It started out in a tiny kitchen couched in the safe routine of childhood…cereal and juice on Monday, Wednesday, Friday…soft boiled eggs and toast on Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday…pancakes on Sunday. It was breakfast: lower case the beginning of routine.

Then came marriage and children…seven of them…this required Breakfast and Routine. Each year and each child boundaries were added and lower case was replaced by upper.   Juice and cereal or oatmeal on weekdays, bacon and eggs, pancakes or french toast on Sunday. I smoked and drank coffee while they ate; passing on rules and wisdom with my Winston Lights “Please do not brush your teeth before BREAKFAST then tell me that you can’t drink your orange juice because it tastes gross.”

Then I stopped smoking and gained weight, went on a diet that required BREAKFAST and ROUTINE: Cereal and ½ banana then a mile walk.

Then my husband lost his job and I went to work full time. The BREAKFAST and ROUTINE ramped up a notch. The days were bracketed in rigidity.

Then we moved to Seattle and I took a new job and the days were twelve hours long with the commute. BREAKFAST and ROUTINE moved to 4:30 am along with prayer and exercise.

Then, at 71, I retired and we moved to Yakima and some days I don’t eat breakfast and there is no routine and sometimes the children come to visit and we have french toast.

It’s all lower case.

The reading from Jeremiah 31 touches my heart for all the parents whose children have been ensnared in the ugly web of addiction:  Rachel mourns for her children, she refuses to be consoled for her children– they are no more!  Thus says the Lord;  cease your cries of weeping, hold back your tears!  There is compensation for your labor–they shall return from the enemy’s land.  There is hope for your future–your children shall return to their own territory.

So many of our children are in the enemy’s land.  Not a land that we can draw or see on a map but a place where we cannot reach them; cannot save them;  actually, do not recognize them.  We can only have hope that they will return to their own territory, a place they know and are known; love and are loved;  and become who they are meant to be once more.

 

Amen and Amen

Be holy!

This Christmas Eve was going to be different … a lot different. For the first time in years we would not be able to attend our grandchildren’s Christmas Eve Mass. You would have to be the Grinch himself to not find joy and meaning in the delightful Christmas Eve children’s mass and pageant that is celebrated in their parish. The portrayal of the Gospel story of the birth of Jesus by this horde of munchkins dressed in amazing costumes enwraps the hearts and minds of both the children and the adults.

Each year our grandchildren had been anything from the Baby Jesus (two of the boys in succeeding years!), to sheep, cows, or even angels on ladders with flashlights shining on the manger.

Mourning the break in our tradition of attendance, I called to chat with the children and parents about the Christmas pageant. Ten-year- old Matthew was first on the phone. Now Matthew is what I call a “grouser”, so total disgust and resignation related his displeasure when I asked what part he would play this year. “A sign holder, Nana. That means I hold a sign that says “This Way to Bethlehem”.

Understanding that he had started out years ago as an eight month old Baby Jesus, this was definitely a step down. I think I mumbled this to him, but my mind was spinning; his words had left me stunned.

A sign holder, showing the way to Incarnation! Of ourse! Is this not our calling? Sign holders pointing the way, with seekers reading the signs, all of us on the journey. My ten-year-old Grumpy had just awakened a new Christmas in my heart. Jesus put on flesh in Mary’s womb and became man. We go to Bethlehem to put on Jesus and expose the divine within us.

All the sign holders through the ages came rushing to my mind for days and weeks to come. Abraham shouting, “Pack up! We’re going on a journey to obey the Lord”. Moses leading the Israelites in the desert with the pillar of cloud by day and fire by night. “Go this way. Let the sea be parted and follow me.”  The prophets, those bold and valiant sign holders who exhorted God’s people in good times and bad. Most of them met a difficult end. Sometimes there doesn’t seem to be much glory in saying, “Go this way.”

Then there was the one and only Mary with her big “Yes, I will go this way to Bethlehem”. She showed us all the way and how to live in the will of the Beloved.

Ah, the angels saying to the shepherds, “This way to Bethlehem. This way to the stable. This way to the King. This is where it begins, where you need to be. Glory and glory again.”And the wise men from the East, strangers all. Who knows what they had heard telling them to go and follow the star. It must have been powerful … talk about a big sign.

The Apostles, followed Jesus; not always understanding, but becoming the ones to give up everything to show The Way.

And so you say, “I am not Moses or Mary or Isaiah or Paul. Ah, but you are the parent who prays with their children, you are the neighbor with the needed food and encouragement, you are the retiree who serves meals and washes dishes at the soup kitchen, you are the watchful ten-year-old who searches out the lonely one in the lunch room and sits beside him, you are the workman who charges fairly, you are the marcher who rises early on a Saturday to lend a voice, a body and , maybe a sign, to support a just cause. You are a sign holder. Blessed are you.

