Forward ...

Pedro Arrupe, SJ, was the 28th Superior General of the Society of Jesus, leading the Society in the realities of serving the Church and people in the post-Vatican II world. Arrupe was a man of great spiritual depth who was committed to justice. He writes, “Nothing is more practical than finding God, that is, than falling in a love in a quite absolute, final way. What you are in love with, what seizes your imagination will affect everything. It will decide what will get you out of bed in the morning, what you will do with your evenings, how you spend your weekends, what you read, who you know, what breaks your heart, and what amazes you with joy and gratitude. Fall in love, stay in love, and it will decide everything.”

This Wednesday, March 5, 2014, is Ash Wednesday. And, so we start another Holy season of Lent. As a cradle Catholic, this season within the liturgical calendar of the Roman Catholic Church, has always been a time of melancholy and thought for me. I usually feel pangs of inadequacy during Lent for having not “given up” the right thing, praying as much as I should, giving alms as I should, and not “doing” enough good deeds as I should. This year, however I have an even larger challenge. I have left my church. I have left my soft spot to fall. I have left my home. For reasons too painful and too complicated to put to paper, I have left my church.

So this Lent, I start my journey to find a connection again within a church. I need to often remind myself that not “being” in a specific church does not change my relationship with God. In fact, I have turned to Him more in the last several weeks during this painful journey. I go forward with quiet resolve to find my “spot.” I don’t know how long it will take, or if I will ever find a new home in church. It is so hard when what I had before was so calming to me. But the main task is to go forward.

I know I will stumble and fall on this journey. But if my resolve is to keep my eyes fixed to His power and glory, I know that when I fall, my frail hand will be taken by Him with a gentle pull. The blessed pull to move forward. Saint Mother Theodore Guerrin has stated, “We do not know whether we have a long time to live or not. It might be that this year will be the last God will give us to work for Him and to prove to Him our love.” Oh, my urgency of moving forward

The Flowers Still Come

After my Mother's death, I kept a journal.  I would write daily at times, then it would stretch to weeks, to months, and then sometimes just a writing on a very special occasion.  Below is an entry I made on the second Mother's Day after my Mother's death.  I still remember when this happened and how it touched my heart.  I share today in honor of all our Mother's both alive and in Heaven.

The Flowers Still Come …

Mother’s Day, 2006

I am now celebrating the second Mother’s Day without my Mother.  When I awoke this morning, I felt the immediate need to make the journey to the cemetery to deliver my flowers and spend a little time at my Mother’s grave site.  As I pulled into the cemetery, I saw a car parked to the side of the paved path, and I observed two people walking across the cemetery on their personal journey as well.  As I grew nearer I realized that I knew these two people … they were actually the parents of one my friends, and they have to be in their mid 80’s.  They both had bouquets of flowers, and that is when I noticed exactly which graves they were going to visit.  They split apart a bit, and then I saw them place their flowers on their Mothers’ graves.  Their Mothers must have been gone for decades at this point, yet the flowers still come.  This touched my heart in a way that hasn’t happened before.  It was my affirmation that it doesn’t matter how long our Mothers have been gone, they are never forgotten and memories abound for the rest of our lives.  After placing their flowers, they walked back to each other, took hands, and returned to their car.  I stood silently alone for a while, talked with my Mother, and then returned to my car.  These fifteen minutes enriched my Mother’s Day this year, and this sweet little couple has no idea they were such a part of it.  Our Lord certainly sends His loving touch in the most simplistic of ways.  We only need to be attentive.  The flowers still come.

Reflection …  My God of infinite love and mercy, I realize more and more that I live in the presence of your love. There is no way that I couldn’t, even if I tried, because you never give up on your children.  Open my heart to your continued love and fill it with the peace that only you can give.

Precious Life ...

Sometimes it takes the saddest and hardest events in life to shock us back to what is really important.

Last Thursday, April 19, a dear friend and fellow choir member suffered the bursting of a cerebral aneurysm, and she died early Saturday morning, April 21.  She was only 48 years old.  But, oh what she packed into those 48 years!  She experienced life with full enthusiasm. She took care of family and friends to the extent that she made it her personal mission to be custodian to many. She loved to travel, and she spent many hours in her car driving from place to place. She was in Colorado when she passed away, and it took several days for her to return home. Another choir member said, “Well, that’s just Stacy.  She’ll need to stop off several other places on her way home.”  This is so true.  Stacy loved Facebook, and I would be totally worn out and fatigued just reading her posts when she would be on one of her traveling jaunts.  Certainly no grass grew under her feet.

