Obedience and Redemption

Rule #10 The Rule of St. Francis

United themselves to the redemptive obedience of Jesus, who placed His will into the Father's hands, let them faithfully fulfill the duties proper to their various circumstances of life. Let them also follow the poor and crucified Christ, witness to Him even in difficulties and persecutions.

I believe with all my heart that God loves us with a parent's heart, knows us and our ways to the core, and is delighted when we unite our will with his, or in humility, completely hand over our will to him, as we learn to trust Him, through circumstances, experiences, or faith.

He wants to work with us. He delights in our simple acts of love. Jesus, in the garden, had his own will. but in loving and redemptive obedience, handed his will to the Father. 

My circumstances in my life are as a wife, mother, writer, volunteer, lover of Christ, and witness to His mercy. I struggle when I have to follow him into dark places — which present difficulties and persecutions, but know that the more I trust him in those times, the more peace I find, even in the darkness.

My Lord has given me much these days. I have fullness of purpose, every morning to evening.  Checking email, and finding work, dealing with clients and potential ones, social media posting, writing, photoshopping, finding inspiration, and carrying on.  Sometimes two phones on the go with various freelance projects on the hook.  He supplies me with my daily bread. I only have to obey, and be the best example of the work that I do.

And then there's the people I love and mentor. Two women who have exited darkness, and are struggling at times to walk in light. I am not journeying with them to be their judge, mother or jury. Just give them a bit of haven, when there's a haven of peace to be found. If I am to emulate the Blessed Mother in her wonderful actions of charity, it's what I choose to do, in her footsteps, and the footsteps of St. Clare. I love them and their strength, and in their vulnerability. It might just be sitting and watching some television like a couple of old folks, or sitting beside them at Mass. Praying for them while they are in confession.

My family, and being available and loving to them in whatever way leads me closer to Him. I am full of expectant joy at the realization that there is a grandson on the way, soon to be a part of a family that already loves him. I'm also so grateful that the Lord has heard my cry, and in his love and mercy and surprising way, gave Tara and Darren a whole new occupation — parent.

I'm grateful for my husband and the things that we share together, whether it's cooking a meal, watching a tender movie (he likes chick flicks) and housework. We do housework together. He's better at it than I am. I get distracted, where he has his mother's Pennsylvania Dutch sense of purpose, cleaning every corner, and dusting every ledge.

Obedience to God's will takes me into interesting places. Today it was helping chop onions and carrots with my husband for tomorrow's urban mission. It was an inspiration of the Holy Spirit to ask my husband to help, and I'm very grateful. Tomorrow it's the Mission, where I will seek the face of the Almighty in every face I serve.

And then, tonight, just a simple obedience to the rule of St. Francis. This is, for me, a delicious obedience of just following in the path of others who have gone before me. Every two weeks I meet with beautiful people from all walks of life. The thing we share is the desire to follow in the Footsteps of a Saint who knew abandonment to the Holy Will was the best way to find peace, joy and freedom.

Who do you trust?

I woke up this morning, if not an atheist, at least an angry doubter.

I figured I had my reasons. Inside I was seething mad. Angry that in an hour I had to stand in front of a church, be part of the catechists group being commissioned, and feel like a hypocrite.

And I really, really hate hypocrites. Hate and Mad and Angry seem to be big words in my vocabulary these days.

Some people might say that it's just stress, and I should calm down. Others say, "none of this really affects you, so you shouldn't take it on".

Okay. Fine. Don't take it on.

You see, a few weeks ago, someone I really trusted, someone who was actually one of my children's godparents, was outed as a Paedophile. He was looking to have sex with a 14 year old boy.

And the tough thing is, in my large, extended group of friends and family — in the hundred or so people that I surround my life in — he was the only real "practicing" Catholic that I reached out to on a regular basis. I "guess" he was practicing, all right. I don't know how much he was really living his faith. Oops. There goes my anger again.

The deal is, he would scold and condemn people for their actions a lot. I would hear from some of them, how they dreaded a phone call from this person, because they knew the debasement would begin.

I would have lengthy conversations about the "Capital C" Church with him. The thing is, now, in my recall, I don't know how much we talked about how much we love Jesus.