So, today in our time, we are also given the signs and pushes and stars to follow and angels saying, “This way to Bethlehem, to incarnation, to putting on divine skin, to uncovering the holy within us.”Are we reading the signs? Are we listening to the angels, in any form? Are we going forward on the journey, being nourished by scripture, and sacrament, and the breath of God?

In the song Believe from the movie Polar Express is hidden what happens when we get to Bethlehem … “a destination is where we begin again.” We become the sign holders and in our own ways, our own speech, our own listening, we show the way. Our job as baptized believers is to steadily hold that sign. What a privilege.

Along the way are what I call Inns of Renewal and Refreshment, the sacraments if you will, where we rest and grow and gain responsibility in holy steps.

In Baptism: We put on Christ as priest, prophet, and king.

In Eucharist: We are fed and feed others as members of the Body of Christ.

In Confirmation: We accept full responsibility to point the way and pick up our signs.

In Holy Orders and Marriage: We bring each other into the kingdom.

In Annointing: We reach the final stop; the seal and rejoicing.

We move from sign to sacrament and obey the word of the Lord to “Be holy as the Lord your God is holy.”

The time is now.

Peace is the way

Love is the way

Mercy is the way

Join your fellow travelers and hold the sign to show the way for those who are searching. Go to Bethlehem. Become a sign holder. Become a sign. Become a sacrament.

THIS WAY TO BETHLEHEM ——–WONDER AWAITS !!!

 

 

 

My husband and I were watching TV the other night and a commercial came on that focused on a newborn baby. I have no idea what the commercial was selling but I could smell the soft folds in that little neck.  We both took a deep breath and said almost simultaneously, “We haven’t held a newborn in a long time.”  Four plus years to be exact.  Our youngest grandchild (#20) just turned four and it looks like the end of the line.

Then we started talking about baby food and how horrible the jarred squash tasted and how my husband would eat most of the Dutch Apple desert while pretending to feed the child in the high chair.  And then….I had to mention how I really did not miss getting up in the middle of the night.  Sleeping through the night was a sheer fantasy with seven children .  Of course, when the baby finally did sleep through the night you woke in a panic, jumped out of bed and checked their breathing.

Now that we are in the so-called “golden years”you would think that sleeping through the night is a given…not so!  When I complained about this to one of my favorite monks, while on retreat, he told me that this was a special gift, a perfect time to listen and pray.  I sighed and said, “Easy for you to say.  You didn’t spend twenty years with spotty sleep.  I think it’s time for me to have the day shift.” Never mind that monks spend all watches of the night praying for the rest of us.  He directed me to Psalm 63: “…and through the night watches I will meditate on you.”  You just can’t argue with a sweet old monk.

Amen for today …take a nap…and Be Holy.

The summer has been long, hot and smoky and my flowers have suffered along with everything else.  I had one pot of white petunias, hanging on a fence, that I was particularly attached to,  Its blooms were so vibrant that they glowed in the moonlight.  Ah,they also succumbed to the relentless heat, the plant became leggy and sticky and I chopped it down to the last bit of green.  “Too late.”  my friends told me, “You have to do it by July 4th.”  This week, as I was eating breakfast, I looked out the window and, WOW, the little petunia was full of blooms.  It is never too late to begin again.   I got to thinking about the story of Joseph and how many times it seemed like the end :  thrown into a pit by his brothers, sold to a passing caravan, sold as a slave to Potiphar, betrayed by Potiphar’s wife, thrown into jail…story over?  Nope. He saves the family and everybody gets back together.

Paul Simon wrote a great song called The Rewrite where it seems like this guy has been going through life making bad decisions that really affect his children but he’s been “workin on a rewrite” and he’s “gonna change the ending.”  And the dad saves the children.

So, the petunias, Joseph, and the Rewrite all  got me reflecting about the million and fifty-seven times that I have been cut back to the nubbins and it was after the 4th of July,  but life bloomed again. In the front of my journal I have a quote from the book of Joel that reminds me of what I have been promised: ” I will repay you for the years that the locust has eaten.” Joel 2:25.

And, if that does move you listen to Winston Churchill:                                                                                                 “Never, never, never give up.”

Amen for today…don’t be afraid to prune… and Be Holy

 

 

 

Bark crackles in the forest

Ash coats the air

And still the cricket sings

Sometimes life surrounds you with fire and smoke

but somewhere deep inside there arises a faint chirp…be sure to listen.

