Sharing insights and inspiration that happen over a cup of tea

About

Recent Posts

  • Becoming my mother’s daughter

    For many years, February was a difficult month for me after the death of my parents. My father Blueskunk died on February 15 and my mother’s birthday is February 27. For years their loss cast a pall over the month. I missed them terribly, but time has changed things. I see my father often in the face of my son and I run into my mother daily each time I pass the hall mirror.

    I think I began to realize I was morphing into my mother when I first read a quip by Erma Bombeck who shared a story of putting on a sweater and seeing her mother’s arm come out of the sleeve. I laughed hysterically before I realized it would only be funny if I could relate to it. In a panic, I took a long hard look at my hands. Sure enough, they bore a striking resemblance to my mother's. When did that happen?

    Then there was the less than tactful family friend who said at my mother’s wake, “You look more like your mother than she does.” Now that’s a wake-up call. For a time I was disturbed that  I was unable to craft my own “self.” But part of my maturing process has included becoming comfortable with the fact that I am not just my own person. I am my mother’s daughter.

    I no longer need to be told that I look like her. I see it, as much as I see that I bite the tip of my finger when I’m thinking, just like she did.  Sometimes I’ll carry a Hersey Bar in my pocketbook, like she did, and we both share a penchant for stenographers’ notebooks, jigsaw puzzles and birds.

    And I am set in my ways, as she was. I have had the same framed child’s paintings, my artistic son’s first masterpieces, standing on the mantel in my kitchen for 20 years. She had a blue plate with a furry skunk on her backsplash.

    From her I learned that tea is the soother for all of life’s problems, and I have had more than my fair share, of tea that is, since she died. And though I already had children of my own then, I don’t think I really began to grow up and grow into me until I had to bear her death.

    “When I stopped seeing my mother with the eyes of a child, I saw the woman who helped me give birth to myself.” -Nancy Friday

     

  • Ma’am, there’s no one here who can help you

    So last week I was on the phone with the electric company. They had left a message that my serviceNeed help  would be shut off the next day unless I paid my bill in full.  I explained to the young woman that, being self-employed, my checks don’t always come in on a regular basis. Could she extend the shut off date for two weeks?  She gave me an unequivocal no. Well, could I pay a portion of the bill now and the rest in two weeks.  "Ma’am you would have to pay 75% of your bill — $600, and I can’t guarantee shutoff would be postponed." Ok … was there anyone else there with the authority to postpone shutoff for two weeks?

    That’s when I heard, “Ma’am, there is no one here who can help you unless you make a payment of $600.”  With her tone, I almost expected her to add, “so stop whining #$*&@”

    Really?  A company that received a rate increase recently giving them an additional $100 million in revenue and with whom I had been a customer for 35 years wasn’t willing to help me?  Somehow I didn’t think this particular phone representative was a reputable spokesperson for the company, so I made another phone call – to the Board of Public Utilities. And just let me say, the utility company will now be getting the partial payment in two weeks and the rest will be put into a special payment plan for 6 months. My thanks to the gentleman at the BPU and the lovely lady in customer relations at the utility company.

    I have to wonder why this just couldn’t be done first time around instead of wasting everyone else’s time, and raising frustration levels? Surely there’s a lot of truth to one rotten apple…..

    “No one here can help you” are not words I’m accustomed to hearing. Obviously I’ve been spoiled. My friends and family would bend over backwards to do whatever they can to help in any situation. For the past 16 years I have worked in some capacity for the Church, and in spite of the consistently negative press, I was always confident that if I needed help I would get it, and I was never disappointed.

     But struggling financially puts you in a place where people are not always so quick to be gracious or generous. You are often treated rudely, with disrespect, and with a real lack of concern. When you can’t pay your bills, suddenly your status changes.

    Years ago, when I was writing for a Catholic newspaper, I interviewed a number of homeless men at the Catholic Charities shelter. It was a trailer, actually, with bunk beds arranged neatly throughout, and a small kitchen and office space. The men had been business men, teachers and laborers. One was an engineer.  Some had been dealing with family issues, which made a sudden decrease in salary a death knell.  For others, there were medical issues and mounting bills.

    I remember walking out of that trailer and thinking to myself, “This could happen to me; to any of us, really.” Then I was thinking of the material losses. Today, I am thinking about the loss of respect and dignity. Thank God, Catholic Charities was able to provide some help during a tough time and, most especially, help those men maintain their dignity.  At least these few didn’t hear, “Sir, there’s no one here who can help you.”

