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  • Giving thanks because I’m drinking from my saucer

    Writers always have their favorite hangouts, places where they can observe life as it goes along its unexpected way. Karl-chor-11506

    At one time, for me, it was the coffee shop in the local hospital, where I was spending many hours waiting for loved ones to get tested, have surgery, or recover from an illness. I’m also fond of a quiet corner booth in the local bread and bagel store, with its awesome soup and a fireplace in chilly weather.

    But my favorite has become my own backyard deck, where my husband set up a small round table and leather office chair, and extra length of outdoor electric extensions so I can have some mobility in the case of rain. I love being surrounded by walls of trees, and listening to the chatter of a host of birds. But most of all I love being able to make myself an endless pot of tea.

    I have a small collection of tea pots, and when my dad died, he left me a small collection of china tea cups and saucers, all collected from garage sales and antique hunting. Some I shared with friends, some I kept.

    It must be my Irish blood, but there’s nothing better than a strong cup of tea, poured from a lovely tea pot into a lovely cup and saucer, something that has fallen by the wayside in these days of diners and drive-ins where there’s not a saucer to be found.

    Today, the saucer has become a non-essential part of the dinner service, but when I was growing up we never set the table without them. When our tea or coffee would spill over onto the saucer, my mom would place a napkin under the cup to soak up the spill. My dad would pour it back into his cup, but I would drink from the saucer.

    My mom would scold me for poor manners and insist that I promise never to be seen in public drinking from the saucer.  It’s a promise I’ve kept, for the most part. But if you sneak up on me while I’m writing on my deck in the backyard, you may catch me breaking that promise – not because of some childlike fondness for breaking the rules but because of something I read a few years ago. It was a poem or the lyrics of a song entitled “Drinking From My Saucer.” It said, in part:

    Haven't got a lot of riches and sometimes the going's tough,

    But I've got loving ones around me and that makes me rich enough.

    I thank God for his blessings and the mercies He's bestowed,

    I'm drinking from my saucer 'cause my cup has overflowed.

    If God gives me strength and courage

    When the way grows steep and rough,

    I'll not ask for other blessings I'm already blessed enough.

    And may I never be too busy to help others bear their loads,

    Then I'll keep drinking from my saucer

    "Cause my cup has overflowed."

    These words brought new meaning to a simple act I’ve been doing since childhood, and served as a reminder, even in the most difficult of times, of God’s many blessings, and the reasons why we are blessed when we discover and share the reasons for drinking from our saucers.

    So, when I hear my mom’s voice telling me to mind my manners and put down the saucer, I am happy to remind her of something she taught me by her childlike joy in life: “Rejoice always. Pray without ceasing. In all circumstances give thanks …” (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18).

    “If you want to be happy, be grateful.” Benedictine Brother David Steindl-Rast

    Photo by karl chor on Unsplash

  • A time of grief and another puzzle piece is missing ~ by guest blogger, Jennifer Britton

    I'm just trying to make sense of it all. I can't seem to wrap my head around what happened.                                                                        Sweet-ice-cream-photography-189491  

    My heart aches and my eyes are swollen from hours of tears flowing from them. My emotions are raw, like an open wound, but there seems to be no bandage to cover or soothe them.

    I feel angry, angry at God right now. Since my childhood, my life has felt like a big puzzle I have been struggling to piece together and finish, but the pieces keep being taken away from me. I don't understand why I keep losing those I love; my father when I was only four, my older brother when I was only 12, my step-father a few years ago, and now my oldest brother. I can't seem to find any answers. Only pain, grief and anguish.

    It's not supposed to happen this way. My mother should not have to bury another child. I not only feel a broken heart for myself, my children who lost their uncle, my sister-in-law, but for my mother, my mother who is up in age and must find the strength to go on.

    I keep pinching myself. I just want to wake up from this nightmare.

    I can't believe I will never see my older brother again. It just doesn't seem fair. I feel like we didn't have enough time with him, it was too soon for him to leave us.

