Communing with Grandma

Through the week, my television fast has not been too much of a challenge.  I have had someplace to go most evenings and even when I am home, I can find things to occupy myself for the few hours before bed time.  The weekends are harder.  Sometimes I wonder what single women who lived alone did in the days before television and radio.  I know that their housekeeping chores took much longer than mine do (and their houses were likely much cleaner), but after the chores were done, what did those spinster schoolmarms living out on the plains miles from anyone do in their silent shanties?

Today was a particular challenge.  I went to Mass and breakfast as usual this morning, but have not seen or spoken with anyone since then.  I had planned to attend Vespers and Benediction at Church this afternoon, but it was cancelled due to the winter storm . . . which also kept me from going out anywhere else.  I passed much of the day without much temptation to turn on the tube, but it gets harder toward evening.  I had already walked on the treadmill, finished the Sunday paper and one of the book I was reading, spent an excessive amount of time on the internet (primarily listening to Contemporary Christian Artists on YouTube) and did Evening Prayer (since I missed Vespers),  so I was ready for something new to do.

One of my breakfast companions, after hearing that I'm going to play games with my siblings next week, asked if I knew how to play Solitaire.  She has it on her tablet and cannot figure it out.  Of course I know how to play Solitaire, but I don't know how to explain the game without a deck of cards or the computer version in front of me.

This evening when I was thinking of what to do, I remembered the conversation and found a deck of cards.  I used to know several solitaire games, but I don't know that I remember them.  Actually, my parents - particularly Dad - are the only people that I know that still play solitaire on a regular basis with actual cards.  It's a lost art.  I played for an hour and while I was shuffling and dealing out the cards, I remembered Grandma Meyer.  Widowed in her 50s, she lived alone for many years.  Although I know that she had a TV, I'm sure she was not addicted to it as I have been.  I remember Dad telling me once how many games of solitaire she knew (although I don't remember the exact number, I'm sure that it was six or more).  I know that this was one way that she passed her time and kept her mind sharp.  I know that the games I was taught as a child were ones that she knew and played as well. 

As I played tonight, I talked a little with Grandma -- I don't remember her very well.  I was about 12 when she died.  But I know that she was a wonderful Mom and Grandma, a great cook and a lovely, devout woman.  I hope that I have inherited some of that from her.

Into the COLD!

I took a day off work today.  Yesterday, as I was leaving work, my lead was congratulating me about being able to stay inside and spend the whole day in my pajamas.  Unfortunately, that is not happening, m friend.

I schedule a personal day the Friday before the Catholic Women's Conference so that I can get my Saturday chores and errands done and not have to worry about them after spending a long day at the conference.  Thus, I was out in the cold more today than I would have been had I gone to work.

I got groceries, had my taxes done (not a banner tax year for me, but still on the plus side of things!), went to the Post Office to buy stamps, dropped off my recycling and went to Dollar General (forgot to get cat litter at the grocery) . . . in the midst of the errand running, I also discovered that I was low on gas.  And when I say "low on gas" I mean very low . . . my gas gauge in my car no longer works, so I usually discover that I am low when the "idiot" light comes on.  With the tank that low (and temps even lower), I don't dare park anywhere for any length of time or I will have a frozen fuel line.  So this day off also found me jumping up and down beside my car, urging the pump to pump faster while it filled my tank . . . not quite thawed out yet.

I have also promised a couple of friends that I would meet them at the Fish Fry at church tonight - followed by Stations of the Cross.  I could call and back out, but that would be cowardly and rude, so I will brave the outdoors again in just a couple hours. 

I know winter cannot and will not last forever.  But right now, I can hardly remember what it feels like to be too hot.

Into the Wilderness

Welcome to Lent 2015.  We observe Lent for 40 days because that is the symbolic time period of God forming his people.  The Israelites were in the desert for 40 years in preparation to enter the promised land (Dt 8:2), Moses fasted and prayed for 40 days to prepare to meet the Lord and receive the commandments (Ex 24:18), Jesus went into the desert and fasted for 40 days before starting his ministry (Mk 1:13) . . . . etc.  So welcome to the wilderness. 

This does not mean that we have to all go out and become hermits until Easter.  We live in the world and have our obligations.  But we do need to separate ourselves in some way from the everyday demands on our lives so that we can find a quiet space in which we can be formed by God in preparation for the Resurrection.  I am already beginning to wonder if I have found more quiet than I had bargained for.

I gave up TV for Lent. 

