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  • The only gift that matters is love

    In a rare stretch outside my comfort zone, I went to the mall, on a Saturday, in the height of Goldy-Christmas-Gifts-734945  Christmas shopping frenzy. Within the first five minutes of navigating one of the larger anchor stores, I remembered all too clearly why I rarely shop in a mall, most especially during the Christmas season.

    Sensory overload is enough to short out brain circuits, and I’m convinced it adds to the all too prevalent ill-humor and bad manners of shoppers. Too many people, too much stuff and the overbearing pressure to buy, Buy, BUY, can choke the life out of a person, and no where do I feel that more than in the women’s pocketbook department.

    On this particular shopping trip, amid a sea of leather and suede with price tags often matching the weekly salary of the average citizen, I felt a new appreciation for the adage, "Gone to hell in a handbag."

    Hundreds of purses in various sizes, shapes and colors made choosing one small gift a near impossibility and seemed more the mirror of excess reflected throughout a store jammed with merchandise. With just a few days left until Christmas the air among shoppers was one of urgency and aggravation; something certainly antithetical to the expectant waiting and joy that Christians should find during Advent.

    Since my cynicism was threatening to snuff out my Christmas spirit, I decided no sale was worth selling my soul. Home, a warm cup of tea and my favorite hymns would be the antidote. I wasn’t expecting a touching email from one of my sons to help put everything back in perspective.

    He, like so many, is struggling with the very challenging economic times, and the pressure to maintain the cultural standard of Christmas is taking a toll on him. He wrote, "I know that this holiday season has been the most stressful one for me ever and I am going to assume the same is true for you. I know you like to get nice gifts for everyone and you always seem to do it somehow— frankly its a mystery to me— but I don't know how you'll pull it off this year. So I don't want you to feel obligated to spend more than you should or more than you can. Don't feel bad if you can't get me (or anyone else) what you really wanted. This year, don't worry about gifts. Take comfort in knowing that we'll all understand and that we don't expect much anyway. I think I speak for all the boys when I say that we enjoy Christmas morning for the spirit of the day; the company and the love of one another. No matter how many gifts are under your tree, it's the celebration that we all enjoy most."

    His touching message brought to mind the simple nativity set that sits on our front lawn, reminding me that the spirit of Christmas rests with the Holy Family, the embodiment of God’s love for us. Christmas is about relationship: God and us, Mary and Joseph, Jesus and the whole world. Even the story of the magi is about their need to be in relationship with the savior of the world. Their gifts were mere expressions of that desire. Somehow we have allowed the focus on gifts to become a distraction from the profound meaning of the celebration—God’s desire to be in relationship with us, becoming one of us within the womb of family.

    For many, this Christmas may be a different sort of Christmas. Whether it is a simplicity forced upon us by economic hardship, or a refocusing on the gift of relationship as we find "family" among our friends or sit vigil in a hospital room, we can be comforted by keeping the image of the Nativity in our hearts.

    More than just a tender greeting card image, the Holy Family leads us back to the only gift that matters—Love.

     Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen.

    Attributed to seven year old child 

     

     

  • The Gift of Evelyn’s Bread

    Evelyn had a special gift. She loved to bake bread.Breadloaves

    Whenever someone would come to visit, Evelyn would treat her guest to a full pot of hot tea and warm homemade bread with cranberry butter. When the parish had a bake sale, Evelyn would arrive with her arms loaded with freshly bake loaves.

    When someone was sick at home, Evelyn would visit, always certain to bring a loaf to serve and a loaf to freeze. For some, this gift might seem inconsequential when compared to the gift of preaching or healing. But no gift is too small to put at the service of God. The preaching and healing that took place through the expression of love that was Evelyn’s bread would be remembered long past many a homily. It might be said that Evelyn’s bread making was a by-product of her true gift of a generous spirit.