    Why does it seem that some must carry such a heavy burden while here on earth? People say He does not give you more than you can handle, but how much can one handle before reaching a breaking point?

    My faith has always been a part of my life, especially during some very dark and difficult times. When I thought I could bear no more, that I couldn't go on, it was my faith, my strong conviction to continue to hope, and the love of those around me that pulled me out and back to reality.

    I have to turn now to my faith again, because I don't know where else to turn for the answers. Even though I feel angry at God, I'm trying desperately to hold onto my belief that He has a plan for each and every one of us. And that He is a merciful God and spared my brother any further pain and brought him home to paradise. My only consolation right now is that my dear brother is at peace.

    Someone very close to me said, “If you asked a person in Heaven to trade places with you right now they would say ‘No’.” I found those to be powerful words that somehow made me feel at ease for a moment and I will forever hold onto to them.

    So, although I continue to wrestle with my emotions, and my grief feels unbearable, I pray that time will heal me, heal us, so that we can continue our journey here on earth. I know I will have to wait for the answers to all of my questions until God calls me home. It is then that I will be reunited with my loved ones and my puzzle will be completed.

    Editor's Note: Jennifer's brother, Joseph Provost, 60, died unexpectedly a few days ago. Please keep her and her family in your prayers.  

  • No piece of art is more beautiful than a child’s smile

    With Thanksgiving around the corner, and Christmas not far behind, thoughts of gratitude and giving are close at heart. Twombly12

    For those of modest means, the holidays are also a time to be mindful of money, to keep within a budget. But let’s face it, the pressure to spend is sometimes overwhelming.

    While mulling over the limitations of our holiday budget, I recalled a news story that popped up on my Facebook page.

    The image that accompanied the story reminded me of a child’s blackboard covered with rows of circles, the kind you draw when covering up a line of text or doodling on a page. 

    Actually, the image was a renowned work of art by American abstract artist Cy Twombly, and it brought in $70.5 million at a recent
    auction at Sotheby’s.

    A description of the painting explains it was created in 1970, as part of a blackboard series made of white wax crayon lines aginst a gray background, executed in four rows of exuberant scrawl … using a strict process that was derived from handwriting techniques that children first learn in school.

    I was speechless…except for the “seriously??” that slipped out of my mouth.

    In reviewing the list of artwork sold at that auction, my incredulity grew. Forty-four pieces made sales of nearly $295 million, more than the gross domestic product of some small countries.

    I realized I had no true sense of the wealth some people have accumulated, people who think in millions the way most of us think in dollars and cents.  I could not fathom having $70 million in pin money and certainly could never rationalize spending it on a piece of art … not when there was so much good that could be done with so much money.

    Imagine the communities that could be helped, the food pantries that could be filled to overflowing for years, the homes and lives that could be rebuilt following a hurricane or other natural disaster, the people who could be trained and employed so families could have a decent standard of living, the children who could be educated.

    To put it in just a bit of perspective, $70 million could pay for cleft palate repair for some 280,000 children through an international organization. No piece of art is more beautiful than the smile of a child.

    The Gospel of Luke is clear: Much will be required of the person entrusted with much, and still more will be demanded of the person entrusted with more. 

    Still, it is easy for us to fall into the trap of expecting those who have so much, an obscene amount my dad would say, to foot the bill for good deeds, for making the lives of others better. Our true task as Christians is to evaluate what it means to have much, and then reflect on what God is calling us to do.

    I remember a YouTube video of shoppers in a food court in a local mall. A young man went to some tables and told the customers he hadn’t eaten for a while and asked if he could have a bit of their food. Across the board, they said no.

    The scene changed to some who were homeless and who had just been given a bag of food from a local restaurant. The recipients were generous in their gratitude, so much so that when a young man approached each of them, separately, and asked if they could give him something to eat because he was hungry, they all shared the little they had been given without hesitation.

