Toast or Bacon - Marriage Over Breakfast

Today it was bacon instead of toast.  I was making breakfast and said, "How many pieces of toast do you want?"  He heard, "How many pieces of bacon do you want?"  I clarified.  He insisted.  I bristled.  The words had barely left my lips.  We defended our truth as passionately as though our lives depended on it.  His confidence in his defense (and simultaneous accusation) went right through me.  And he wanted to know how I could be SO sure I said what I thought I said?!  BECAUSE I was still making toast, I only had a fixed amount of bacon, anyway, I was looking at the toast, I said toast, and I heard myself say TOAST. 

That's how. 

Sometimes, marriage is just hard.  Just a week ago today, we renewed our vows with a group of couples doing the same.  Only, on that particular night, we didn't want to.  Sometimes beautiful opportunities with beautiful people come when only ugliness can be felt and it seems like a cosmic joke even to be present, much less participate in something so sacred.  We renewed our vows anyway.  If we hadn't liked the people we were with more than we liked each other, we probably would have left early.  It wasn't that either of us has/had plans to do anything other than what we promised to do when we got married 13 years ago, but we didn't FEEL like saying it again.  Not on that night.  

Things were more or less fine before we left, but I had the brilliant idea to ask for his input on which shirt I should wear.  I held up two shirts, and asked, "Which one do you like better?" to which he said, "Those are shirts?!"  That was it.  My patience disappeared in the span it took to ask a single question.   We never recovered.  Well, not never.  Just not that night.

In fact, it wasn't until the next day when I realized this boiled down to forgiveness.  I was sitting in Mass looking at Jesus hanging on the cross, and I "heard" Jesus ask me, "Can you forgive him?"  I knew this question was aimed at my feelings (and the way I blamed my husband for them) and not anything he had actually done wrong, which is usually the case.  Knowing the forgiveness I have already received and continue to receive, my interior response was a sheepish yes.  Ha.  Funny about being sheepish in the presence of the Shepherd. 

This yes ultimately made itself known when my arm conspired with the heroic effort of my heart.  I put my hand on my husband's shoulder in the car on the way home.  And so, we began again.

To help me along my journey in taking responsibility for myself and remembering that nothing, even that suffering which we perceive to be caused by another, is outside of God's plan for us, Trustful Surrender to Divine Providence (The Secret of Peace and Happiness) says:

Do not let ourselves be troubled when we are sometimes beset by adversity, for we know that it is meant for our spiritual welfare and carefully proportioned to our needs, and that a limit has been set to it by the wisdom of the same God who has set a bound to the ocean.  Sometimes it might seem as if the sea in its fury would overflow and flood the land, but it respects the limits of its shore and its waves break upon the yielding sand.  There is no tribulation or temptation whose limits God has not appointed so as to serve not for our destruction but for our salvation.

And this is how it goes.  All good for a good long while.  Then, the road gets bumpy.  And bumpier still.  Toast becomes bacon and bacon becomes a blog post and the waves break upon the yielding sand. 

In my work, I have the privilege of encountering many couples who have been married over 50 and 60 years.  I ALWAYS ask if they give marriage advice.  Usually, they don't.  This always takes me by surprise.  Maybe, they don't feel any more certain about what works than they did in the beginning.   Maybe they know talking about it doesn't do any good.  But, occasionally, when they're willing, it is one word. 

Commitment. 

One very faithful woman who stopped counting after 50 years of marriage is married to a non-church goer.  For 50 years, she has laid his suit out on the bed on Sunday morning.  "In case he changes his mind, all he has to do is step into it."  What?!  How do you not become bitter or apathetic?  Her answer is simply her appreciation for how God has not given up on her and consequently, His love for her models her love for her husband. 

What a good and unfailing model.

The Other Side

A book review for all who have lost someone, fear death, or are just curious...

The Other Side was a fascinating read, despite being poorly written.  However, I think the reason behind its disjointedness is a good one.  This book is a litany of quotes, dreams, and impressions from people who have been to “the other side”.  Most have “died”, gone toward or to heaven, and returned to share what they have seen and experienced.  