If there are lessons I learned from my friend, Stacy, they would have to be centered on just taking time for others and being available.  Stacy didn’t "work", and I used to think how much easier it must have been for her to be in so many different places. But now on thinking this through in more depth, I’m not sure it was a time issue, but more an issue of just making herself available.  Yes, I work.  I work more than 40 hours per week, so I do have a time restriction during those work hours. But I can still be available.  Available with a smile, available with a hug, available with a quick call to encourage, console, or for a quick “hello and thinking of you.”  I can be more available to schedule and plan events with my friends. Available to “step out of the box” and experience new things.

When someone so young, and with so many more opportunities “to do things” passes, it causes pause and reflection of how life is being spent. Stacy had recently posted on her Facebook, “Since none of us really know when the end of our journey is coming; love, laugh, and live like there is no tomorrow.”

Yes, Stacy, Life … Precious life.  God bless you and keep you.

Meet the Flood's

Isn’t it strange how we meet folks?

My Mother was always diligent about keeping flower arrangements on my Father’s headstone. She would make sure that Daddy’s grave site had Christmas flowers and Easter flowers.  Since Mother wintered in Florida, and my sister lived out-of-town, I was responsible for his birthday fresh bouquet in February, his green carnations for St. Patrick’s Day, and a purple arrangement for Lent. That would take us through the period from after Christmas right up to Easter, and Mother would take over from that point.

In March 2005, Easter was on March 27. The Saturday before Easter, Holy Saturday, Mother took me to the cemetery to see the arrangement she had placed on Daddy’s headstone. She was so happy with the outcome of the arrangement. She had worked directly with the florist to ensure that it was unique and had all the lovely spring colors that she and Daddy had always loved.  Little did she know, that she had picked out the flowers that would be part of her own headstone.  You see, Mother died very suddenly the Wednesday after Easter that year. She had placed those flowers on Daddy’s grave on March 24, and on April 1 she had been lovingly placed in her final “earthly” resting place. Note that I say “earthly” resting place. She and Daddy’s final resting place is in Heaven with our Lord.

After Mother’s death, I began visiting the cemetery daily or at least several times weekly. Within about the first 2 to 3 weeks, and after a quite fierce storm, I noted that the flower arrangement on the headstone was no longer in place. When I glanced around the immediate area, I saw an arrangement across the narrow road up against another tombstone.  I walked over to check it out, and I was almost 100% sure that it was my parent’s flower arrangement.  I picked it up and turned to take it back to my parents' grave. Then I had this terrible sensation that it might not be the one my Mother had so diligently picked out, and really did belong to the folks where it lay.  I looked at the name on that tombstone and the name was “Flood”.  It was a rather broad tombstone.  Not knowing the “right thing” to do, I said out loud, “Mother, I’m sorry if I am giving away your flowers, but I’m just not sure, so I will buy you and Daddy a new one.”  Then I placed the wayward floral arrangement atop the “Flood’s” tombstone.

It has been amazing to me that in the 7 years since that time, I have placed numerous arrangements on Mother and Daddy’s grave site. Some have lasted until they have faded and appear worn, and others have disappeared within a few days to weeks of being placed. But the “Flood’s” arrangement has never budged from that tombstone. 

I shared this story with a friend of mine, whose parents are buried in the same cemetery.   She, too, began to check out the “Flood’s” grave site. Together we would watch this same worn out arrangement placed atop their tombstone.  One Memorial Day, during the Mass held in the cemetery, the priest presiding remarked that he felt one of the saddest things was an unkempt grave. My friend, who was attending the Mass, immediately thought of the “Flood’s”.  So now, between the two of us, we have begun to maintain that grave site.

We have often wondered why no one ever came. Then we found the probable reason. We finally truly read their tombstone. There are 6 people buried at this site. Three on one side and three on the other side of the marker.  Their dates of death are, on one side 1937, 1910, 1939.  On the other side 1925, 1975, 1963.   I believe this little family may all be gone.  Five have last names of "Flood" and one just says "A Friend".  How special is that?

My friend and I will continue to place arrangements for the “Flood’s”.  We now feel a bond with them.  Maybe one day, we will all meet in Heaven.  It is indeed strange how we come to meet folks.

