Humility

We're at the prayer table in my classroom and I ask my students if they know what humility is.

One of my students starts fanning her herself profusely.  (she also enjoys drama).

"Like when you're really hot?"

"That's humidity."

A little boy makes guns with his hands, confident that the word has another definition.

"Violence."

"Hmmm....

"Let's think about Mary when she said 'yes' to God's will to have baby Jesus."

"Oh yea!"

(They really get it now...we reviewed this word before Christmas and before the snow days).

"Now close your eyes and go to the little house in your heart with Jesus and think about being humble."

That same boy whispers his prayer, sincerely: "I already am really humble."

Thank you, God, for children in my life. Help me to be like them, unafraid, honest, and humble.

Pushing Back the Darkness

Babes emerge into the world when they kick back the darkness of the womb. Holler back.

(Babe is one of my favorite nicknames, seconded by “baby girl.")

The concept of pushing back the darkness is one that a friend and I have practiced since last year. Like babies plunging from the dark womb into the unknown light world, it’s about diving into our fears and going beyond them. Simple examples include: she took a bike ride further than she ever thought she could go, and I went swimming in a river by myself.

She thought her body had a limit at a certain amount of miles because she never went past that mark. And I thought a giant snapping turtle would bite my leg off when no one else was around to watch me swim… eventually some scuba divers came to the park river and kept me company—they totally scared those snappers away.

Fear. Pushing back the darkness is about being not afraid –Pope John Paul II’s mantra, which he got from Jesus himself. Be Not Afraid!

I called a friend today and she’s pregnant with her sixth babe. She’s totally at peace. Every time she wants to get scared, she feels the Blessed Mother saying, You’re totally not afraid. That's trust in a Mother, who's a pro at pushing back the darkness.

So the little 8-weeker is in my friend’s womb, clinging onto life, has a heartbeat and his bum is pointed straight up – I thought, what if abortionists saw babies mooning them when they looked at ultrasounds? I wonder if that would change their perception.

Today a lot of Americans think about the darkness of abortion on the anniversary of its legalization in our country.

How are we supposed to fight that darkness? Keep the pain inside? Suppress the wounds? Put on a mask and pretend like we don’t kill 3,000 babies a day? Condemn all the people involved in the "culture of death?"

No.

Politics, information, and healing are important, necessary and essential. People also need the real light of compassionate genuine one-on-one love.

The fact that abortion is so prevalent means that the notion that it’s OK to kill people has seeped into our culture. The darkness here is fear, anger, shame, loneliness -- evil. "Unloved" is a lie and it kills people. 

But “killing” people is more than just abortion. People are killed when they are used: sexually, for material or personal gain, when they are cut down so others can get ahead, when they are insulted by people with different ideas, who create “in” groups and leper colonies. This is the destruction of humanity.

On the other hand, we push back the darkness when we look people in the eye and listen to their stories. When we can take risks to do things outside our comfort zones with people who have different views than us –politically, religiously, ethnically -- and I don't think "globalization" means we have to have one mind, philosophy, color, creed and culture. Humanity is great is its diversity, in its creativity.

Zumba class, which unites an diverse and creative bunch of inter-generational women is an excellent example of this genius. We all get down in our own way and have fun. I appreciate the mixed-culture, upbeat music, and the smiles the varied moves bring to these ladies' faces.

Pushing back the darkness requires sweat and getting my hands dirty. 

The same woman who took an extra-long bike ride used to be a farmer. I was a bit worried about our basil (or was it parsley?) plant that we planted near the kitchen door for easy access with cooking. She assured me, “Plants just want to live.”

People just want to live too! 

Pushing back the darkness means living without fear which makes one more human and able to love.

Pushing back the darkness also means praying and looking for the light. 

It was the coldest day of the year and school Morning Prayer intentions were under way: sick people, soldiers, people affected by natural disasters, etc. The announcement was made that it’s too cold to go outside for recess. Inspired, one of my first graders added her prayer, “I’d like to pray that there are no wind fights.”

And that makes me more alive. 

Romance pushes back the darkness too, even if it scares the **** out of me.

Recently my man friend said I need to laugh at the darkness and be joyful. He also told me that if I go to sleep laughing out loud I will more than likely wake up with a smile on my face. It totally works.

Thank you God for light in the midst of darkness. Thank you God for the gift of life.