     God has been generous with us, as he was with Evelyn, giving each of us our own unique gifts and talents, expecting that we would share those gifts with others for the purpose of building the Body of Christ. During the coming week you might like to reflect on the following questions: Am I aware of the gifts God has given me? Do I use these gifts to lead others to God in my family, my parish or my community? Do I sense there may be gifts I have not yet discovered? How might I allow the Spirit to uncover those gifts in me?

     Written by Mary Morrell

    Copyright © RENEW International

    ARISE Together in Christ Family Faith Bulletins

  • The weed tree and the street sign

     During an amazing family drive across country from New Jersey to Montana many years ago, wePerson_tree   were often spellbound by the magnificence of creation. At once, both complex and elegant in its simplicity, creation reflected the nature of its Creator – unlimited generosity, love and potential. The palette of living color and form we discovered at every turn seemed to us the efforts of God continually gifting God’s beloved children.

     Today, back at home, as I reflect on the weed tree that has managed to grow up between the cracks of cement and into the narrow metal track of a street sign over which it now casts a shadow, I am reminded again of the potential of life, and, therefore, of each of God’s children. As apples falling from God’s tree, we are each endowed with God’s potential and creative nature.

     Sadly, for innumerable reasons, many of us forget our divine inheritance. Our potential goes unmet, even, unrecognized. Our creative nature is often sublimated, but like the tree in the street sign, will struggle to break out in one way or another. Without that opportunity for release, we may find ourselves being strangled by the very life that seeks expression.

    We are meant to live our divine nature, to live in communion with our God and each other. Our lives, and our world, would be released from bondage if we could recover our sense of being sacred and develop an awareness that wholeness and holiness are one and the same.  

     

    Image Source Page: http://www.greenchicafe.com/tree-art-in-australia

  • Hey, there’s a goose in my manger!

    Pulling in to my driveway yesterday, I noticed something different about the Nativity scene on Toyanimals the   front lawn. As I got closer, I realized someone had added a ceramic goose to the small group of animals looking in on Mary and Joseph. I smiled, and thought, “Why not?” There are geese in Bethlehem, and why should sheep, donkeys and camels be the only ones blessed with such a privilege?

     Considering the intuitive nature of animals, it’s likely hosts of angels weren’t the only ones gathering that evening. It’s possible the manger was visited by geese, deer, badgers, porcupines, bats, hyenas, leopards, even sand rats. The Son of God would surely welcome animals of all sizes, shapes, and natures.

     We owe the Nativity tradition to St. Francis of Assisi who, in 1224, planned a “living” recreation of the birth of Jesus to fill the local villagers with the spirit of Christmas. With real people dressed in robes and real animals gathered outside a cave on the outskirts of town, St. Francis urged the people to remove hatred from their hearts and rejoice in the season of Christ’s birth.

    Along with his living nativity scene, Saint Francis also used music to teach his congregation about the birth of Jesus Christ. Tradition credits St. Francis with adding religious lyrics to popular tunes and creating the first Christmas carols.

     Maybe I should move my garden statue of St. Francis a little bit closer to the Nativity.

    "The belief that the animal creation worships at the season of Christ's birth is familiar and widespread; only those who can see ghosts at Christmas have the power of hearing the cattle, sheep, and horses talk, as they do talk at this holy season." Ruth Firor, Folkways in Thomas HardyOxen

          The Oxen

       Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
    "Now they are all on their knees,"
    An elder said as we sat in a flock
    By the embers in hearthside ease.

    We pictured the meek mild creatures where
    They dwelt in their strawy pen,
    Nor did it occur to one of us there
    To doubt they were kneeling then.

    So fair a fancy few would weave
    In these years! Yet, I feel,
    If someone said on Christmas Eve,
    "Come; see the oxen kneel,

    "In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
    Our childhood used to know,"
    I should go with him in the gloom,
    Hoping it might be so’

    Thomas Hardy

  • If price is no object ….!