The author is a Catholic writer and former investigative journalist.  As such, there are many references and descriptions of purgatory, as well as many other references, which pertain to the life of the Catholic Church.  I think this book would be a great consolation to anyone who has any angst about a family member who has died or fears death themselves, but I would hesitate to recommend it, if purgatory and other Catholic doctrine would be a stumbling block.  

Much attention is paid to the transition between earth and the spiritual realm, at which time we are fully (hyper) conscious.  “When the physical body is removed…we step into the spiritual condition we have been building within us.”  The direction and speed at which this transition is made, seems to be most positively affected by one’s capacity to love and most negatively affected by earthly attachments (depicted by threads, ropes, and chains) and sins of selfishness and pride.  The book also addresses those who get “stuck” and where “ghosts” fit in. 

While the details are many, the experiences of the dead and dying usually include a tunnel, a great Light (often revealed as Jesus) accompanied by overwhelming feelings of love and peace, indescribable beauty, living music where “truth is translated into song”, instant knowledge and communication through thoughts, encounters with deceased loved ones (Family is still important!), a decision point, conception that they have a mission, and a review of their life which feels like anything but judgment.  They describe “judgment” as an instantaneous understanding of every thought, word, and deed from your life at every angle.  The feelings accompany what is understood, and you see all from your perspective, from the perspective of those who were impacted (good and bad), and from God’s perspective. 

There is one chapter on hell, but it is forgettable in contrast to the enumerated delights of heaven, especially when the author makes it clear that people who are there have chosen it. 

Integration of the book into ministry

The impact of this book starts with me.  I’ve never really feared death, nor thought much about my own even, but reading this book has shifted my feeling about it from neutrality to excitement.  As one woman who was electrocuted, but survived said, “If I lived a billion years more, in my body or yours, there’s not a single experience on earth that could ever be as good as being dead.”

After finishing this book today, I don’t feel like I could ever pity a dying or dead person again, not for the death experience anyway.  The angst of separating from those you love, and the grief of those left behind will always hurt me as long as I am human.  Otherwise, not being paralyzed by death is a great feeling.  It feels like the appropriate spiritual posture of a Christian who believes in and hopes for Eternal Life. 

For those I am privileged to encounter in my ministry, this book will enable me to listen with a greater understanding and believe that their “stories” are real, as well as “open up” these types of conversations when appropriate.  Just last week, I visited a patient who had suffered his fourth stroke.  He quickly told me that his faith was strong and doing well.  He shared further that he “died” during his first stroke.  He saw the Light and twoA  deceased brothers on a hill of green, of which earth could never conceive.  His brothers were beckoning for him, but he shook his head “no”.  He understood that it wasn’t his time, as the Lord had more for him to do.  One of those brothers died at a young age from leukemia.  He was very ill, and needed help going to the restroom.  While my patient was waiting for his brother, his brother asked him, “Do you see that?”  He didn’t.  “The angels are coming for me.”  And shortly after that, he said, “Do you hear that?”  He didn’t.  “I hear trumpets.  They’re getting louder.”  His brother died the next day…

I believed him.

Finally, this book confirmed many things for me, which could constitute a solid “rule of life” for all:

1.  Think simply.

2.  Be grateful.

3.  Forgive.

4.  Do not judge.  Judgment inhibits your ability to love.

5.  Don’t speak more than you need to.  Use that time to pray.

6.  Never be discouraged.  God does not expect you to be perfect right now; just improve a little each day and you are on the way to perfection. 