Hope

Yay! My roommate just figured out that my wireless was turned off on my computer (I am far from technological genius). Now I can use the internet and blog. Holler!

“Those who are well do not need a physician but the sick do. I did not come to call the righteous but sinners.”—Mk. 2:17

Thank God! This verse fills me with tremendous hope because I’m sick a lot (not just because I teach first grade…though that’s a big contributor…), but because I’m a sinner. God’s recent medicine for me is little gifts of hope. Like, hey, remember that I love you? Remember that I’m all around you in the people you see every day? Through my love, you will want to stop sinning and live in righteous gratitude.

What is hope? Well, it means different things to first graders, an old woman, a restaurant waitress, Catholics who read the Catechism and those who don’t. It’s basking in God’s presence, it’s belief in an awesome after-life, in miracles, in the forgiveness of sin, in dreams, in sobriety, in people, in love and joy even in the midst of suffering.

First Grade

We’re learning short and long vowel words in my classroom. I worked on magnetic letter boards with two girls and asked them to make the long “a” word “make” and then change it to “cake.”

They did so easily.

Next we made the long “o” word “rope.”

“I wish we could make the word ‘hope,’” said one of the girls.

So we did.

“What does ‘hope’ mean?” I asked them, interested mostly because this word had popped up recently in my life.

“You believe in something, like I hope we go to the fair,” explained one of the students.

“’Hope’ means what you hope happens. I hope I could have a cake so I could eat it.” (This other child was clearly still hooked on the long “a” words).

 “And I wish I lived in a Jell-O pool so I could eat it…actually a Jell-O castle so I could bounce and fall down the stairs…”

And then the lesson was redirected….

Old Woman

I went to my favorite nursing home to pray. In the aisle between the pews was a woman in a motorized scooter. It was tilted back so she faced the ceiling.

The woman’s eyes were closed, her lips formed a serene smile and her cheeks glowed. I looked at her for a few minutes and was amazed. She was totally at peace in the Lord’s presence – even though she had no legs.

How do people live like this? I wondered. How is this peace possible?

She can’t dance; can’t walk; she’s totally dependent on her chair and she might not be able to go the bathroom or get changed by herself. Isn’t that slavery? How is she smiling?

I looked at the altar. The cloth covering the ambo was embroidered with the long “o” word “hope.”

Her life is more than her disability. And it doesn’t even end on this earth.

Restaurant Waitress

A group of ladies and I went to a café for brunch this morning to celebrate my friend’s birthday. I ordered hot water with lemon and it came in a miraculous mug. “Mother of the Church” was written above a picture of Mary on the cup.

What? Who gets a “Mother of the Church” mug at a random city establishment? I couldn’t believe it. There’s a huge eclectic collection of mugs in the restaurant, but this one seemed handpicked for me.

My exuberantly expressed joy made the waitress signal across the table to me pointing to her eyes and then my eyes and folding her hands in prayer.

“I know stuff,” she said as she tapped her forehead with a smile.

(I’m checkin myself –simple gray sweater, jeans, hair a little sweaty from Zumba…yea, nope, there’s nothing on me to identify me as Catholic). Ummm…who are you, lady?

The waitress’s arms were covered with tattoos; her dyed auburn pony tail was secured with a pink cloth headband, she wore dangling hoop earrings and a flaming cross tattoo peeked from her V-neck t-shirt.

“Mary is my home girl,” she announced and shared in my joy.

Our server was raised Catholic and remembered to pray to Mary every night when she struggled with an addiction. She’s been sober now for five years and loves Mary.

“She is the Mother of all,” she practically whispered as she walked away to put in our order.

When she came back, she said she “had a moment” and cried for a bit at the bussing station. 

One of my friends gave her a picture of Our Lady of Guadalupe because she recently visited Mexico. The waitress opened up more.

She said her grandmother used to have a white porcelain Mary statue that she kissed before bed. It was covered with red lipstick.

The waitress – who ironically shares my name – has her own favorite Mary statue. She received the three foot tall figure from a school where her mother worked. Her mother offered to fix the broken fingers and worn parts, but the waitress likes it just the way it is.

Furniture came and went, but that statue goes with the woman wherever she moves. She said its brokenness reminds her of her dreams and gives her hope.