You see, in any normal conversation with me, it's going to come up. I am in love with Christ. I teach catechism to adults, and that better be the most clearest thing I teach. I believe with all my heart, that religion is dust and nothing without a love for our Savior.

So now, I feel I've not only lost a friend, a fellow warrior for Christ, but I've been dealing with a hypocrite who didn't care enough about his life, his wife, his children, his faith.... enough said. And my faith? It feels damaged, done... Done with this conversation...

Thing #2. I have two mentally challenged people who live with me. They both are intelligent, physically healthy people in their 40's. But they both struggle with mental illness. A gamut of diagnosis from PTSD, social anxiety, depression, hormonally charged psychosis, and borderline personality disorder.

And these two don't like each other, and in the last two weeks, have both skirted around about suicide. They have both imprinted on my husband and I (transference) as parents. At least they treat us as if we were their parents. It's not a role we bought in for. They were simply renters. One has been with us for 11 years, the other for over two years.

When we are away for as short as two days, all hell breaks loose, and I had to deal with one cutting himself, and the other talking about "going away permanently". They both want the other "gone" from the house.

DH and I are thinking, well, let's just sell the house. Then we are free! I have a permanent "why can't we all just get along mentality," until I just can't anymore.

I remember my mother in law saying once, "My giving a crap just crapped out", after listening to her 8 children bicker about each other to her over the decades.

There's a lot more but it's not the point of this post. It's been a long time since I wrote anything, and today was a day that just stands out and I want to remember it.

Go back to this morning. Standing in my kitchen. Telling my husband I was sort of done with this faith thing, this religion thing. Who cares. What does it matter. Why don't I just give up....

He didn't really know what to say. He's a non-practicing ex-Catholic who barely handles that part of my personality. He'd rather I return to the fun-loving, hard drinking, party animal who ... well, I can't even remember, it's been that long. Trust me, though, although I was a nice person, I was not an angel.

A half an hour later I walked into the church, acknowledged a few people I was expecting to be there, genuflected and sat in the middle of the pew. I looked straight up at the crucifix, then a little lower to the sanctuary light, and said to Christ, "Well, I'm here. That's all you get today. I'm sort of done, Jesus. I have nothing for you. You have to talk to me."

Silence.

And then, "So, who DO you trust?" came into my head.

Quickly I thought of all the people I knew and all the issues of this week. Nobody. There wasn't a person I could really trust.

And I always say (or would in the past), "Jesus, I trust in you." Whenever something goes bad, it's my go-to prayer.

I realized I was a hypocrite first class, because I was trusting in all of those people. And every single one of them did and will and will continue to let me down. They will fight for my attention because they are wounded, they want my ear, or they want my sympathy for their addictions, their fears, their desires, their sins.

And I can't do a thing. And I can't trust that they would be there for me in my despair.

But Jesus, the one I have put second, or third or fiftteenth in my priority of trust, he was there today, asking me "Who do I trust".

Point taken, Jesus. Point taken.

The priest's homily was on: "when you have doubt. When you don't even think God exists. What to do."

I guess I'm ready for my confession now.

A lesson from St. Francis

I learned an interesting lesson yesterday about value. I learned it from St. Francis a long time ago, but I realized yesterday I hadn't really taken his wise advice. And the really interesting thing is, he actually visited me and is hanging about for a while. I'm praying every time I look at him, I'm reminded about the value of friendship, faith and things that you "think" are valuable.

I'm just an ordinary person. Like you and almost every other person I know, over time you've amassed .... stuff.
It may be tools, it may be art, it may be books, it may be shoes. Perhaps you're a person who really likes shiny things, like necklaces or jewellery of some kind. You might be the proverbial "picker" who loves "kitzy" things. Over the years I did pick up things. Books were probably my biggest impulse purchase, but I've certainly got enough wooden statues, little pictures, knick-knacks, hat, scarves. Things.

These things pile up over time. I'm certainly not a hoarder, but it is more than amazing how much "things" can start to invade your freedom to pick up and move or even just enjoy the sparse and clean look of a room.

It wasn't just me. My husband's garage is an interesting collection of tools, bottles .... things...