7.  Pray to know your mission.

8.  Ask God to show you your life as you will see it one day!

9.  All of our life is reduced to love, humility, and unselfishness.

10.  The core of our being is all that we possess upon death and that core must be filled with the light of love to get to the Light that is Love.  “God is light and in Him is no darkness at all.”  1 John 1:5

Ducks on Wheels

At the close of my silent retreat last weekend, I parked myself at a pond's edge and took to watching the ducks.  At first glance, and certainly my long-held, un-analyzed impression, attributed a peaceful existence to these winged beauties.  But, if you watch them for any length of time, you realize they are engaged in ceaseless activity!  While it is true, they don't generally make a lot of noise (unless they're chasing off another), they are not at rest!  They "duck" their heads under the water, repeatedly.  They raise themselves up by flapping their wings.  They preen their chests.  They preen under their wings.  They submerge altogether.  They follow.  They chase.  They paddle.  They quack.  They fly.

This makes me wonder about their restlessness, which seems ingrained in them.  Normally, I think of restlessness as the opposite of contentment.  Naturally, the question proposed itself.  Are ducks content?

Merriam Webster says content means pleased and satisfied.  Not needing more.

I'm not sure, but I think they are incapable of being content or discontented.  They are ducks, doing what ducks do.  They just are.

Maybe the restlessness/contentment contrast doesn't hold for ducks, but I think it has implications for us.  We seem to possess a similar restlessness.  We resemble the duck in his ceaseless activity.  We are ducks who drive cars.

But, we have an advantage.  The advantage.  The advantage of knowing our Creator and resting in Him.  We are limited by short attention spans, uncomfortable chairs, mercurial thermostats, whiny knees, the tiniest of hunger pangs, and a million assaults from the phone in our pocket, but we ARE capable of it.  And the more we practice this resting in the Creator, the more capable we become.

Lord, teach me to rest in You.  Amen.

Does God Use Toothpicks?

Recently, I was visiting patients on the floor at the hospital.  As I was leaving one patient's room, a gentleman from another room met me in the hallway.  "My grandfather needs a toothpick."  I explained that the hospital may have some in the cafe or the cafeteria and inquired if he knew where either of those locations were.  He assured me that he could find it.  In spite of his hopeful confidence, I invited him to walk with me to see what we could come up with.

As we walked, we talked about his grandfather and skimmed over pieces of his own journey in life.  The cafe didn't have toothpicks, nor did any of the drawers in my department.  Grateful for the conversation, but empty-handed, we walked back to his grandfather's room. 

Prior to entering, I checked the room number against my patient list, to make sure we were in the right place.  We were.  But, to my absolute amazement, delight, and disappointment, the grandfather we were hunting toothpicks for, was a man I knew and loved!  He was someone I visited regularly at the nursing home I've been visiting for nearly a year.

He stole my heart one of the first times I asked him how he was doing.  He was 99-years-old and blind, lying peacefully on his bed in a dark room, holding his call button with both hands, and said, "Every day is a holiday.  Every meal a feast.  Smell every rose as you go by, 'cause you only pass this way but once."

I would probably be smitten with anyone who answered that question that way, but this man, in that room?  Definitely.

I tracked him down the following morning to deliver a baggie with toothpicks to cover another week or so of meals, I hoped.  I helped him with a sip of coffee and a bite of breakfast before the nursing staff "relieved" me.  I would have liked nothing more than to stay, but I had a full day's work ahead, so I wished him well and he thanked me for the little I did.

I tried to find him again this morning to no avail, and found out this afternoon he died over the weekend.

I've never been so grateful to have been asked for a toothpick--I would have missed him altogether.  I'm grateful for the awkward prayer I was able to pray with and for him, thanking God for his 100 years and his fidelity to those he loved.

Does God use toothpicks?  

He can if He wants to.  

It may seem like a stretch to you.  It could be a coincidence.  But, if you were me, and you were there, and you could feel the weight of what you would have missed, if it had happened any other way, I hope you would be asking right along with me, "Does God use toothpicks?!"


Dear God of Miracles Big and Small, Obvious and Overlooked,

Thank you for the incredible opportunity to know this great man, whose inner strength could be seen and felt.  Thank you for his grandson who was with him and for allowing me to be there, too.  If You use toothpicks, thank you for the implications this has for everything else in our universe!  Nothing is too small or ordinary to be used by You.  What an awesome thing to ponder!  And a great comfort, too.