    It seems to me that Thanksgiving is the perfect holiday to celebrate before Christmas, because it can help us to focus on the blessings of God, and to enter Advent and Christmas from a place of gratitude for our God who gave us a priceless gift – his son.

    Much will be required of the person entrusted with much, and still more will be demanded of the person entrusted with more.  Luke 12:48

  • Setting them free ~ by guest blogger Jennifer Britton

    As we wait for the letter to come in the mail my anxiety grows stronger. When I lay my head on the pillow at night I find my mind racing with crazy thoughts, Twochildren
    making it difficult to fall asleep. I can feel how restless I am as I toss and turn, to only wake-up tired.

    I didn’t expect to feel this way the second time around.

    When my oldest left for college I thought it was the end of the world. I felt like someone had knocked the wind out of me.

    The months and weeks leading up to her departure were very exciting with all the shopping and buying of all the items she would need for her dorm room and classes. But they were also filled with sleepless nights, anxiety and just plain sadness on both our parts that she would be gone for months at a time. We were not only mother and daughter, we were also best friends. Don’t get me wrong, I was so proud and over the moon excited for her to start this chapter of her life. But I was not ready or prepared to turn that page in my book.

    We went as a family to move her in and say our temporary good-byes. I held back my emotions as her eyes filled up and the tears streamed down her face. As we embraced I assured her she would be fine. And I knew she would be, I was more worried about myself, but didn’t want to let on. She headed to her dorm as we piled in our cars to head home. I cried most of the way home. It felt like that first day of pre-school and the first day of kindergarten all over again! Letting go is so hard.

    The first couple of weeks were rough. We were in unchartered waters. Our house was so quiet without her. I had to walk past her empty room every morning and every night. There was no sibling arguing or laughing. We were missing one of our crew. The sad phone calls started coming. I did my best to reassure her that she was going to make new friends, learn so much and have loads of fun. She was not really buying what I was selling. Weeks past, then months and before I knew it she was home for a visit. Now she is graduating. It was not all smooth sailing, but somehow we both managed to charter the rough waters and made it through in one piece.

    So then, why am I so emotional when my son tells me he has sent his application in for college? Again, I’m as proud as ever and my hopes are certainly that he is accepted to the college he has chosen. And yet, my chest felt tight and I’ve had trouble falling asleep. Although he comes and goes now between full-time work and night classes, not seeing a glimpse of him every day, the bear hugs he surprises me with and cooking with him all the time is going to leave a void. I’ve been through this once already. I should be a pro at it. And yet the emotions are still over-whelming.

    One will leave the nest and the other will come back to it. Our dynamics will change all over again. My husband reassures me it’s going to be fine, just as he did before. And that I must let them go. And as much as I hate to admit it, he was right then and I’m sure he is now. (Ugh that was tuff to put in print.)

    So now my husband and I find ourselves after 29 years of marriage on unfamiliar ground. We are almost empty nesters! What does that mean? Well for starters we decided to celebrate our 29th wedding anniversary with a long weekend trip to Florida. It was the beginning of a new relationship for us. We had rekindled the spark from years gone by. It was just him and I, No Kids, the hotel, the pool, the water and amusement parks (that’s right I did say water and amusement park). We were like youngsters, for the first hour or so anyway in those parks. We came back home renewed and ready to take on this new adventure. We are already talking about hobbies and what we can do next, especially once my son is off to college. The trip turned out to be a wonderful turning point in our relationship and marriage.

    As your raising your kids it’s all about them and family. You forget how to be just a couple. When you can steal some time away you do a date night, but for the most part it’s all about them. And I loved every minute of it. I can remember dreaming of not cooking dinner and a quiet and clean house. And now I find myself longing for the meals on the run to sports, the noise, and hustle and bustle of everyone coming and going all the time.