  • Who knew the energizer bunny could dance?

    Several years ago I gave my husband a gift certificate for a few introductory dancing lessons at an Arthur ArthurmurrayMurray Studio. Though a carpenter and building contractor by trade, he always admired the people who seemed to moved effortlessly, or at least more competently than he, across the dance floor.

    He hated to dance at weddings, and we had two coming up in our family—two sons getting married in the same year.  That was four years ago, and now I can’t get him to stay home. I can hear some wives laughing—“So what’s the problem??"

    He’s still at the studio four nights a week, though I long ago hung up my dancing shoes, and loving every minute of it. I think if he could justify giving up his day job he would do it in a heartbeat.  Who would have thought the carpenter had the soul of a dancer? And it’s certainly been good for his health as well. He’s dropped 50 lbs which has gone a long way toward keeping his blood sugars balanced, and the girls in the family hide behind me at family weddings because they can’t keep up with him. It’s not unusual for them to duck behind my chair and whisper, “Save me!” They love to dance, too, but he’s the energizer bunny on steroids.

    If you’ve made a New Year’s resolution for more exercise or healthier living, consider dancing. If you live in New Jersey consider the Whitehouse Station Arthur Murray Studio. It’s a great place with the greatest people—and you’ll get to see the energizer bunny! I think they're setting up a cot for him in the back room!

  • The furnace of love is hot indeed!

    When I was young one of my favorite books, aside from the entire Nancy Drew series, of course, Shadrach was an oversized, beautifully illustrated collection of Old Testament stories. One story in particular always held my fancy — Shadrach, Meschach and Abednego who were thrown into the fiery furnace by King Nebuchadnezzar.

    This story was a continual source of amazement for me as I pondered these three young men willingly entering a white-hot furnace, surrendering themselves totally to God so they would not have to violate their beliefs or God’s law.

     Wow. Now these were some heroes.

     There’s no doubt that story played a part in forming my often passionate and sometimes radical heart. Later, as an adult who, like most others, found themselves thrust into one furnace or another from time to time, the witness of these three faithful Jews imparted also the importance of trusting fully in God.

     After all, life has a way of wearing us down and scorching our soul, providing us with innumerable opportunities to either do it our way or place our trust in the love of our Creator. There is no doubt as to the courage required for such trust, though, because just as often as love is the Angel that rescues us, love also seems to be the force that pushes us in the furnace!

     Love makes us vulnerable to what others think about us, say about us, feel about us. Love can leave us lonely on the road to Calvary and open to the searing pain of loss – the break-up of a marriage or relationship, the loss of a job or vocation, the death of a child, a loved one, a spouse. Certainly, if we didn’t love, we wouldn’t hurt.

     It is often so difficult to keep the heart open to love when love has been the cause of so much pain – trust broken, backs turned, thoughtless words spoken – that we may find ourselves succumbing to the desire to protect our hearts from Love’s flames. Then, little by little, we allow our hearts to turn to stone.

     When this begins to happen it is a time for prayer, a time to reflect on the words of Scripture, “Harden not your hearts.”

     This is the time to reflect on God’s Word — Jesus.

     Jesus’ example shows us the heart fully devoted to God can be wounded, broken or even consumed by the flames and, still, in the agony, rise up again.

     The reason for this is Love, not the imperfect love of persons but the perfect love of God that will not be turned away, even by sin, as long as God’s love is what our hearts desire. You see, God is a wise Lover, desiring only the heart freely opened, freely given – and devoted to God above all things as the fearless hearts of three young Jewish men.

     So when you hear God whisper, “Harden not your heart,” know that God also whispers your name – Beloved. And God never lets a Beloved walk into the furnace alone.

    “He has freed us from the raging flame and delivered us from the fire. Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, for his mercy endures forever.” Daniel 3:88-89

  • In moments of awareness we discover the soul

    Revelations can happen at the most unexpected time, especially when the eyes of the heart are Sunset open to God.

    One night, after a special dinner at the shore with our oldest friends, four of us walked the two blocks to where our car was parked.  Ever the entrepreneurs, my friend Rose and my husband, Frank, stood on the street corner for a few moments discussing the possible profit margin of a newly built set of condominiums. Her husband John and I stood by the car watching in awe as a fiery sun drew ribbons of molten light through thick purple clouds.

    "The promise of eternity in a sunset," John mused quietly. When I turned to look at him, he was smiling broadly at the vision he was encountering, as if it were the very first time he had seen so breathtaking a sight. I was not surprised.