Catechism

Hope. My friend gets annoyed when I quote the Catechism of the Catholic Church, but it grounds me. So here’s the definition:

Hope’s “the theological virtue by which we desire the kingdom of heaven and eternal life as our happiness, placing our trust in Christ’s promises and relying not on our own strength, but on the help of the grace of the Holy Spirit.” (1817)

In my mind: Yo, I want to get to heaven, and God you give me the grace and desire. I still gotta do the work, but You inspire me to do it.

Hope also “sustains [man] in times of abandonment;” (1818) is “expressed and nourished by prayer, especially the Our Father, the summary of everything that hope leads us to desire” (1820); and it is the wish for “all men to be saved.” (1820)

That’s what I need in my life! I also enjoy the last part. I always hoped heaven would be an awesome party with everyone I ever met on earth.

---

Thank you, God, for the gift of hope. In the people of my little city and in the corners of the world. Thank you for your love through these simple miracles -- in recent times and today.

Baptism Repentance and One Sweet Spelling Quiz

I need a whole community prayin’ for me. ‘Cause I sin. And I need the courage to begin again.

The Baptism of the Lord teaches me this lesson, and so does the awesome story of one of my students.

His tale is unrelated to sin, but totally immersed in community and the miracle of beginning again.

This student struggled with Spelling since September, and nearly failed last trimester. Yet he persevered through every test -- his determination was not dissuaded.

His family of 10 (seven old enough to read) also helped – they encouraged him, quizzed him and rallied to give him confidence. His mom promised to buy a prize if he ever got 100 percent on a quiz.

On Friday, it happened.

There were multiple quizzes on Friday including two oral evaluations for which I took children individually into the hall to test them. The other children worked on various tasks at this time. It was then that this child approached me and asked if he could review his Spelling words.

“Absolutely!” I agreed.

“Can I get my paper from my jacket pocket? It’s downstairs.”

“Yes.”

He brought back a crumpled piece of loose leaf with a few words that were difficult for him and he sat at his desk and practiced while I assessed the other children.

The time came for the Spelling quiz and I watched him smile as he put his pencil down. It took me a few minutes to grade the tests while the children worked in reading centers. I placed his quiz on his desk, quietly called him over and discreetly gave him a high five. “You did it!” I exclaimed.

His face lit up. I put a sticker on that test, wrote “YAY!!!! You did it!” and told him how proud I was of him.

In the car line at dismissal, I told his mom, “He did it!”

“No!” She gasped in awe.

“Yes!”

“Oh my goodness! Way to go!” she joyfully congratulated her child.

I never told the mother what her son did. She didn’t even have to ask. It was as if the whole family awaited this celebration.

My heart overflowed with joy.

Perhaps this is what it’s like when God runs after one sinner – me. And when I fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness after I try and fail again and again and again. Then, when I go to confession, the whole community of heaven rejoices. And the people praying on earth celebrate too because conversion is transformative for everyone.

When I see people start new habits or forgive –even students in my classroom, it inspires me. I need to see the conversion of others so that I know it’s possible for me too. This is why the Catholic Church holds up saints as models of holiness.

It’s probably also why people join group fitness classes and go to group therapy and support groups. It’s why people have roommates and spouses and children. We need community to survive, to thrive.

Tomorrow is the Baptism of the Lord, the day Jesus showed us how to begin again not because he sinned, but because He loves us and lives in communion with the Father.

Magnificat offers this reflection: “Jesus joins the people going out to John the Baptist in the gesture of repentance, not because there is sin in him, but in order to model for us the only authentic way to approach the Father. He goes to the Baptist as a beggar because the Mystery is mercy. Through the mystery of the Baptism of the Lord, whenever we regard our sins we see something more: Jesus Christ who comes to be present to us, even identifying with us sinners. Whenever we look at our sins we see Someone looking at us with love. We can face our sins because of the gaze of that face. Thanks to the Baptism of the Lord, never again must we confront the horror of our sins alone.” – Vol. 15, No. 11.

“Every moment is the moment of beginning again,” wrote Catherine Doherty, foundress of Madonna House. She also wrote "I love confession. When you hear the words of absolution fall on your ears, it is like salve on your wounds. The forgiveness of God envelops you like a mantle, for the confessional is the altar of mercy."