    But, that moment when it’s time for them to leave, feelings of emptiness and loneliness can and probably will over-come you. So for those of you who have lived through it certainly know my pain. And for those of you who are yet to encounter this challenge, I sympathize with you. You will muster your way through it and survive, I promise you. And I offer you this suggestion; cherish those high school days, the family dinners, the ball games and ballet. Talk and spend time together. You can’t go back.

    I know that we have done our job and done it well. Another one is being set Free! We must now grow accustomed to your new found freedom. And we are embracing it with open arms the best way we know how…together, as a married couple in love.

    Jennifer works in the communications industry and is a firm believer in embracing all the sparkle life has to offer!

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  • Journeying with the “C” word ~ a familiar journey for many, shared by our Anonymous guest blogger

    The “C” word.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         Dawid-zawila-256947

    It’s that word! The one that no one ever wants to associate with, until you have no choice.

    Well that unspoken word crept up on me out of nowhere like a shadow in the dark.

    It was just a regular, boring Thursday until I got the call that he was in the hospital. I was told he was rushed to the hospital due to anemia. I knew better. Because the very last time I saw him he was pale, thin and frail.

    The big strong guy I knew all my life, who towered over me with his broad shoulders and husky voice, was no longer there. I did my best to hide my surprise at his gaunt face and weak body. I joked about how he couldn’t gain a pound and I couldn’t lose a pound! In my mind I wrestled with the thoughts, ”Where did he go? What is happening?”

    It wasn’t long before I knew the answer to my questions. Everyone seemed to tip toe around the word. What is really wrong with him I kept asking? What did they find? Despite my longing to know the truth, I really didn’t want to hear it. But there was no avoiding it. I knew it was coming sooner than later.

    I kept reaching out to him and he appreciated the phone calls, but warned me that we were not allowed to visit. As hard as that was, I honored his wishes.

    Finally, after three very long days of feeling like I was in a dark hole, there was a dim light at the end of a long tunnel. I got the word that we could visit.

    I grabbed the cards I had driven down to college for my daughter to write a loving message in and my son to add his sentiments, the “Dam It” doll we bought and our own card filled with a little humor to maybe brighten his day. I snatched up the car keys and the hubby and I headed to the hospital.

    I braced myself as we followed the daunting route through the hospital to his room. What were we going to find I thought to myself? We were silent as we read the signs and followed the directions. I could hear myself breathing in and exhaling, as to almost catch my breath.

    As we came up to the room I could hear the doctor talking to him. I heard him say, “You know your situation.” I knew that couldn’t be good. So we stood outside nervously waiting to go in. As the doctor passed us on his way out, I put on my best game face, took a deep breath and gave him a big Hello!

    At first I was surprised at how he was behaving; argumentative, angry, complaining about the hospital, the doctors, the nurses and just plain ornery. It took about 45 minutes before he settled down.

    That’s when he began to confide in me. To tell me how scared he was and how he didn’t want to live like this. I tried my best to reassure him, to give him hope. I went right into “mother” mode and started to assist him with the IV wires, help him into the bathroom and just sit and talk with him.

    As I sat there making small talk with him and trying to keep the conversation light, I noticed the cross hanging from his neck. I stared at it for a few moments before I caught myself.

    Our visit ended and we wished him well and told him we would we were available if there was anything at all he needed. I kissed his hollow cheek, wrapped my arms around his thin shoulders and told him I would talk to him later.

    The day proved to be quite draining for me as I wrestled with all the thoughts that were swirling around in my head. Why him? Why our family?  Again?

    And that’s when I felt the light on me, almost like a weight was being lifted off my shoulders. I thought about the cross around his neck. This was in God’s hands now. I can’t carry this burden of guilt for being happy or healthy, there was no one to blame, no specific reason why this happened. All we can do is lift it up to Him with prayers, hold true to our faith and hope, hope for the best possible outcome.

    So, although the word never came out of anyone’s mouth. We all knew what it was. The words oncologist, port and Pet scan did. And with that we all knew what the next couple of months meant for him and for all of us.