I've been working on purging these things from my life for almost a year. It's not like I had rooms piled up. I just didn't have a lot of time. Life got in the way of organizing a good "purge".

I would drag things from the basement collection of things and add them to the garage. I would take things from one room or another and also drag them to the garage. Eventually a full 1/3 of the garage was full of "things".

I know from business practice, it's always good to have smart goals. Setting goals is easy but achieving them isn't. That's why setting SMART goals - Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Realistic and Timely - is the first step in making your goal a reality.

So number one was Specific: Getting rid of all these things. I don't use them. I don't even enjoy them anymore. Many of them I thought had great value. Comic books, old boxes from the 60's, orange crates, hippy garb from the 60's, old things. Collectible art and jewellery. Purses, some of them expensive. Scarves, some of them very expensive, like a Gucci scarf I bought in Rome and never wear.

Number two: Measureable. Well. There is 1/3 of our garage that needs to disappear.... that's pretty measureable.

Number three: Achievable: Getting together a well marketed garage sale would send droves of people to my door because, well, you know, my "things" are very important and desirable.

Number four: Realistic. In my mind, everyone would want these things. This was my "realistic" goal. Why wouldn't they want these "things".

Number five: Timely. This is where I struggled. I was "too busy" there wasn't "time" I started to hate my own excuses, so I bit the bullet, set a date and announced it on Craigslist. TWO days of garage sale. I let the neighbours know so they could also get involved. I was planning on advertising in multi-markets, and getting signage MADE and putting the signs everywhere.

Except ... I didn't do that. I was "too busy" again. Nevertheless, Saturday morning there were people. A steady group of people. On Saturday my prices were what I thought was reasonable, but I quickly realized what I paid $100 for, people were willing to pay around $3. And no one was interested in  hippy kitchz or books.


Things were sold. I did okay. But I only actually got "rid" of around 20 percent of my junk ... er "things".

I was more hopeful on day two. This would be the day, I thought. The neighbours were now fully engaged. We put up more signs and waited and waited and waited.

They dribbled in. The neighbour across the street sold some things. I sold a few things. I dropped my prices. Still no deal.

This is where St. Francis comes in. My neighbour asked me if I wanted her St. Francis statue. St. Francis is one of my all time favorite saints. One of my favorite stories was this...

Born in 1181/1182 to a wealthy cloth merchant, Pietro Bernardone, and his wife Pica in the town of Assisi, high in the Umbrian hills of central Italy, Francis grew up in privilege. A spoiled young man, he led an extravagant lifestyle, throwing expensive parties for his friends and dressing in the finest silk fashions brought back from France by his father. When it came to "things" Francis had it in droves. But after his conversion, he realized that these "things" were actually keeping him away from growing spiritually, and he was in bondage to them. Only by giving them away for free to others was he truly happy.

So here I was, with this big statue of St. Francis that my neighbour didn't want and I did. BUT it was the message of St. Francis that spoke clearly to me.

It was time for all this stuff to go. For Free. So I jumped on Craigslist, announced the free stuff, and went outside and told every person who walked into our yard that the things were free. That's when the fun happened. The neighbours had fun in our yard too calling out to anyone walking by, "Come get some free stuff!". I loved seeing the shocked faces. I loved making people happy. Those so-called precious things to me became only precious by giving them away. By making someone else happy. The nice Muslim man who took the fish tank and didn't understand why we just wanted to give it to him. "Are you sure? Are you for real? Seriously?" It was great. The older man who appreciated all the music... The nephew who is excited about the snowboard that Chad used to own. The new grandmother who is preparing to play dressup with all the jewellery that she just got. The comic books to the collector. The last thing I gave away was that expensive Gucci scarf to a sweet little hipster girl who really didn't understand why I won't be putting that on Craigslist.

But I did. Those things were still keeping me in some sort of covetous bondage. I wasn't coveting my neighbours goods, I was coveting my own! I had valued them, when really they had no value at all, in the big picture. Maybe some of those people will be selling them again. I just have to say a big "whatever' because I've never felt freer.