God offers freedom through Baptism and Confession. He asks me and allows me to try again and again. He forgives me when I admit I fall. He exclaims, "You did it!" when I go to confession. And he sings to me, “Today, my child. I made it for you! Live, rejoice, sing, praise, dance!  I love you. And I made you to live 100 percent free.”

The coolest Baptism of Jesus project online.

St. Andre and St. Joseph Tag Team

It's the feast of St. Andre Bessette, a consecrated brother and doorman, who attributed the miracles in his life to St. Joseph.

St. Andre emulated St. Joseph’s quiet humility. And he trusted St. Joseph because he knew the guardian of the Redeemer is a man of honor, a protector of virtue.

You’ve traveled with me for years, St. Joseph, but you showed up quite a lot these recent days.

I’m thankful that I saw a statue of you behind the bar at a pub….That my neighbors gave me a Christmas card with my favorite image of you on it, that your statue was situated behind a concrete development sign, that you were mentioned in a conversation with a friend, who attends St. Joseph’s parish, and in the story I read yesterday of a saint’s conversion at St. Joseph’s church.

My friend is praying a St. Joseph novena for me now. And you recently answered my novena for another friend’s job. I found your holy card randomly in a book, another friend worked night shift at St. Joseph’s hospital, and I got cake at school today in honor of you. You are faithful. I trust in your intercession and I love you.

Miracles. You put them in my life. You hang around now and I want to know why.

So we had a conversation and I asked you for a message. You’re simple. All I heard in my heart was: “Delight.” “Delight in the Lord.”

I looked at you in the Nativity set at that nursing home I like to visit. You gaze at the infant in the trough and your eyes shine with wonder and adoration. You simply take Him in.

You didn’t ask for your role. You didn’t trust it at first. But you accepted it.

You gave God permission to fulfill your dreams. You had a willing spirit. Your life is for everyone.

Recently I attended a funeral by chance. I drove around for an hour following a misguided GPS and missed Mass. I went to the nursing home chapel to pray and you made it happen, St. Joseph – a funeral MASS for Sr. Josephine.

The theme of her life was gratitude. I learned that she used words like: “very fulfilling, joyful, treasured, precious, blessed.” She trusted that whatever she was tasked with was the Lord’s will for her at that point in her life. 

Before she entered religious life, she was delayed for one year due to illness, but she persevered. Later, she had to stop her love of teaching, but she was missioned to music and fashioned a cello from a board and string to learn the finger placements.

She became quite accomplished, and her family gave her a real instrument in due time.

Ironically, Sr. Josephine picked the Gospel of John for her funeral Mass, which was celebrated on his feast day. “This is my body, which is given for you.”

I was grateful that she was a sister because I could attend her funeral not out of place. Her life was for everyone.

I watched Sr. Josephine get tucked into her coffin -- covered with a silk coverlet on her body and lace veil over her face. Soft Christmas piano music accompanied this ritual and I thought of Sr. Josephine resting her head on Jesus’ breast like St. John or delighting in his infancy like St. Joseph.

I am grateful that you follow me around, St. Joseph. You make miracles happen in my life. Thank you.

And you delight in giving gifts-- like humorous children today on the feast of one of your biggest fans.

I asked the students this morning to draw pictures of their favorite part of Christmas vacation. Some drew Christmas trees with presents, others sketched family dinners, and one little girl drew the YMCA.

“My dad went to the YMCA to unswollen his foot in the hot tub; it’s like a whirlpool,” she explained.

A boy in the front row rested his chin in his hand. “That sounds dreamy,” he mused.

Well God, you put dreams in St. Joseph’s heart. And You certainly inspire your creatures with a variety of imaginings. Help me to rediscover the dreams in my heart and work miracles there so I simply delight in your will – at this point in my life. Thank you.

Epiphany

Radiance

Radiance like Mary’s face after Gabriel appeared to her and said,

“You will name Him Emmanuel, God is with us.”

Radiance like St. Joseph’s peace when he heard the name of His Lord whispered in a dream

Radiance like a new star in the black night sky, pushing back the darkness

Radiance like three camel-back traveling king-seekers bedecked in jewels

Radiance like their un-catechized human wonder

Radiance like their majestic gifts for a poor carpenter’s son

Radiance like a dream conversion to go another way

Radiance like a radical promise slowly revealed, finally fulfilled

Radiance like that journey home,

Camels spitting, flies buzzing and undisturbed joy overflowing in Gentile hearts.