Please be with this man's family and all who are grieving.  Thank you for being near to the brokenhearted. Eternal rest grant unto all who have died, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them.  May they rest in peace.    Amen.

The Monarch

Over the weekend, my oldest son approached me with a little something in his hand.  Maybe half the size of a quarter.  I was expecting something gross, funny, or dead, so I met his something with an appropriate amount of hesitation.  He insisted that I look more closely and hold it.

As soon as I held it in my hand, I knew it was alive or had been alive, but I didn't know what it was, nor had I ever beheld the hue of ethereal blue it radiated.  It looked like it had been sealed with kisses from a golden ink pen, held by a meticulous lover.    

"Where did you find this?!," I questioned my son.  He found it attached to one of the wooden boards in our atrium.  I looked even more closely and realized I could make out a butterfly wing on the inside!  Ohhhhhhhhhh!  Unbelievably, the word "chrysalis" popped into my mind, and I finally understood what I was holding.  It looked like this, with a color somewhere between the second and third photos from pixshark.com.

 Before I had a chance to google these great pictures and understand more about what it was, and exactly where in the process of metamorphosis "we" were, it "fell".  About 10 feet.  The four of us present were aghast at the thought of such an incredible discovery coming to such an abrupt and violent end.

We recovered it and put it in a jar to see if there was going to be more to the story, or not.  By nightfall, it had turned black, which of course meant it was dead.  Any color turning to black always means death, doesn't it?

Morning told a different story.  The Monarch butterfly had emerged from its chrysalis, but it had not flown away.  It was lying in the bottom of the jar, in some liquid that wasn't there before.  My husband had the wherewithal to take it out of the jar and hang it on a stick, so it could pursue its natural course from there.  Like a crash course in delivering babies, we watched a time-lapse video of this occurring in a natural environment, but something was wrong.  Try as it might, it could not unfurl its wings.

This little fact about this little creature whose existence was totally unbeknownst to us 24 hours before, devastated us.  We took turn holding sticks, and providing assistance when it fell off.  After a while, like a good theater company, we placed it on a rose for a different backdrop, hoping for a different scene to emerge.  When that didn't work, we filled a lid with sugar water, which enticed its incredibly long proboscis out for display.  Wow!  Have you seen this in real life?!  Just when I thought this mystical little creature had shown me all of its wonders, it showed me more.  Surely, there was something more I could do for it.  When all else failed, I tried to fix its wings myself.

(And I'm the one who goes around perpetuating the story about never helping a struggling butterfly out of its cocoon!  The struggle is crucial for its survival, I've been told.  It facilitates circulation through its wings.  But, desperate circumstances called for desperate measures.)

All of this to say, none of it worked.   Only two choices were left.  Was it going to die "naturally" as a victim of the elements or more mercifully and quickly, by my hand?  I entertained trying to keep it alive in an aquarium, but to what end?  After a quick call out to my husband, and no reply, I knew I had to do it.  The kids went out the back door and I went out the front.  I was never so sad to kill something so small, and yet so shockingly exquisite.

From first glance to tragic end, this little butterfly and its place in the story of life have made an indelible impression on me.  Lying in bed last night, I googled more about a Monarch's life.  I had to know.  Just how much life was truncated by a series of unfortunate events in my living room?  From what I read, it takes about 4 weeks to pass from an egg to a butterfly.  The average length of life beyond that?  About 4 weeks, with a range from a few days to a year. 

The marvels of the caterpillar, aesthestics and ecological value of the butterfly, aside, I am totally in awe of the captivating beauty and ornate detail of the chrysalis.  Outside of its central place in the metamorphosis of a caterpillar/butterfly, it is independently and astonishingly beautiful

What is the reason for such beauty?  Under more fortunate circumstances, it goes completely unnoticed.  In short time, I am becoming convinced that the better question is, for whom?  For whom has this beauty been created?