Amen for today…and Be Holy

 

At the risk of being irreverent ( I live on the edge) all of these came together this week as we lugged the trash bin up and down the driveway anticipating the arrival …or not…of the trash man on a week beginning with a holiday.  Will he come on the regular day?  The day after?  Earlier than usual?  “Well, just leave it out and he will come sometime,” you say.  Not a good idea.  What if somebody, walking their dog, knocks it over and the wine bottles go rolling and clinking into the street and the empty Cheetos bags go flying in the breeze and stick to the rose bushes?  Our fragile reputation would be in ruins.  So, we haul the thing back and forth until the poor beleaguered trash man (who has to put five days work into four) finally comes.

This week St. Paul gives us a rapture picture and last week the OCD virgins and the Tralala virgins showed us how  you could end up banging on the door. As I hauled the empty bin back up  all of these people left standing in the fields and out shopping for more oil and missing the big event came to mind.  With my luck with trash truck timing it was not looking good.

So, for me, the only solution is to leave my bin out and be ready because, when the big day comes, the metaphorical wine and Cheetos exposition is going to happen anyway and it will all be okay.

Just don’t judge your neighbor’s trash.

Amen for today and Be Holy

 

 

 

Today, when summer as we understand it , bracketed by two holidays, is over, we, in Yakima, are in the dark.  Smoke from wildfires has made the sun an orange/red disc and the air quality has been declared “hazardous”.  This means that we have been told to stay inside with air conditioning on and all windows closed if possible.  Now, for those without AC, they recommend leaving town.  How, on earth, if you can’t afford air conditioning , would you have the means to leave town?  Our lights and AC are on, our windows are closed and it’s like living in an alternative universe.  Adding to that is North Korea and the repeal of DACA.

And, also, all of the reflections and readings have to do with darkness.  Well! when I reached in the drawer of my nightstand, looking for my secret chocolate stash, my whole outlook took a bounce up as my fingers touched a little white plastic rosary.

Many years ago when the, soon to be thirteen, lovely Molly Elizabeth was only five, she came skipping into my house on my birthday, eyes shining and clutching a little gift bag.  “Nana, I got you a birthday present at the school fair.  I know you’ll love it.”  She plunged that little hand into the bag (no time to wait here) and out came the rosary. ” Look, it lights up, so now you can pray in the dark.”  Little did she know that my prayer life had been oh so ho hum for months. I recently read a quote from Dante that described it: “In the middle of life, I found myself in a dark wood.” {1}. So, when this cherub messenger from beyond dangled the gift in front of me I recognized the sender and knew I could pray in the dark.

There is always something to light the way…even a “glow-in-the-dark” rosary.  Sometimes, that something is us.

Word for the darkness: Isaiah 58:10  “Then light shall rise for you in the darkness, and the gloom shall become for you like midday.”

Light up your spot on this planet. Amen for today and Be Holy

 

 

First of all, these two are not related .  I started off the first day of September feeling a bit overwhelmed and thinking I was just not up to coping with the day…this is called whining.  The weather was stinking hot and smoke from the forest fires filled the air, and my just arthroscopied knee was really swollen, and there were other things I didn’t want to deal with lurking.  Since sulking and scripture go very well together I ended up being scolded by Gideon.  He asked, “If the Lord is with us, why has all this happened to us?”  I found this to  be a reasonable question.  The answer: “Go with the strength you have and save Israel (take care of the day, Tina) from the power of Midian. Is it not I who send you?”  Okay, so,  this says to me,” Go with the strength you have–not with the strength you once had or what you thought you had or what you wished you had or what the other guy had but what you have right now.”  I got the message , so, I got to work. The weather is still stale and ugly, problems are pending , but the knee has been doctored and wrapped.  Now, it’s what Gideon does later that I really enjoy…the thing with the fleece.  If it’s dewy then we fight…well, can we try that again with the fleece being dry and the ground wet?  I do this.  Maybe because I’m Irish and superstitious and indecisive and always want the answer before I take a step.  Ah, well.

Now, the ten virgins in today’s  gospel totally annoyed me.  Why couldn’t those skinflint, holier than thou, selfish, always doing everything just so five virgins have shared their oil and then depended on Divine Providence to keep the lamps lit.  Just sayin’.

So, today, go forward with the strength you have and share your oil.

Amen for today and Be Holy

 

 

 

Quite a few of our children are teachers and so, today I was looking up patron saints of teachers and mathematicians.   Well, once you get going on something like this it’s down the rabbit hole!  I have come to the conclusion that just about every saint started out as the child of poor peasant parents…sometimes a shoemaker…and most of them were born in Italy or Spain.  So much for lovely Mary who watches the dog and brings me a  solar lit chandelier for the backyard pergola.  I think we all need to start a “book of the daily saints”.  I bet we could find at least one every day.

Word for the day :  Haggai 2:19:  Is there any seed left in the barn?”  I bet there is.

Amen for today…bless the teachers.. Be Holy