Jesus. Amidst the Miseries of Life.

Today is the feast of the Holy Name of Jesus.

St. Bonaventure wrote, “To the little Infant begotten in you spiritually, give the name Jesus, which means: Savior, amidst the miseries of this life.”

I walked outside at 10:30 a.m. to see how much snow was there and to release some energy with my neighbor’s shovel. A high school boy had already moved about half the snow off the driveway--the snow blower was broken (and hadn't been used in three years), so I went to dig out my car.

For 20 minutes I swept and shoveled as another littler neighbor across the street stood perfectly still on a snow mound and watched me. His mom cleared the driveway and talked to him periodically in an Asian language, but he didn’t move from his perch.

I wondered what that child thought as he stood in his cute pom-pom topped hat. I I was content to shovel out some hurt in my heart; he simply wanted to stand and watch as I bent, scooped, and lifted piles of snow onto the sidewalk embankment.

Where was this child’s mind? I don’t know. But he amused me as he stood there; the other part of my brain shoveled in solidarity with a broken man who gets high to escape his anger.

I was grateful to release some of my tension through manual labor as I prayed for the man who drinks, smokes and injects to suppress his rage.

Recently I had watched that man return to his apartment drunk, after he failed to get the high he wanted. He chucked an open Gatorade bottle at the window and its contents showered all over the wall and floor. Enraged, he let fly a string of curses and shouted at the people who allow him to stay in their house as he sorts out his life.

I mourned for that man as I shoveled. I empathized with his anger and thought about situations in my life that have caused me grief. I thought: he needs more than the alcohol, marijuana and occasional heroin injections. 

He needs more than the recognition of the Post Traumatic Stress disorder he got from military service. He needs more than countless hours of television he watches to block out the world. He needs love.

Just like me and every human being in the world. How do we get this love? A real personal encounter with Jesus.

How do people meet Jesus? Through one-on-one relationships. Jesus appears in rehab, group therapy, counseling, friendships, romantic relationships, books written by broken people who learned how to live healthy lives. 

He appears in little boys standing on snow piles. High schoolers shoveling on a snow day. And a local man who must have dug out his business driveway for hours and shouted "Yee-Haw!" in sheer exhausted exhilaration when he finished.

Jesus. I need you. Jesus. I trust in you. Jesus. I know you forgive my sins. Jesus. I know you have a plan for my life. Jesus. Your Name. Again and Again. The Holy Name of Jesus. Remind me. That you are all around me if I look.

Jesus.

At times I have watched the world with wonder like that small Asian boy. At times I’ve shouted “Yee-haw” with delirious joy. At times I’ve wanted to throw something at the wall.

Jesus.

You are with me. When I Praise you. When I forgot to say your name. When I’m angry. When I’m happy. When I am surrounded by friends. When I’m alone, scared and heartbroken.

The high school boy shoveling had “Epic” emblazoned in gold on his aviator sunglasses. “EP” on one shade, and “IC” on the other. The shades made me laugh, and think that God is so "epic" He created the sun-- and He can shine wherever He wants.

The boy wore sneakers, flannel pajama pants, a sweatshirt and flicked snow over his shoulder as he held his tool with glove-less hands. He skipped school yesterday, knows there’s four and a half months of school left this year, prays for more snow days, and shoveled my neighbor and my shared driveway for free.

He just likes shoveling. He likes the cold. And he’ll come back in an hour to get the icy bits after the sun melts them.

“Did you shovel your own driveway?” I asked him.

“No,” he replied. “My mom hires someone with a plow who does it in 10 minutes.”

Sometimes people just need to shovel. Sometimes people just need to watch the world. Sometimes people need to shout like a Texan in a Northeastern city. And sometimes people need to throw things to release their inner pain.

God is with every single person through it all.

Jesus, You are with me through my pain. 

“Savior, amidst the miseries of this life…” Jesus, you came as a vulnerable infant. Your life was full of suffering. Yet, a star shone brilliantly above the stable where you were born.

Open my heart, broken and bleeding as it  may be, and put your light there. Let it be a place of refuge and peace in the midst of the world's miseries. 

Jesus, give me the grace to see Your love even in the midst of pain. Thank you for the lights of today. Savior Jesus. Praise Your Holy Name.