This Most Holy Friday

It is the holiest of Friday's for Christians. This last Friday in Lent ... this most holy Good Friday.  The color of the Bishop's, priest's, and deacon's vestments are in reverence to His blood.  The cloth draped over the cross for veneration the same sacred color.  When I come forward for the Veneration of the Cross, bow, and kiss the cross, it is truly the most solemn of actions in my Catholic heritage.

It is not about the fish fries or whether I've been able to hold true to my fasting of choice during these 40 days of Lent.  It is the culmination of the last 40 days of prayer, meditation, reflection, and renewal of my baptismal promise.

I remember as a child the Passion of Our Lord being read on Good Friday.  I remember the shifting from foot to foot and wondering if the priest would ever come to the end of the story.  Thankful that it was only read during this one period of time throughout the year. Glad, when at the end, he finally would say, "The Passion of Our Lord."  As a child was it even possible to understand what we had just heard?  And, as an adult, is it possible to absolutely comprehend the love that drives our salvation?  So often we get caught up in the mysticism of our faith, and we forget that this was a man in flesh and blood, with a mother and father, and friends who loved Him.  This man, made to carry the burden of His cross, and suffer unbearably so our sins could be forgiven. 

I find myself trying to stretch this into a longer written piece, when in reality I am not even worthy to approach this subject.  I will leave it where it is, and on this holy Good Friday, when I see the Bishop, priest, and deacon enter the church in their vibrant red vestments, my mind will be on the prayerful lyrics of a beautiful song written by Timothy R. Smith, "When I Survey The Wondrous Cross"...

"See from his head, his hands, his feet, Sorrow and love flow mingled down!  Did e'er such love and sorrow meet, or thorns compose so rich a crown?"   ... "Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all."

In Loving Remembrance ...

This is the seventh anniversary of my Mother's death.  In some ways it feels like it has been decades, and in other ways the sadness is just as raw as if it were yesterday.  At the time, everyone remarked how “brave” I was, what wonderful words I had to say, how respected I was for being able to speak at all.  Let me first state, there was no bravery. There was intense prayer that God would give me just five minutes to be able to put into words, meager words, what I needed and wanted to say about my Mother.  Just five minutes to give this woman her due!  Interestingly, and quite bizarre as well, is the fact that on Easter Sunday, the last Mass my mother and I attended together, the opening line of her eulogy came into my head during the opening song of Mass.  To this day I have no idea why that happened, but I did carry that “premonition” with me into the eulogy I delivered.  Below are my words I spoke.  I have thought of many others since that time that should have been included.  But, in these 7 years, I have learned to forgive myself for what I should or could have done, and instead be happy for what was accomplished at a time when I couldn't even think straight.  It is with love and remembrance I share the following ...

My mother’s eulogy…

First I’d like to take this opportunity on behalf of my entire family to thank all of you here today and at the funeral home last night for all your care, kindness, and prayer.  It has truly been overwhelming.  I’ve always said one of my biggest blessings is my very special friendships over the years, and this was certainly affirmed over the past 3 days. You have just been awesome.   I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Wednesday morning was a devastating day for my family, but I have to take comfort in knowing that on that Wednesday morning, there was a little red-headed Irishman, who was dancing a jig in heaven when he saw his Louisa was finally home.  I’m sure he has already convinced everyone in heaven that she can do it all.    That was his favorite line, “don’t worry about it, Louisa can take care of that.”  .

Our mother loved us all dearly and felt the need to continue to nurture well into our adult years. She didn’t hesitate to give directions on almost EVERYTHING!!  She even used to tell me when to turn the headlights on, and when to put gas in the car.   I used to tease her and ask her if she felt like I was still 10 years old, and her reply was, “once a Mother, always a Mother. I just can’t help myself.”  I’m sure I’m going to miss all those directions, so if you see me pulled off the side of the road, out of gas, and with no headlights on, somebody, please rescue me!!

Mother and Daddy were very different personalities, but a perfect match.  Daddy was the ever teasing Irishman, and very proud of it.  Mother was usually the brunt of his jokes and teasing.  Daddy taught me the love of Churchill Downs and horse racing, and Mother taught us the love of the arts.  She had Patricia in piano lessons, and me in dance very early in our lives, and she never hesitated to buy tickets to different theatrical performances so we could go together.  As I stand here today I have 4 sets of tickets for upcoming performances that Mother and I were planning to attend together

Mother loved to play cards.  She and her two best friends, Billie and Fannie, get together every Saturday and Sunday to play Liverpool Rummy.  You have to ante up 65 cents per game. She would call me at the end of those games, and either very proudly say,  “I did really good tonight.  I think I came out about 40 cents on top,” or she would report,” I just couldn’t get any cards tonight”.  She loved these cards, and we made hasty trips home from Mass on Sunday nights many times, so she could make the 7:30 start time.  I know she will miss those games with you all.