    During the more than thirty years of our friendship, I had learned that John possessed the soul of a poet, a depth I wasn't sure many people had been privileged to see.

    Tonight, with his awareness of the divine so obvious, he seemed a far cry from the often times "distracted" young man of years ago who had one day run into his future father-in-law's house with his future father-in-law's car.

    It happened one fine evening when Eddie French asked John to back the car out of the driveway to make room for another visitor. Eager to oblige and make a good impression, John promptly made his way to the car, put the vehicle in reverse and proceeded to smash into the foundation of the house. The building shook, plates fell off the wall. Twenty minutes passed and John could still not bring himself to get out of the sorely mangled car, knowing no words could ever makes sense of what had just happened.

    Finally, Eddie strolled out of the house, walked up to the driver's side of the car and said through the open window, "I just have one question."

    "What's that?" John muttered sheepishly.

    After a serious pause, Eddie asked, "How fast was the house going?"

    It was a moment of grace, a moment of compassion, a moment of forgiveness, and a moment that John would never forget!!

    Perhaps it was one of those moments, like a shared sunset, that allowed John to "see" a little more deeply into the man who could have berated him severely for his carelessness but chose instead to reveal a soft spot in his nature.

    Sometimes, in a privileged moment of honesty, trust and vulnerability, we are blessed with an experience of insight into the true nature of another person. This is a moment to treasure and one for which we should be attentive, because to reveal to another even a small part of our true selves, to make known our deepest desires or greatest fears, is to make ourselves vulnerable as Christ was vulnerable.

    It was at Gethsemane that Jesus revealed the depth of his love and faithfulness, as well as the true agony of a fear that caused his soul to be "sorrowful even unto death" – but his friends slept.

    To share in such moments with another person is to experience God, but we need to keep the eyes of our heart open so we don't miss the revelation.

  • A Celtic blessing for the New Year

    On this first day of the New Year it always seems meaningful for me to call to mind the friends and Celticcrosswater family that I have lost – to death or distance or time – and pray for them.  But today, as I read through a wonderful book that one of those friends once sent me as a birthday gift, I rediscovered a lovely Celtic blessing that does not limit blessings to just a few but extends them to all.  I thought it would be a fitting way to begin this first new day of the year by sharing it.

    Beannacht ar chách

    (Blessing on everyone)

    Nara tiugha féar ag fás

    (Not more generous the growing blades of grass)

    Ná gaineamh ar thrá

    (Nor the grains of sand on the shore)

    Ná drúcht ar bhán

    (Nor the dewdrops on the pasture)

    Ná na beannachtaí ó Rí na ngrás

    (be the blessings of the Kind of grace)

    Ar gach anam a bhí, a bheidh ná atá.

    (on every soul that was, that will be or that is.)

    From The Glenstal Book of Prayer 

  • A toast to a New Year filled with listening

    On Christmas, one of my future daughters-in-law gave me a small gift bag filled with a variety ofNew years  simple presents. What made the gifts extra special was that each one was something I had mentioned to her in our conversations the past year. She had listened. That was the real gift.

    We often hear about the power of words to hurt or to heal, but in his book, The Hidden Power of Kindness, Father Lawrence G. Lovasik reminds us that kind listening, as well as kind speaking, is a grace. “Just listening to other people is a superbly effective way of encouraging them, and that is a great act of charity. This requires a willingness to be silent, to let the other person tell his own story in his own way. You (may)realize that the other person is suffering spiritual pain and that you can alleviate that pain only by listening quietly and compassionately. Such listening becomes an exquisite expression of love.”

    Here’s to a New Year filled with the grace of kind listening.

  • Lessons from the Skateasaurus

    Every fall my sons will join their friends for a weekend camping trip. They’ve been doing this for Tyrex years, and, inevitably, come home with some really funny stories. One of the funniest was recounted by a young man who had once worked as the Skateasaurus.

    I’m not sure how many roller skating rinks are home to the Skateasaurus Rex, but at the rink in my neighborhood this popular attraction amazed children and adults alike with his dexterity on roller skates, in spite of his oversized, protruding green head.

    Some children would follow him like a shadow, seemingly awestruck by his mere presence. Others would try to hang on to his leg as he skated around the rink, high-fiving the guests. Still others remained wary, and kept a safe distance from his imposing figure.