As far as I can tell, it is for no other reason than that "For from the greatness and beauty of created things comes a corresponding perception of their Creator."  Wisdom 13:5

Maybe, the beauty is just for us.  The ones lucky enough to stumble upon it...

"If you become Christ's you will stumble upon wonder upon wonder, and every one of them true."

-St. Brendan of Birr

Dear God of Metamorphosis and a Million Wonders Unseen,

Thank you for all things beautifully and wonderfully made.  Thank you for the countless details, which comprise beauty in every form...Especially in this chrysalis, whose beauty is most compelling because the reason for it can only be You.  And us.  I'm sorry it had to die, especially because we had our part in its death.  But, I'm not sorry that it led me here, and to You.  It's funny how life is like that, with exceeding beauty and death "living" side by side.  It seems like there could be one or the other, but not both existing at the same time, so close together.  I guess that "seeming" is the way the truth embedded in our heart drifts toward our minds.  The heart knows that death will take its final blow when it meets the Source of all beauty.  Thank you for this hope and everything in life that points to it.  Amen.   

20 Minutes and $1,000

I had the privilege of talking with someone new today.  A ninety-ish year old man.   He's a new resident at the nursing home I visit.  He was sitting in his wheelchair, in one of the common areas near the wall.  A TV was nearby, but he didn't seem to be paying any attention to it, so I approached him and introduced myself.  He said he didn't catch my name or why I was there, but he was happy to visit with a "young girl" just the same, so I sat down. 

We probably visited for twenty minutes and I'm still reeling and in awe of the little I know:

5th grade was the last grade he completed, because his father died when he was 9.  He had to start working to "make shoes or skirts" or whatever else the other children needed until he was lucky enough to get hired by the neighbors to build fence, which was worth room and board and $4 a month. 

At 21 years of age, he moved out and tried to make it for himself, but the draft caught up with him and he served in the war.  He chose the Navy because his dad was in the Navy in WWI.  He said he didn't get along too well, because he didn't understand the need for all of the discipline.  All of his life, he had done what he was told when he was told - even if it was midnight and he had to chop wood for the fire, because a sibling was sick and they needed heat. 

He regrets not having more education, because it helps the "brain see things in a more positive way".  As it was, he insisted his children get a college education, or a high school education at the very least.  He is wiser than he lets on and put his money where his mouth was, too. 

The roof was leaking badly, so he got an estimate to have it repaired.  $1,000.  He didn't have that, so he told the guy when he got the money together, he would let him know.  The man said he could wait.  I'm not sure how long it took, but it was at least one very wet winter later that he finally got the money together. 

Around this same time, one of his daughters came home.  She needed $300 to finish out the school semester.  He gave it to her.  A few weeks later, she returned.  She needed $780 to finish her schooling, at which time she could start working as a teacher.  Recognizing the opportunity he wished he had, he gave it to her.     

After all, he was used to doing everything himself.  He could nail those shingles on. 

His daughter was a teacher for 31 years, so his investment was well spent.  He marvels at the thought of going to school for 15 years.  In spite of a promise to pay it back and having not yet "seen a penny of it", he smiles at recounting the story... 

As for religion, he wishes he had that, too.  "It helps a person think about things differently."  To this, I asked, "Do you believe in God?"  "Oh, yes." he replied.  "He made the world and all that is in it.  I thank him for the experiences I've had in my life."  But, he wishes he knew what other people seem to know, because of the comfort they seem to glean from it.  I tried to assure him that he knew enough, but he wasn't buying it. 

He said he's been going downhill for three years.  If you were going downhill fast, that would be one thing, but it's not fast.  His legs and hands have quit working.  He can hold a spoon, but the food falls out just as he gets it to his mouth.  He can't get in or out of bed by himself, nor even put his leg back on the bed if it falls off.  While other people might take their own lives at this point, that didn't seem right to him.  Even if he was ready to go.   

He said I could share his story, but didn't know why anyone would care, or why I would call it a "story" when it is all true.  According to him, he's "just another bum on the way out".

I told him I didn't see it that way at all. 