    Looking for a unique Christmas gift this year? What about a leaf from the first edition, first Gutenberg printing   of the first book every printed – the 1455 Gutenberg Bible. A complete Gutenberg Bible may cost you a whopping $100 million, but for the more frugal gift-giver, a single leaf will only run from $95,000 — $195,000, depending on which section of the Bible it is from. That cost includes a lovely leather presentation portfolio!

     How do I know this, you may ask? Web research, of course.

     You see, years ago I purchased a magnificent, though water damaged, Bible in a little antique store in Lavalette. The owner routinely set aside many of the religious articles that came in so I could have first dibs. The Bible had been part of an estate, but with large brass clasps and weighing in at more than 14 pounds, this amazing book seemed more appropriate to a church than a family. Even with the damage, just the Bible’s 600 illustrations, including what I believe to be full page Gustave Doré engravings displaying scenes from the Bible, made the book an inspired purchase.

     This year I decided to sell the Bible, which truly deserves a home with someone who can afford to restore it, if possible, to its original beauty. While researching its history so I could set a price, I discovered that if I had found a Gutenberg in that antique store, I would have been set for life, and could have made lots of donations to my favorite charities!

    In comparison, my Bible is a bargain.

    This huge leather bound Holy Bible titled Browns Self-Interpreting Holy Bible  was published by  American Publishing Company, New York in 1873, and edited by Rev. Henry Cooke, D.D., LL.D. Its Bible 001 two brass clasps are intact and working. Weighing over 14 pounds, it features a deeply embossed and ornately gilded leather exterior.

     Its front cover and several of the first pages have come off and the book will need to have its binding repaired or replaced. For the most part the leaves are clean inside, though some pages do display water stains at the bottom of the pages. This enormous volume consists of more than 1400  pages plus additional appendices. Between the Old and the New Testaments, there are blank family record pages: a Marriage Certificate, a Family Birth Record and a Family Death Record, and in the back, pockets for Family Photographs.

     The Bible contains 600 engravings, (including what research indicates are full page Gustave Doré engravings), and numerous steel plates displaying scenes from the Bible, protected by tissue guards. This magnificent edition of John Brown’s Bible deserves a home with a Bible collector who could invest in its restoration.

     The price for this beautiful Bible is $225. Please contact me at mary.wellspring@yahoo.com if you are interested.

  • In Heaven, there are no ho-hum people

    Like so many people of my age, I have spent a lot of time in hospitals, not just as a patient but as a Escalatortoheaven visitor. In those times I have never failed to learn something, either about myself or about life, in general.

    One memorable lesson happened while visiting my 86 year old mother-in-law who had gone to the hospital with a heart problem and ended up with a broken hip after falling out of bed. While the nurse was trying to make her comfortable, I heard a booming voice coming from a room down the hall.

    “You know what the doctor said to me?! He said everyone should be as healthy as I am. I’m 80 years old. Can you believe it; 80 years old, and look at me!”

    A little while later, while pacing the hallway, I heard the same voice bellowing from behind me, “You know what the doctor said to me?! Everyone should be as healthy as I am. Guess how old I am! I’m 80 years old. Blood pressure’s good. Cholesterol’s good. Just have to lose five pounds. Everyone should be as healthy as me!”

    By then, I had turned around to find the person behind the voice and saw an elderly gentleman in jeans and sneakers talking to a nurse who was nonchalantly trying to make her escape.

    I also saw a few patients in nearby rooms shooting him some questionable glances, and it dawned on me that his proclamations of health could be unsettling to those patients who were ill, incapacitated, or facing a difficult transition to a nursing home. In all these cases, the suffering would not just be physical, but emotional as well, with each patient having to come to grips with an aspect of surrendering to age. Unlike the spry 80 year old in the hallway, they were forced to give up some, or full, control of their lives.