  • There’s an angel over my shoulder! ~ by Jennifer Britton, guest blogger

    As Sept. 29, the Feast of the Archangels, and Oct. 2, the Feast of our Guardian Angels, quickly approaches, I find myself Angel reflecting back on the many, and unexpected, signs I have received over the last seven years from “my” angels.

    As Christians, we learn that we all have a Guardian Angel, given to us from the time of our birth, acting as a protector, to watch over and guide us. I never really thought about it much until the passing of my father – a time in my life that was very difficult for me.

    It wasn’t long after his passing that I awoke in the middle of the night and saw my father sitting at the end of my bed. Was it really him or was I dreaming? For several weeks after that he appeared in my dreams, the same dream over and over again. Dad was standing next to the car looking into the window at me.

    When I woke each time, it seemed as if it had really happened. It was all very unsettling. Was I just not dealing with his passing or was there a message being conveyed? After a few weeks the dreams stopped and I started to forget about them.

    As time passed, I continued to struggle with his death. Not many days went by that I didn’t think about him in some way.

    Soon, “other” signs started to appear. First it was dimes, showing up right in front of me in the middle of nowhere. I’ve heard of “pennies from heaven,” but dimes? Was it Dad again? He did always have a great sense of humor.

    Every time I stumbled upon a dime it would become a ritual to bend down and pick it up, look toward Heaven and say, “Thanks, Dad, I’m thinking about you, too, but could you send some bills!”

    For some strange reason, I felt like I was receiving a message that he was watching over me and that he was ok and at peace. I didn’t feel that same unsettling that I felt with the dreams.

    It wasn’t long before I stumbled upon my first feather in a parking lot while taking a walk on my lunch break. I stopped in my tracks, lifted it from the pavement and thought, “What are you trying to tell me Dad?”

    That first feather found a resting place on my shelf next to my desk. It’s still there, and I look at every day. Those feathers would continue to find me in strangest places, even inside my house. While walking down my stairway, there was a small white feather just sitting on my step, which was very unusual for a clean freak like me.

    Butterflies were next. I was becoming an empty nester and needed a hobby to fill my time, so I began gardening. I’ve always loved flowers, but never really had the time to spend on a garden. My dad loved to tinker in the garden. He had a green thumb, found it relaxing and grew some beautiful flowers to boot.

    Amateur gardener that I was, I picked up a random bush on clearance to plant in the garden. That’s when the butterflies started to visit me and follow me around the yard. I had planted a butterfly bush. It was yet another message.

    Butterflies were something Dad and I had in common. When I was a teenager I loved butterflies, my room was decorated with blue and lavender butterflies and all my jewelry pieces were butterflies. He always teased me about my passion for these beautiful creatures.

    I now find it relaxing, and emotional, when I prune that bush, which is often during its growing months and the butterflies that surround me remind me of my father and bring a broad smile to my face.

    Looking back, it seems as though those signs came when I needed them most, when I was contemplating something that was weighing heavy on my heart or I was struggling with some type of change in my life. They were a blessing in disguise that gave me reassurance that there is a greater, pure and spiritual heavenly being guarding and guiding me always. And I am reminded how wonderful God’s creations are.

    It is reassuring to know that my Guardian Angel and my Father are forever over my shoulder.

    These powerful messengers of God will be present before, during and after their feast days, so pay close attention…they may send you a sign!

    Jennifer Britton works in the communications industry, is a wife, DIY mom of two who believes life is one big opportunity to Sparkle!