In twenty minutes, I could see his perseverance, hope, love, self-sacrifice, and humility.  In this country, stories of life with a 5th grade education, chopping wood at midnight, saving money for a roof repair and then giving it all away are powerful, and dying a slow death.  They must be shared rather than lost.  Our generation will have stories, too, but they will not be the same. 

I can only hope we are able to inspire those behind us, as much as those who have gone before us inspire me. 

Dear God of the Young and Old, Educated and Uneducated, Able-bodied and Confined,

Thank you for the time spent with this child of yours today.  Thank you for the life experiences he thanks you for.  Thank you for the opportunity to profit from another.  Please grant us the grace to embody virtues, which seem so natural to those who have earned them.  Please bless the man these stories belong to, and all who are like him in the "evening" of life.  Grant them patience, perseverance, and an increase of faith, hope, and love.  Grant us the grace to imitate them.  Amen.

If Your Soul Looked Like A House...

I had the rare luxury of walking through a neighboring neighborhood this morning.  It's a neighborhood much fancier than mine, where everyone hires landscaping crews and pool boys.  As I walked, I felt myself drawn to some houses and repelled by others.  They're almost all huge and red brick, so it wasn't something so simple as size or color.

I didn't realize this unconscious process was even going on, until I passed a house that was gated and fenced off completely.  The only thing that wasn't inside the wrought iron fence was the mailbox.  Even so, the front door had its own additional metal gate.  "Wow", I thought.  They must not want visitors, which is fine by me because when I see their house, I want to cross/run to the other side of the street. 

I began to pay attention to how I felt as I passed each house, and realized something.  The same thing happens with people.  Not surprising really, since people are houses, too.  The most sacred kind of houses, called temples.   "Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, which you have from God?"  (1 Corinthians 6:19)

While we may not agree on which person is the most attractive or the house we'd most like to live in, I think we could agree on which ones were most inviting and which ones definitely were not.  

If our souls were actual houses that we could see, I wonder what a neighborhood of souls would look like?!  What neighborhood would my soul-house fit in to?  Would it be "rich" (in God's grace) with beautiful flowers, a front porch, and a welcome banner?  Would it be "poor" in the slums with barred doors and windows?  Or "poor" in a rich neighborhood, all locked up like the one I saw this morning? 

I've never experienced this more personally, than on days spent "on the floor" at the hospital...Going from room to room, knocking on the door, introducing myself and the availability of chaplain services.  The responses range from "No thanks" to "You can come in, if you want" to "I'd love to visit with you."  You get the picture. 

In Revelation 3:20, Jesus says, "Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me."

Maybe our soul is more like a house than we know.  It sounds like it has a door and some place to eat.  Maybe a dining room table.  In Introduction to the Devout Life, St. Francis de Sales mentions windows, too:  "...by your morning prayer, you open your soul's windows to the sunshine of Righteousness, and by your evening devotions, you close them against the shades of Hell."

The good thing is that Christ knocks no matter what.  He doesn't cross over to the other side of the street.  He comes to the rich and poor alike.  Doors and windows wide open, cracked, closed, locked, fenced off, or barred.  It doesn't matter, for now.

Are you happy in your neighborhood?  Is it your dream house or just what you could afford?  Maybe it's time to plant some flowers, take the gate off the door, or move altogether.  Lucky for us, there's still time to build the house we want, in the neighborhood we want, and we already have everything we need to do it. 

Dear Lord of Neighborhoods - Rich and Poor,

Thank you for time to walk this morning, legs to walk with, and a beautiful neighborhood to walk in.  Thank you for thinking enough of us that You would allow the Holy Spirit to dwell within.  Thank you for Your Divine Patience as You stand at our door and knock.  Please give us the grace to see our "house"  as you see it, and to make the necessary improvements, so that You may enter at the time of Your choosing without undue obstacles or delay.  Understanding you as the Son of a carpenter is making more sense all the time.  Thank you for making Yourself available to us, giving us a hand with the "housework", and for being the "one thing necessary".  Amen.