    But sometimes there are those who have learned that accepting the reality of change or suffering or surrender, while usually painful, is also a means for growth; like Sylvia, the 92 year old amputee who I met in one of my hospital stays. With a portable oxygen tank hooked to her wheelchair, she would often slip into my room to check on me, to offer words of comfort or just to “shoot the breeze.” This woman was anything but healthy but she could light up a room in an instant with her smile and her attitude.

    She never talked about her health, unless someone asked, but loved to share her memories. Nurses had to stop her from trying to get on the elevator to go down to the snack bar. One of her favorite quips was, “if diamonds are made under pressure than I’m a 10 carat at least!” And that was the truth!

    While she hadn’t overcome her illness in the sense of being healed physically, she had overcome her suffering by accepting its reality, moving forward and embracing the blessing that is life.

    Famous American author, Hellen Keller, who was also the first deaf and blind person to graduate from college, once wrote, “Although the world is full of suffering it is full also of the overcoming of it.”

    When I think of all the amazing people who have influenced my life I realize how many of them, including my parents, had been people determined to overcome their struggles and their suffering.

    I imagine that without the struggles we would be a ho-hum people – pain free, perhaps, but certainly not wise or compassionate or, even, interesting.

    The painful realities of life ensure that, in Heaven, there are no ho-hum people, but rather, people who, through the power of faith in God, moved through times of suffering with hope in the resurrection; people who, like Sylvia, discovered that new life happens, not just with birth or death, but with every waking moment.

     

     

  • Giving the gift of prayers

    Several years ago, while at the shore, I found a very lovely class ring. Not knowing what to do with Classring it, I took it home and put it in my jewelry case and forgot about it. Recently, when cleaning, I rediscovered it. I found the name of the ring company and called, hoping they might have records for that particular school, but learned they didn’t keep records more than a few years. Then I called the school, and was told they would have no way of finding out who the ring belonged to.

     I examined the ring closely and reflected on the symbols the owner had chosen to include in the design. I tried to imagine who might have worn it. From the color of the stone I thought the ring belonged to a woman but when I tried it on, I realized it belonged to a man. Admiring the beauty of the center stone, I thought sadly that the ring was destined to sit forever in my jewelry box.

    Then I slipped it on my middle finger and decided that, for Advent, I would wear the ring as a reminder to pray for the owner, not just once a day but every time I felt the ring on my hand or noticed it on my finger. If the ring could no longer adorn the finger of the person who owned it, at least it would serve as a catalyst to adorn that person’s life with blessings.

     May you be gifted with many prayers during this holy season!

  • A grateful heart is the choicest of blessings

    My father was an adventurer at heart. No doubt, if he had lived at a different time, under different African baskets circumstances he would have sought wisdom at the feet of a Tibetan monk, and explored the ruins of Machu Pichu. As life would have it, the farthest he ever got was a castle in Ireland, and Korea during the war.

    He never complained about not being able to fulfill his dreams, but rather satiated his curiosity by reading anything he could get his hands on: the story of Easter Island, the creation of Stonehenge, archeological investigations at the tomb of King Tut or burial mounds in the American midwest.

    This man with an eighth grade education would navigate the most difficult parts of the Old Testament with pleasure, and would then move on to the writings of Kahlil Gibran or the Art of Yoga. He was engaged by the mysterious and was fond of reminding me that “nothing is more mysterious than life itself, and people, in particular!”

    On one special Thanksgiving, as we set out the final dishes of food on a heavily ladened table, he mused philosophically, “You know Mary, life can be as full as this beautiful table or as empty as those pots in the kitchen. It all depends on where you're standing.”

    “Thank you, O enlightened one,” I replied, passing off a plate of stuffed celery.

    He laughed and we all sat down to our last Thanksgiving dinner together.

    Several years later, when the joy of the holidays continued to be diminished by the loss of my father and my mother, I was listening to the Thanksgiving homily offered by my pastor. The image of my parents sitting at that bountiful table came flooding back to me, my father’s words still hanging in the air. Through my reverie I could hear my pastor saying, “No matter how complete our dinner today may be, the truth is we are, as human beings, very incomplete.”