I still have some free stuff/crap/things in my garage, and I'm hoping that someone comes and takes them away. I'm taking the leftovers to a thrift store. There's crystal wineglasses, and a few scarves, and who knows what else.

I hope that this lesson makes me think before my eyes are distracted by some little knick-knack again.

Thanks Frankie. And welcome to my garden, statue of St. Francis. I hope you enjoy it there, to remind me of the value of giving away things of no value, and giving away things of great value, like faith.

A tale of two hospitals

As luck would have it, this Palm Sunday I haven't gone to Mass yet.  I will! I still have one evening Mass at 7pm, and it's 5:39pm. I'm dressed and ready to go, so all I have to do is get a salad together. And we'll have a lovely late dinner tonight when I get home.

That is not why I'm writing though.

I got a call at 6:39 this morning from my mother's caregiver at the assisted living residence. The ambulance had taken my mother to the local hospital (Surrey Memorial) because her nose had started bleeding and wouldn't stop. She was spitting blood and there was blood apparently everywhere. I hurriedly got showered and dressed and drove down there to the newly opened Emergency Ward. Walking in to the triage area, I asked about my mother and was directed to a specific area where I found her immediately. She was on a gurney, half sitting, with a nebulizer, and quite comfortable. In the few first minutes she had two nurses check on her and talk to me as well. Mom was going for some chest xrays after the fluid in the nebulizer had completed and then we'd wait to talk to a doctor. The nurses were attentive and asked mom a lot of questions about her medicine and her ability to use it, and her mobility. A geriatric doctor also came by and asked mom lots of questions and had a few suggestions for her. It did take some time after the x-rays for the doctor to come, but in the four hours we were at the hospital, mom got excellent care. The doctor explained the prescriptions (she was in danger of developing pneumonia, or in fact had an early onset of it) She has four new prescriptions to use up this week, and she has to see her regular doctor, but I believe the prognosis is good.

After getting the meds for my mom, it was off to see my mother in law in Langley Memorial. She also has pneumonia. One thing I noted right off, is the parking is 2.50 less for two hours. My visiting time with mom at Surrey cost me $16.00. (3 hours) Two hours at Langley Memorial was $7.00.

Finding Lucy was more than a challenge. Walking into the ward, I went to the nurses station, where three nurses did their best to pretend I wasn't there, even with eye contact. They simply looked away and looked at other things. I went to the apparent room where Lucy was supposed to be. The names outside the door didn't match hers, and indeed she wasn't there. There were three nurses in the hall, two seated and one standing, talking about non-nursing related topics. Again, eye contact, no question, they ignored me. Frustrated, I asked where Lucy might be. They said ask the nurses station. I went to the nurses station again, and caught one nurse's eye, who was on the phone. I made gestures to indicate to her I needed her help. That not working, I had to end up going from room to room, looking at the names for some clue where my mother-in-law was. After five minutes of frustration, the last nurse I tried to talk to said, "who are you looking for?" I told her, and said that her name isn't on any of the door patient lists. "Oh, we don't necessarily update all the time" Really? I said, "I saw her name on the list in the nurses station, but couldn't make out where she was."
 "Oh, we don't necessarily update that either" the nurse said with a deadpan look.
 Really, again.

I found Lucy sleeping in a stuffy, not very sanitary room. The bathroom was clean, but the whole ward is old and over-used. After Lucy woke up, a nurse came to help her with her nebulizer. He never came back to check to see if it was finished (the water was evaporated in the water area of the nebulizer). After 15 minutes she took the nebulizer off, but her oxygen had not been attached to its oxygen source. I said to call for the nurse with her button, but her button was placed in such a way it was almost impossible for her to push it. I had to do it for her. She needed her oxygen right away (She can't be without it). I went behind her bed, found the oxygen leads and the supply line and got it going for her. Success. Around five minutes later, the nurse came and said, "Oh your nebulizer is finished? I told him we reconnected the oxygen supply and he said, "Oh that's good."

Really? That's good? What do I know about attaching an oxygen supply? What if I did it wrong? What if I wasn't even there, and Lucy was without oxygen, which she needs 24/7?

Right now, I'm doing what my mother told me to do when I got angry. I'm counting to ten. Really.