  • Entering the fall season with reflection, gratitude and a quiet spirit

    It’s funny how often we come across insights that resonate profoundly with our circumstances at different times in our lives. Daiga-ellaby-154929

    Today, I found one in my in-box, in the form of a newsletter, “Living in Season,” by Waverly Fitzgerald:

    “I feel that urge that so many of us feel in September to begin a new year. I’m eager to get on with new projects, yet still struggling to finish up the old ones. It’s been a difficult summer. Too hot, too scattered, too busy. I look forward to the coolness, the darkness, the quiet, the inward focus of autumn. …

    "I know I want to use this turning point to contemplate what I've accomplished during the past year. Certainly not all the things I anticipated. Am I taking on too much? Do I have good balance in my life? Am I spending as much time nurturing myself as nurturing others? It might also be a time to compare my budget (which represents my wishes) with my actual income and expenses (not always pleasurable, but always informative).”

    I realized that the tug on my spirit brought on by the first crisp scent of fall was a call to reflect on the very questions Waverly asks in her essay, My Season: Assessing the Harvest.

    Fall, the season of gathering the harvest and expressing gratitude for God’s abundant blessings, reminds me of the human spirit’s need for rituals. Surely, this is the reason celebrating Thanksgiving has so much meaning for me, but I’m feeling there should be more reasons to light up our homes than the deeply commercialized versions of Halloween and Christmas.

    Perhaps it is time to add a new ritual and celebration in my life. I am intrigued by Michaelmas, the Feast of St. Michael and All Angels, Sept. 29. It has been celebrated in various ways over the ages, and is still a time to gather family and friends for a simple harvest meal, offered with prayer and graced by the beauty of fall foliage, including the lovely Michaelmas Daisies.

    As you enter into the spirit of fall, may your celebrations recall all you have gathered, begun or accomplished, during the summer season, and be moments of restoring balance in your life.

    Lovely photo by Daiga Ellaby on Unsplash.

  • Fall is a good time to renew our spiritual sense

    There is something special about fall.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     Alisa-anton-166247

    I am reminded of it whenever the first leaves begin to fall, when the first hint of crispness fills the air, and when I read the magnificent words of poet priest Gerard Manley Hopkins: “The world is charged with the grandeur of God.  It will flame out, like shining from shook foil …”

    The image reminds me of miles of trees, dressed in brilliant red and golden leaves, lining the New York State Thruway on so many trips home in the fall. Hopkins may not have written this poem to reflect a season marked by summer blossoms fading away, but he understood that “nature is never spent” because it is the work of the Holy Spirit, who, “over the bent world broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.”

    This spiritual insight, the ability to see God in all of creation, is an ability we all have. It unfolds as we, like Hopkins, immerse ourselves in nature, in prayer, in reading and study, and in silence.

    The depth and breadth of our spiritual insight is reflected in our realization that we share in the grandeur of God – and that brings with it a great responsibility to develop our interior life as we bring Christ into the world.  We find help for this work when we turn to Scripture, to the saints, to the great literature of the Church and to our Catholic tradition for illumination, for direction and knowledge.

    We also grow as we turn to others; to see in others the face of Christ, opening our hearts and minds to discover the grandeur of God in all people.

    One of my most powerful experiences of discovering God in others was as a pre-school teacher. In my daily interaction with young children of a variety of races and religions I was privileged to see – in their joy, their art, their conversations, and in their love of creation – an intimate relationship with God.

    Children have a depth of spiritual insight that is a mystery, but is often buried as they grow older, like seeds that fall to the ground in the fall.

    It’s not surprising, given that our journey toward adulthood is a difficult one. Life’s emotional roller coaster is a monumental challenge even for the stoutest of souls. On the way, our sense of God is often diminished or damaged.

    If we are to grow as whole persons, we need to recover what has been lost or renew what has been weakened from when we had a child’s nature. Jesus said it. “Let the children come to me, and do not prevent them; for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”

    For Christians, our spiritual insight is bound to our belief in God, maker of heaven and earth; in Jesus, God incarnate, and in the Holy Spirit, the giver of life.  Like Jesus, we must not only allow ourselves to “grow in wisdom and in Grace,” but nurture the process as well.

    Any investment in our spiritual lives is an investment in the rest of our lives as well. As St. Francis de Sales reminds us, ultimately, it is our faith that “enables us to see God in all things as well as all things in God.”