    Using the image of empty baskets resting near the altar he continued, “Even on this festive day some of us have areas where we feel a certain emptiness: A loved one who is no longer there—we miss their presence and laughter; families separated by distance or circumstances; the illness or loneliness of someone we love; workplaces where people are alienated or where there is no forgiveness or peace, and, more sadly, families that experience the same reality.

    “There are so many forms of emptiness in our lives—our existence is filled with baskets, little or big, of emptiness,” he said, reminding us of our tendency to fill the basket up with “so many things that are not of God, rather than holding the basket open and empty before God so he can fill it.”

    And fill it he does, but we must take the time to “reflect quietly and honestly” and then “be overwhelmed by all that is ours.”

    God is lavish in love, my pastor reflected, and generous in his outpouring of goodness. Then he looked out across the congregation and said, “Today, I want to thank God for so many things, above all for my community, for the parish that I love very much and for all the ways we work together. You teach me that no one ever becomes poor by giving. No one really ever holds an empty basket for long when one gives with a generous heart.”

    Wiping away some tears, I realized that I had been standing a long time in grief looking at the empty pots and missing the table of blessings set by God.

      For, after all, put it as we may to ourselves, we are all of us from birth to death guests at a table which we did not spread.  The sun, the earth, love, friends, our very breath are parts of the banquet…. Shall we think of the day as a chance to come nearer to our Host, and to find out something of Him who has fed us so long?  Rebecca Harding Davis

  • More on paper products and stockpiling

    Blame this on my alto buddy who reminded me of the story.Basilica

    My father used to say that if you’re going to take the road less traveled, take a roll of toilet paper, just in case. I had a neighbor who carried half a roll in her purse at all times. On the day our diocesan choir traveled to Washington, DC, to sing in the Basilica of the Immaculate Conception, I was sorry I didn’t pay attention to them.

     We had already made our half-way pit stop – to eat –when we discovered there was no more toilet paper in the bus restroom, nor was there any backup anywhere on the bus. We quickly ran out of napkins, and searched purses and pockets for any kind of alternative.You can only imagine how relieved we were to finally arrive at the Basilica, an awe-inspiring house of worship with excellent facilities!

     And since necessity is the mother of invention, we were again relieved to have a modest, but very holy two roll supply of toilet paper for our trip home. The names of the suppliers will not be revealed to protect their welcome at the Basilica on our next trip – for which I will be sure to pack a roll in my music bag!

     At times like these I remember my Aunt Evelyn, the queen of stockpiling, who always had what you needed in her purse, especially if it was a plastic rain bonnet! But honestly, if there is anything I’d like to stockpile, it’s memories – all the happy, funny, far-out, sad, and silly times spent with family and friends. For me, that’s what life, and writing, is really all about

     

  • Today my mother would be proud!

    Today I had a very special delivery — a case – count 'em, 80 rolls – of toilet paper!  Courtesy of myToilet paper  son’s very thoughtful girlfriend and a real savings windfall, to say nothing of the fact that I won’t have to shop for toilet paper for at least two months, that is if my family members spend a little more time away from home!

    My mother was all about stocking up on paper products – paper towels, napkins, paper plates, and the most important, toilet paper.  From the day I got married, my closets were full. Because she lived in another state, she wanted to make sure we always had enough while she was gone. As child after child was added to the family, storage space was at a premium! The first time I ever ran out of toilet paper was the month after my mom died. I sat in the bathroom and cried like a baby. It’s funny how the most unusual things will prompt an emotional upheaval.

    Now, once I find a place to stash all these rolls, I’ll get to work on the paper towels. After all, the holidays are around the corner, and since Martha Stewart doesn’t live here, paper products (recycled, of course) are the name of the game!