    Then one day the unthinkable happened. Perhaps it was a little too much self-assurance that drove the Skateasaurus into some fancy skating maneuvers and ultimately toppled him off balance and sent him to the floor – and his head to the other end of the rink.

    Pandemonium ensued. Children were screaming. The revelation that Skatesaurus was not who he seemed to be was more than some children could handle. It was like a contemporary rewrite of the scene from the Wizard of Oz when the Wizard entreats his visitors to “pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!”  Fortunately, Dorothy and friends discover the Wizard is just an ordinary man pretending to be extraordinary.

    We all know people like that, or maybe we are people like that, afraid to be authentic.  Can you imagine the chaos if, at the next staff meeting or family gathering, all of our heads fell off and the real us was exposed?

    It could be cause for screaming, or it could be very refreshing!

  • Remembering Claire

    If Claire were here she would say that sometimes being remembered is all that’s needed to die well.Sunrise

    Claire was an elderly patient in a local nursing home when Hospice was called in on her case. Her husband had died a few years earlier and her only remaining relatives – her mother and aunt – lived eight hours away and were too sick to visit. Claire was, essentially, alone – and dying.

    When Barbara, the Hospice volunteer coordinator, made her first visit to Claire she explained that volunteers would stop by on a daily basis just to visit and offer companionship. With that, Claire began to cry. Concerned, Barbara asked if the idea of having visitors disturbed her.

    Claire shook her head and spoke through broken sobs, saying, “I’m not afraid of dying. I’m afraid that I will die and no one will know that I’ve lived.”

    Claire’s pain at the thought of being forgotten tugged mightily on the heart strings of the Hospice team undertaking her care, so extra effort was expended to make sure that as many volunteers as possible would visit the gentle woman every day. In addition, nurses, chaplains, and, of course, Barbara, made it a point to drop in whenever they were in the neighborhood, and it seemed they were in the neighborhood more often than usual.

    Claire smiled a lot, and her smile, agreed her Hospice “family,” was something very special.

    As Claire grew weaker and weaker, her death being imminent, Barbara began to schedule the “light brigade” – a steady stream of volunteers who each spend a period of time with a patient to ensure that they are never alone as they journey toward death.

    Audrey was a new volunteer and first-time “light brigader” when she began to visit Claire at the nursing home. Since Audrey and Claire were both of the same faith, Audrey thought it might be comforting to say some prayers. As she began reciting them, she realized she had forgotten most of the words. But the prayers jogged her memory of childhood days and brought back the melodies and words of some favorite hymns.

    Bending close to Claire’s ear, Audrey began to sing softly. Though Claire was nearlycomatose, an engaging smile spread across her face. Cupping Claire’s face softly between her hands, Audrey said slowly and lovingly so Claire could hear, “You have the most beautiful smile. I will never forget you as long as I live.”

    With those words, Claire died peacefully.

  • Embracing the sacred gift of intuition

    "How did you know that?"  It was a question my sons asked of me often, continually surprised at A20792a12c98b1ff128bf1_m how I knew things they had worked hard at hiding from me.

    “Moms know everything,” was my pat answer, and for the most part, when mothers give credence to their intuition, they discover they are aware of more than they, or anyone else, thinks they are. In addition to intuition, I often found that information just fell into my lap when I most needed it – like the hospital bill that inadvertently came to my home for one of my sons who had been injured while at college. He gave the hospital his school address, but it came to me none-the-less. I like to attribute it to a guardian angel who is always on her toes!

    In reality, all of us are born with an intuitive sense. For some, it is always a powerful sense that can be both a gift and a challenge. For others, the sense gets lost, or the rational mind takes precedence and buries intuition.

    Fortunately, for me, my father was a firm believer in the power of intuition and the subconscious mind, and he nurtured the tools that would allow me to develop my intuitive sense. Most importantly, he encouraged me to embrace silence, to develop inner calm and focus, and to live in the moment.  The process has been a fruitful one, but certainly one filled with challenges. High on the list is the tendency of human nature to become lazy, to be critical of oneself and others, and to run from truth when it is difficult to face.

    For Thomas Merton, monk, mystic and teacher, the theme of intuition was a thread woven through his spiritual writings. He encouraged the development of intuition as a means for students to come to a fuller awareness of their existence and of their being grounded in the being of God.

    And yet, as we move into another new year, it is the thought of a scientist, Albert Einstein,  that comes to mind. “The intuitive mind is a sacred gift and the rational mind is a faithful servant. We have created a society that honors the servant and has forgotten the gift.”

     Image is from http://ministryofthearts.org