    “When leaves are falling, and the branch is bare, winter is calling and chills the silent air. when the moon is covered, the shadows of the night, know that I am waiting to call you to the quiet.” ~ Liam Lawson, In the Quiet

    Photo by Alisa Anton on Unsplash.

  • Book review: Things My Father Taught Me About Love

    ‘Things My Father Taught Me About Love’ opens the heart 

    By Lois Rogers/Correspondent MM_LessonOnLove_Cov4ISBN

    In her small book, “Things My Father Taught Me about Love,” author, editor and educator Mary Regina Morrell offers a bouquet of insights on faith, spirituality and family life gleaned from her own garden.

    Brushed with humor, tenderness and a sense of reverence for the way small and meaningful moments can illuminate life, Morrell’s 54-page book opens the door to her world and bids readers come inside and experience the spiritual gifts of her loving father.

    Over the years, she has shared these lessons with readers of her award-winning, syndicated column, “Things My Father Taught Me,” which weaves together insights drawn from life as daughter, wife, mother of six and friend to many.

    In what she calls “just a snippet of our lives, a whirlwind of blessing and loss, joy and heartbreak, grief, frustration and accomplishment,” Morrell gifts us with endearing glimpses into her own life, and a reflection of our own.

    She begins with a simple litany of these gifts which run the gamut from doing good and loving well to laughing often as we embrace the mystery of God.

    Traveling with her in the all-too-brief pages, we see the possibilities that emerge as “life unfolds while we are not looking.”

    The landscape Morrell creates winds through the garden nurtured by her father which, in turn, inspired her boundless ability to marvel at God’s creation.

    It surfaces in a pond full of koi where, leaning over to view the aquatic parade, her own reflection in the water brings to mind the myth of Narcissus – the Greek youth in love with his own image. She notes presciently how this ancient and sometimes fatal character flaw seems sadly to be “flourishing in this day and age.”

    It’s a vision that ranges from pathos – Morrell writes movingly of the deaths of her parents – to the joy experienced when the ordinary suddenly becomes extraordinary; the immeasurable gratitude of a friend, for instance, when one of her six sons bestows upon him a huge container of cannoli cream rescued from the shore bakery where he worked as it closed for the winter.

    Morrell’s fluid and approachable style is, in itself, a gift to readers. She’s able to weave a considerable body of knowledge drawn from studies in Siena College, Loudonville, N.Y., and Felician University, Lodi, as well as a master’s degree from Seton Hall University, South Orange, into a book filled with basics that everyone can savor.

    In demand as a speaker and catechetical consultant, she begins each entry with a quote, drawing mostly from Scripture, the saints or Catholic apologists including G.K. Chesterton and Thomas Hardy.

    Opportunities to pause and enter into prayer and reflection with excerpts from the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, provide welcome respite in these troubled times.

    Rabbi Irwin Kula, author of “Yearnings: Embracing the Sacred the Messiness of Life,” captured the essence of this book in his endorsement: “If you want to find God, know love, and truly understand these are the same, read this beautiful book. But be prepared to have your heart opened up, to laugh and to cry, to take many deep breaths of awe and wonder, and to shout out to the Heavens and to the people in your life, ‘Thank You! Hallelujah!’ What a perfect dose of grace this book is for people of all backgrounds.”

    “Things My Father Taught Me,” with cover designed by award-winning graphic artist Clara Baumann, is available on Amazon as an e-book.                                                                                                                                    

    Morrell's newest book, "Let Go and Live" is scheduled for release in the fall.

    Lois M. Rogers is a long-time journalist and creator of “Keeping the Feast,” an award winning blog on food, faith and family.

     Mary Morrell is a life-long writer who has served as associate director of religious education in the Diocese of Metuchen; assistant editor and catechetical consultant for RENEW International; managing editor of The Monitor, the official newspaper of the Diocese of Trenton, and is author of Angels in High Top Sneakers, Loyola Press. She may be reached at mary.wellspring@yahoo.com, and read at her blog, God Talk and Tea.