Actually, I am just curtailing my TV watching for Lent . . . limiting myself to just the morning news so that I know what to wear and if I need to leave for work earlier than usual (weather and traffic, in other words).  I have actually done this before, but that year I was gone to some meeting or event almost every weeknight, so I really didn't give up much.  This winter, I have cut back on many of my outside activities (some by design, others just didn't pan out) and have been home in the evenings more than not.  So, day 1, and I already don't know what to do with myself.

Of course, that is not strictly true.  Having thought about this Lenten discipline for several weeks now, I do have some ideas of how I will better use my time while not watching TV . . . I just expected somehow to ease into these activities - not to try to do them all on Ash Wednesday.  My plan?  I will read more (done some of that), pray (done some of that), journal (started), craft and start Spring Cleaning.  As it is almost 9:00, I think I will leave off the crafting and cleaning for another day.  I think I will try also to dovetail blogging in with the journaling . . . we'll see which (if either) I can actually keep up with.  I don't have a good track record with either.

A birthday essay

With my birthday so early in the year, it sometimes seems like it is an extension or reemphasis of the New Year. On New Year's Day (or often leading up to it), many people review the year just past and make plans or goals for the coming year - sometimes reflecting on world events, but often looking into their own lives.  A birthday lends itself to such personal reflections as well, thus the double whammy of having a birthday little more than a week after New Year's Day.

Back in my early 30's, this often resulted in a time of depression for me (well, more often than not, really).  I saw myself going nowhere in my life -- barely getting by financially, dead end job, little social life and no romance.  Year after year, I reflected on a past year of no accomplishment and looked forward to a year of little prospect.  I pretty much dreaded January and just held on until Ash Wednesday, when (oddly enough) I somehow felt was really a fresh start. 

Strange how our outlook changes over time.  Again in my life I have been alone for many years.  There is minimal expectation of advancement at work and my finances are something I would rather not think about.  But my perspective on life is vastly different.  As I approached the turning of the year (both on the universal calendar and my own), I have been excited.  I can count at least half a dozen people I know today as friends that I hadn't even met a year ago.  There are also as many friends (if not more) that I am closer to today than I was last year. I look forward to another year of friendships and sharing my faith, hope and love with the people that God has put in my life.

Even in the dark days of dreading the onset of a new year, I never gave up celebrating my birthday and always welcomed the good wishes that came my way.  I don't know if you have seen it, but I know several people who do not celebrate their own birthdays at all.  I don't mean those who deny that they have had as many birthdays as they actually have -- the ones who are perpetually 29.  No, these people (sadly enough, mostly women) not only do not acknowledge their age, but deny the option to age because they deny that there was a date in history when they were born - and they get mad (or at least disgruntled) if anyone else mentions such a possibility. 

I find this so sad.  We have come to a place in our culture where we worship youth to such an extent that people try (vainly) to stay forever young by never having a birthday.  They miss out on the primary reason that we celebrate birthdays.  We don't celebrate because of the number (think how odd it would sound if we celebrated Christmas by saying, "Happy two thousand fourteenth birthday Jesus!").  We celebrate birthdays as a recognition that the person having the birthday is valued simply for the fact that they ARE.  Any other time that you are celebrated, your are celebrated for what you have done (graduation, promotion, championship, etc.).  On your birthday, we celebrate you just because God thought that you would be a very good idea -- and we think so too!  That is worth celebrating no matter your age, income, marital status, health, productivity, or any thing else that may be seen as worth while to others. 

I am worth celebrating -- Happy Birthday to me!

Bl. Miguel Pro

This past Sunday, we celebrated the Feast of Christ the King.  Sunday was also, appropriately, the feast day of Blessed Miguel Pro, who died proclaiming, "Vive Christo Rey!"  Instead of trying to give his story in my own words, I am just going to post bits from the catholic.org website because I can't tell the story any better than they already have . . .

"Born on January 13, 1891 in Guadalupe, Mexico, Miguel Agustin Pro Juarez was the eldest son of Miguel Pro and Josefa Juarez.
Miguelito, as his doting family called him, was, from an early age, intensely spiritual and equally intense in hi mischievousness, frequently exasperating his family with his humor and practical jokes. As a child, he had a daring precociousness that sometimes went too far, tossing him into near-death accidents and illnesses.
Miguel was particularly close to his older sister and after she entered a cloistered convent, he came to recognize his own vocation to the priesthood. Although he was popular with the senoritas and had prospects of a lucrative career managing his father's thriving business concerns, Miguel renounced everything for Christ his King and entered the Jesuit novitiate in 1911.
He studied in Mexico until 1914, when a tidal wave of anti-Catholicism crashed down upon Mexico, forcing the novitiate to disband and flee to the United States, where Miguel and his brother seminarians trekked through Texas and New Mexico before arriving at the Jesuit house in Los Gatos, California.