She would have done ANYTHING for my dad, Patricia, myself, and the “apple of her eye” Whitney.  She would say to me at times, that she only hoped that over the years she had done the right things with all of us, and I have told her many times that whenever a Mother wants to question how she raised her children, she only needs to look as far as seeing how her children raise their children.  Patricia, you and Whitney are perfect examples of that, she was always so proud of you and Whitney.  She used to say all the time, “Patricia is an excellent Mother.”

I hope if the Lord has plans for me to grow older, he allows me to grow older like our Mother did.  She did things her way, even up to her death.  She used to say all the time, “I hope I just get sick and die.  I just don’t want to lie around someplace being sick”.  We can take comfort in that part. She did things very stubbornly many times, but always with a good heart .

I try to live by the motto, “Make God Smile Everyday.”  That’s actually my screen saver on my computer at work.  Now I’m going to add to that, “Make Mother Smile Everyday.” We love you dearly, and you are missed greatly already!   God bless you and keep you!!  We will all be together again, because our God is kind and good.

That was spoken, now 7 years ago, on a very sad day for our family.  I miss my Mother and Father dearly, but I do believe that our God is kind and good.  We will all be together again.  That's His promise to His faithful.

My Gift From Above

Four years ago today, my sweet little Gracie Lou was born. When she was born, my 14 ½ year-old Bichon, Chelsea was fighting liver cancer, which we all knew was pretty much futile. When Gracie Lou was born, we had no idea our paths would cross, and in the not too distant future.

Chelsea passed away on April 8, 2008. My heart was absolutely broken, and it ached with grief, but was full of sweet memories. Within a few weeks I found myself very cautiously in contact with a Bichon breeder in Logansville, GA. When talking with him about the potential of an available puppy, I was told that he had puppies that had been born on March 30, and another litter that had been born on April 4.  I was so unsure whether my heart was ready for a new dog, having just lost the love of my life a few weeks before. But, when he said he had a little girl  available from the March 30 litter, I knew someone was speaking to me.  March 30 is the anniversary of my Mother’s death, and I knew, I just knew that Mother was sending me this puppy.    My answer was yes! Yes, I want this puppy!

On June 7, 2008 a friend, Robin, and I drove to Georgia to pick up Gracie Lou.  Another very special friend of mine lived in Marietta, GA, and she also went with us to get Gracie.  I remember the breeder coming to the door, and he had a puppy in each hand.  One was quietly resting in his hand, and the other was half dangling in his other hand, wiggling, and with all four legs going in every direction.   How would I choose?    I’ve always heard that animals will pick you. So, I sat down on the floor, and he put the puppies down. One came on a dead tear across the floor and scaled my arm. Kisses abounded on my ears, face, fingers, arms; anything that little tongue could reach.  I would sit this puppy aside and try to pick up the other one, and here she would come again. She would wedge herself between me and her sister puppy, and kiss, kiss, kiss.  It was as if she were saying, “It’s me! It’s me!  Pick me!  Pick me!  I’m the one you’ve been calling Gracie since you decided to get another best friend.”  I actually believe this little puppy got up on that special Saturday, June 7, and said, “I need to get ready.  This is the day my Mommy is coming from Indiana to get me.”  I do think she would have physically tripped me, if I had tried to get out the door without her.  All  2 ½ pounds of her.

Out the door Gracie and I went. She never looked back, she never seemed to question where she was, or where she was going.  She left with gusto. She nestled on my shoulder tucked under my chin.  Robin drove for the first couple of hours, and I held my new family member. As tears streaked down my face, remembering and missing Chelsea, already in love with Gracie, I kissed my little girl and told her I would take care of her for the rest of her life. I said to her, “You are safe and secure in Mommy’s care.”  I still to this day say this to her nightly, as I kiss her goodnight.

She has been with me for four years, and she is still the same vibrant dog as she was when she was just a little puppy.  She is funny, confident, and full of joy.  My life would not be as complete without her.   Her name fits her perfectly … Gracie Lou … Gracie for the grace sent to me by my beloved Chelsea, and Lou after my Mother, Louisa, who I know, I just know sent me this puppy.