told me about a woman who broke her leg and couldn't bath herself for 200 days. Her husband gave her sponge baths. A year later she did a fundraiser walk she never thought she'd be able to do. 

I'm grateful for a couple who couldn't conceive for years and is pregnant. 

I'm grateful for another couple who went through the adoption process for years and finally adopted a little boy this year.

In my own experience, I'm grateful for a snow day when I'm sick. God always provides! 

I'm grateful for a free rental car when my car's in the shop! 

I'm grateful for a letter from my friend about his time with the poor in Harlem-- and how one woman with a drug addiction found solace in her foot pain by wondering about Christ's pain in the cross. 

Thank you, Jesus.

Amen.

G-free rolls

How's a woman to know when her filet mignon gluten-free little muffins are done?

Let 'em sit in the warm off oven till they're probably good? Yeah.

So...I opened the box and made the mix using just three bowls! Then I realized I didn't have a loaf pan, but well, I'm human so I can maybe make creative little heart and star biscuits on a cookie sheet if I want...

But first I have to let the dough rise... And maybe I'll put it in a warm oven to help it along and melt the celophane to the top of the bowl...

Then I'll realize it's too sticky to make cute shapes and I'm too tired to food proceeds oats into flour to prevent the dough from sticking to my hands, so I'll just make rolls...

But once you make gluten-free rolls that look like scrumptious Irish scones, you'll definitely want some dairy-free clotted cream to go with them.

Just the thought of the spreadable nondairy miracle will remind you of sugar-free, organic, straight-from-the-bush-raspberry-jam...

Which you know you'll have to get if you ever give your sensitive moose friend, who lives in the woods near the raspberry bush, a gluten-free Gucci muffin.

#ifyougiveamooseamuffin, you'll want a doctor's note to go with it.

Amen.

Remote Rattler

It was three days after April Fool's Day last year, and one of my student's brought a remote control rattle snake for show-and-tell.

The whole class had a turn to make it move around the classroom... And then came the trick!

"I dare you to make it go under the divider into Second Grade," whispered one boy to another.

Of course, the teacher heard. But she thought the amusement factor was too high to dissuade the youths. So she kept quiet.

Second Grade let it roar! "AHHHHHHHHHHH! It's a snake! Get out! Go! Go! Go!"

Children literally ran out of their classroom and all the way down the hall. The secretary and headmaster vacated their offices to attend to the noise and fleeing children.

And the First Grade teacher, though completely shocked at the level of excitement, watched from her room with silent mirth and no regrets.

Parking Lot Skating Rink

“Hello, Miss!,” the librarian just walked down three levels of a handicapped ramp next to my armchair before he greeted me.

“I don’t want to alarm you but the parking lot is a skating rink. It is very dangerous. And because it is night it is even worst,” he said with an accent I couldn’t decipher.

It’s just me and the librarian. Why? Because I wanted to write, and I don’t really heed “winter weather advisories.”

“So, what I did was call security. And he has to call his boss. And he had to call his boss’s boss, the head maintenance man who is somewhere in the area. And he is going to come and put salt down.”

Why don't we save that MIA maintenance man the effort and grab the salt shakers from the cafeteria? Then we can shake that crystallized calcium and what our mamas gave us all of the parking lot! That should do the trick!

Or, if that boss can’t be tracked down because he’s at his house eating a homemade supper, we could all order gluten and dairy free tomato-less pizza, find someone with cleated boots to rescue it from the delivery guy at the main gate, and have a sleepover at the seminary!

“They said snow, but there is no snow. They said rain, but there is no rain. Only ice. I didn't think it would get this bad. I will keep you posted!”

And I will lace up my skates!

"All over my bleedin' body!"

A fond memory from last Spring rumbled through my mind today:

My friend told one of her 4-year-old student’s to greet me, knowing the child’s gift to amuse.

With no concept of an indoor voice and no salutation, my coworker’s Pre-K charge shared the first thought on her mind.

“My dad made a deal with me. If I don’t stop scratchin, he’s going to put tape all over my bleedin body!” she shouted to me and a hallway full of children.

The cherub had allergy-related sores on her arms which often bled when she scratched them.

“If I keep scratchin,” she screeched, “I won’t be allowed to go to school because blood will come off of me all over the floor!”

My goodness! That would be quite a predicament.

Thankfully, the little girl’s sores are cured this year and she thrives as a full-blooded Kindergartener.