In 1915, Miguel was sent to a seminary in Spain, where he remained until 1924, when he went to Belgium for his ordination to the priesthood in 1925. Miguel suffered from a severe stomach problem and after three operations, when his health did not improve, his superiors, in 1926, allowed him to return to Mexico in spite of the grave religious persecution in that country.

The churches were closed and priests went into hiding. Miguel spent the rest of his life in a secret ministry to the sturdy Mexican Catholics. In addition to fulfilling their spiritual needs, he also carried out the works of mercy by assisting the poor in Mexico City with their temporal needs. He adopted many interesting disguises in carrying out his secret ministry. He would come in the middle of the night dressed as a beggar to baptize infants, bless marriages and celebrate Mass. He would appear in jail dressed as a police officer to bring Holy Viaticum to condemned Catholics. When going to fashionable neighborhoods to procure for the poor, he would show up at the doorstep dressed as a fashionable businessman with a fresh flower on his lapel. His many exploits could rival those of the most daring spies. In all that he did, however, Fr. Pro remained obedient to his superiors and was filled with the joy of serving Christ, his King.

Falsely accused in the bombing attempt on a former Mexican president, Miguel became a wanted man. Betrayed to the police, he was sentenced to death without the benefit of any legal process.
On the day of his execution, Fr. Pro forgave his executioners, prayed, bravely refused the blindfold and died proclaiming, "Viva Cristo Rey", "Long live Christ the King!"  "

St. Euphrasia of the Sacred Heat of Jesus

As I wind down my November tribute to the Communion of Saints, I think it is so appropriate to give honor to one of our newest Saints (thanks for the suggestion, Becky Miller).

St. Euphrasia of the Sacred Heart was just canonized two days ago on the Feast of Christ, King of the Universe.  She was born as Rosa Eluvathingal in India on Oct 17, 1877 to Syro-Malabar Catholic family.  Her father initially opposed her entry into the Sisters of Mt. Carmel because he wanted to marry her to the son of another wealthy families in the region.  He eventually relented because of her resolve.  When she entered the convent, she took the name Sr. Euphrasia of the sacred Heart of Jesus.  However, ill health threatened her stay in the convent.  She is said to have had a vision of the Holy Family, at which point the illness she had long felt ceased. 

In 1913, she was made Mother Superior of St. Mary's Convent, Ollur, where she was to spend the rest of her life.  Despite her many duties, she strove to lead a life of constant prayer and devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, becoming known as the Praying Mother.  After her death on August 29, 1952, her tomb became a pilgrimage site and many people reported miracles.
Her feast day is Aug. 29.

St. Mary MacKillop

On the main website I use for my Saint research, they list about 2 dozen St. Marys . . . that's not counting all the St. Maries and St. Marias . . . . yet we most often only hear about the one St. Mary - our Blessed Mother.  Today we will profile one of the "forgotten" St. Marys.

Mary Helen MacKillop was born in Australia in 1842 to Scottish immigrant parents.  She was the oldest of 8 siblings.  Because their father was never able to make a success of the farm - or any other profession he tried, the children went to work at early ages to help support the family.  Mary started working as a clerk at 14 and later worked as a teacher and a governess. She opened her own boarding school for young ladies in 1864.  Two years later, a priest friend invited Mary and her sisters to open a Catholic School.

About this time, Mary made a declaration of her dedication to God and began wearing black.  In 1867 she became the first sister an mother superior of a new religious order, the Sisters of St. Joseph of the Sacred Heart (the first religious order to be founded by an Australian) and she took the name Sister Mary of the Cross.  The order adopted brown habits and the sisters became known as the Brown Joeys. By the end of 1869, more than 70 Josephite sisters were educating children at 21 schools - by 1871, 130 nuns were working in more than 40 schools and charitable institutions across South Australia and Queensland.

Unfortunately, the bishop at this time was often absent from his episcopate due to health reasons and without clear leadership, factions developed among the clergy. Through a complex series of events, involving both misunderstanding as well as vengeance, Mary MacKillop ended up on the wrong side of the Bishop and was excommunicated.  She was forbidden to have contact with anyone in the Church, so she lived with a Jewish family. The Bishop lifted the excommunication on his deathbed and a later Episcopal Commission completely exonerated her.  Her order continued to thrive and expanded into New Zealand.
Mother Mary died in 1909 and was canonized in 2010.  Her feast day is August 8.