Conclusion? Even though the parking is expensive in Surrey, the quality of care is far superior.
Thank you SMH for looking after my mom so well.

How's this Lent going for you?

Every year, like every other Catholic I know, we look forward to making big changes through Lent. More of this, less of that. And every year, like every Catholic I know, I fall short. It's never a perfect situation.
I've come to the understanding this year that it's not supposed to be. I think we're supposed to see the humanness in our trying, and the human-ness in our failing.
After all the whole purpose in the end, is recognizing that we need God in our life.
Big stuff this year. I was giving up drinking any kind of alcohol. I'm not a heavy drinker by any stretch of the imagination. I thought this would be easy. I thought that I would normally have a glass of wine two or three times a week, and a one cocktail maybe once or twice as well.
It's interesting, because I sure "felt" like having a glass of wine a lot more than I thought I used to. And of course, yesterday ... almost at the end of Lent, I gave in to not one, but two glasses of amazing red wine. So there's a fail. But no more. I'm waiting until well after Easter to have another. (At least I hope)
The other thing was to get to Mass early. The 7:30 Mass, but not only that, to pray with the Priests, the morning Liturgy of the Hours. Originally, quite good. But then this week, hit with the biggest cold I've had in years. It seemed more than a cold. I couldn't stay awake, I was so weak. Gary got the same cold, so we walked around the house like zombies for three days.
Am I beating myself up about this? No. I think the "trying really hard" was the real lesson. And knowing that no matter how hard I try, I will always need God's help to really succeed.

Time Passes

It seems that time passes so quickly.
The last time I wrote anything here, it was my mother who was so ill.

Since that time, it was my father who passed away. November 30, 2012. He died due to complications from a gall bladder attack. They could not operate due to his low blood pressure, and he became septic. As a family, we are still reeling from this loss. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't want to talk to my "Pops". He did have prostate cancer that had migrated into his bones. He didn't experience a whole lot of pain, yet, but it would have gotten terrible, so in a way, I guess, God spared him.

I'm off to morning Mass in 15 minutes. Two weeks ago I was laid off from my job at the Cloverdale Reporter. Loved working with some creative and energetic people, and I loved the community that I served.

But time passes so quickly.
The last time I wrote anything here, I hadn't travelled all over Europe.

Craig and Marcia, my brother-in-law and his wife, invited us to join them on a whirlwind, by van, tour of Europe. We started in Paris for a week, then all fix kids and four adults packed up in a van and drove then to Assisi (the slow route - only 18 hours) and from there, Rome for 8 days, Split, Croatia, Medjugorje Bosnia, Zagreb, Salzburg, Austria, Munich, Germany and finally in Amsterdam. That trip will have to be another entry. There's too much to write in a few moments. I made a video about the trip though. It's on youtube. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mv-i20d2u2Q

Time passes so quickly.
I can't believe how much healing continues to occur. Since this blog there has been so much reconciliation and peace between brothers and sisters. Shelley, Dianne and I are going to Vegas together to celebrate Shelley's 50th. We were at Dad's bedside when he passed, and I know that he's praying for us.

15 years of praying for healing for my family at every Mass and I've really seen in these past two years many tears and hugs and hope abounding. I've gotten to know and love many nieces and nephews and I know that God's working in our family.

It doesn't mean that there won't be more struggles, trials, and challenges to forgiveness.

I suppose, what I've learned since this last post is to persevere and trust. Or better said, I'm LEARNING to persevere and trust. Some days I'm dreadful at doing either.

Paris, August 2011

Bob Dylan, Brigitte Bardot, Sam Elliot, Sophia Loren, Leonard Cohen... What do these people have in common with Paris?

Although old, there's still a lot of tangible sexiness abounding. A certain quality that intices you. It's like a brand new love affair. You want to be loved back, you want to discover new things every day, you can't wait to wake up and see that person again.

I haven't been here long, but I've learned a lot, just by watching and letting the sensory overload of this city take control.

So many things I've noticed.

There's an abundance of overt acts of physical attraction here. Lots of people kissing. In parks, on the subway, on the streets. It's not something I think I've ever seen in any other city.