  • More than a prayer, Hail Mary is a relationship

    Not all relationships get off to a good start.                                                                                                                                                                                                                    HailMaryoliver-pacas-191069 

    That was my relationship with Mary, our Blessed Mother. She was ever virgin, ever holy and, seemingly through religious art, ever young – about as far away as possible from whom I saw myself to be as a woman, wife and mother, especially as I got older.

    But a friend pointed out to me that my problem was really in not knowing Mary well enough. He advised me to mediate on her life, to learn more about what it was like to be a woman, wife and mother in her culture and time, to imagine her joys and her pains and to think of her as someone who would have a deep empathy for my own struggles.

    I made him a promise that I would try, and so, little by little a relationship grew, perhaps not the same kind so many other Catholics might have, but a relationship none-the-less. We didn’t talk much, Mary and I, in the way I often talked to God, but I found that when I was troubled, fearful or in need of prayers for someone I would say “Hail Mary.” Sometimes that is all I would say, other times I would say the entire prayer. It became second nature.

    I found a statue of Mary someone had given me as a gift and put it on my kitchen counter.  I put a small votive holder in front of it, and every night I would light a candle, thanking Mary for listening to my prayers and lifting them up to God, and then I would go through the litany of prayers still needed for family members. I still do this every night, and when things get really crazy, during the day, as well. It is a ritual that brings me comfort and settled, for the most part, with peace of mind.

    But his past weekend one of my sons was diagnosed with pneumonia, and on top of it, was hit with one crisis after another in the space of 24 hours – a pattern that is frequent in his life, contributing to often overwhelming stress for him, and, subsequently, for me.

    I felt like I was coming unraveled and decided he needed a St. Benedict medal to serve as a constant silent prayer for God’s blessing and protection, and for peace, which has been a Benedictine motto for centuries. I was searching on-line for what seemed like an hour for a medal that came with a chain, was affordable and would arrive within two days – since anything could happen in my son’s life within 48 hours.

    Then, as we often do in times of extreme stress, I lost my composure and good sense.  I had to get ready for an appointment, couldn’t find what I was looking for and exclaimed out loud, “I need help! Please, someone help me find the medal I want for my son. He needs it.”

    A moment later, as I hit the page button one more time, the perfect medal showed up on the screen. It was for a man, on a chain and would be delivered in 48 hours. I burst out in tears when I saw the name of the company which was offering the medal: Hail Mary Gifts.

    I realized in that moment what a gift Mary has been to me, and to my son, who is the one most often lifted up in prayer. I realized that through my daily requests to Mary for prayer, I was moving through each day, no matter how difficult, with a renewed sense of hope. I realized that relationships take many forms, and while I do not yet pray the Rosary daily or preach Mary to the crowds, or even to family or friends, the relationship I have with her is still meaningful and fruitful in my life, especially in the absence of my own mother who died so many years ago.

    I realize, also, that In the grand scheme of things, especially with so many people experiencing tragedy and profound struggles, wanting a medal for someone is not a cause for divine intervention. But I do believe that God intervenes, whether it is through the saints or angels, other people, or especially through Mary, when he wants us to have faith in his desire to be in a relationship with us.

    In his May 10 General Audience, Pope Francis offered some inspiring words on our relationship with Mary: “We are not orphans: we have a Mother in heaven, who is the Holy Mother of God. Because she teaches us the virtue of waiting, even when everything seems meaningless. She always trusts in the mystery of God, even when He seems to be eclipsed by the evil of the world. In times of difficulty, may Mary, the Mother Jesus has given to us all, always support our steps. May she say to our hearts: ‘Get up. Look ahead. Look to the horizon. For she is the Mother of Hope.’"

    Photo by Oliver Pacas on Unsplash