7 Quick Takes Friday #21

Oh, yes, another week has passed. This week's 7 Quick Takes, a meme hosted by Jennifer Futwiler at Conversion Diary, focus preponderantly on the beginning of the week (if you consider Saturday & Sunday the beginning of the week) in Los Angeles where I attended the Religious Education Congress, held there annually for catechists from all over the USA and beyond US borders, and otherwise fit in an anniversary celebration and teaching & testing college kids from Lithuania. That's everything in a nutshell, but read on for the details and pictures. I flew into LA from Maryland; Donnie and Doah drove down from San Ignatio. We met at the airport, not an infrequent occurrence.

1. Donnie, Doah, and I had a 3-star meal at Sizzler's for our 40th anniversary. Star 1 was Donnie, star 2 me, and star 3 Doah, who sat at a neighboring table to give us the impression of privacy. The restaurant was a compromise. With 40,000 people in town for the Religious Education Congress and spring breakers having fun at Disney Land just two blocks away, neither parking space outside nor seating space inside made itself available to us for our celebration. So, we drove some distance away and found a cute little Vietnamese restaurant where no one would serve us, the only non-Vietnamese in the place. Hard to tell why: perhaps because we were obviously not Vietnamese. So no Pho for me. Sizzler was across the street, so that is where we ended up.

2. Doah thinks that we got a great anniversary gift. We bought him a DVD player to keep him entertained while we were doing other things. Yeah, with kids, one compromises. It was a good decision, clearly. The first night Doah had it, he slept with his arm around it like it was a teddy bear. Even better, on the trip back, he hung it on the seat in front of him and watched a series of movies. Not once did we get the ever-asked question, "Are we almost there?" What better anniversary gift could we have?

3. After dinner, we rushed home so that I could prepare a final exam and email it to the students in Lithuania, who were gathered in the computer lab. It was 11:30 at night here and 8:30 in the morning there, creating a situation where we were equally tired, I from staying up late and they from getting up early the second day in a row. We had done the same thing the day before as a review session, which ran from 11:30 p.m to 1:30 a.m. PST. During the review, Donnie and Doah went to bed; it was late. My talking to my students via Skype did not seem to interfere with their ability to sleep soundly. Pretty soon the students at the other end told me that they were hearing a strange background sound on my end, like a humming. It was Doah and Donnie snoring!

4. Earlier in the day, Doah and Donnie joined me at the Congress for a diocese dinner. All the catechists in our diocese had gathered together to share a lunch, and those of us from San Ignatio fit perfectly around one table. The bishop, for some reason, was attracted to Doah and, after introductions had been made, came over and blessed Doah, the only person he blessed although one would think that every person in that room could have benefitted from a blessing. Everyone from Old Mission (San Ignatio) sat together. There were so many of us there from that tiny town that the bishop asked if we had left anyone behind. "Yes," we all said in chorus, "Fr. Ed!" (He had not come with us.)

5. For our anniversary, Donnie and Doah visited the Joshua Tree National Forest. Donnie not being a Disneyland fan, they drove for two hours instead of for two miles from where we were staying near Anaheim. On the way back, Donnie's coat, which had been hanging in the window, blew out the window when he rolled the window down. So, he had a little hike back along the highway to retrieve it. Ah, it's the little things that make the strongest memories. While Donnie and Doah celebrated our anniversary, I attended lectures at the Religious Education Congress. Fortunately, since it was our 40th anniversary, we were used to those odd kinds of celebrations, so we both enjoyed the day although some eyebrows might be raised as to it being a real anniversary celebration. (For us, it was.)

6. One of the speakers I heard at the Religious Education Congress was Fr. Richard Rohr from the Center for Action and Contemplation in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I had heard his inspiring speech last year, "Cosmic Christology." This year he talked about "The Naked Now" and how Western dualistic thinking keeps us from truly understanding the nature of Christ and of God's plan for the universe. It was a truly insightful speech, and I was happy to run into Fr. Richard later in the day where I had the opportunity to have him sign a copy of one of his books for the leader of our Bible Study group who is a devote of Fr. Richard.

7. The trip back was very, very, very, very LONG! Traffic crawled for the first three hours. However, on the way we found a wonderful restaurant for an anniversary lunch: North Woods Inn. We had a steak lunch (yeah, off my diet for the second day) and a blackberry sundae (really off my diet). The peanuts were on my diet, and I enjoyed being able to throw the shells on the floor, a charm of the place and something I got into with great gusto. Uh, actually, too much gusto -- I hit the people at the table behind us with empty peanut shells. Oh, well, they were understanding. Perhaps they had given up retaliation for Lent!

Wishing all of you a wonderful week ahead!

Thankful Thursday #: Peaceful Days

This week I have had many reasons to be thankful, so, leaving aside the past weekend, which I will chronicle in tomorrow's Quick Takes -- it was so full that the weekend adventures will occupy all seven slots -- let me list the ones that came to mind today.

Today, by the way, was a great day. I played hooky from work and spent the day at the St. Francis Retreat Center at the Day of Recollection that the retreat center staff puts on for Lenten Wednesdays, then in the evening managed to carve out time both for the Bible Study class and for the Penance service at Old Mission, double attendance being possible because our class went as a whole to confession, which took a little longer than usual because there were only two priests for a surprisingly large number of people who showed up. I was among the last in line, but it was worth the wait, and the music that played while we were waiting shaped our emotions into the needed tenor.

Perhaps, then, I will start with today's retreat center activities. Since I try to attend the days of recollection, whether on Lenten Wednesdays or First Fridays, in any given year being lucky enough to make about 30% of them, I have come to know the regular attendees over time pretty well. The core group is a like a gathering of friends. Today was no different. I sat with two people from my prayer group who also form part of the core group for the retreat center activities. Both are retired, so they are more regular than I am. One of them sat next to me during the morning session and the ensuing Mass. During the Mass, at which we were joined in the chapel by about 30 friars who were attending a meeting of some sort at the retreat center, the presence of God simply pervaded the entire chapel. I felt it very strongly. Knowing that often the friend who was sitting beside me does not feel God's presence as intensely as I do, I said a silent prayer, asking that she might also be aware of God's presence. After the Mass was over, she looked visibly moved. I asked her if she had felt a strong sense of God's presence as I had, and she said, "Yes, and especially when you touched me" during the kiss of peace. I am thankful for the answer to that prayer, as well as thankful for something that did not happen. During the morning, there was a sighting of Fr. Terry, my de facto spiritual advisor for the past three years and the former director who recently (as in two months ago) left the center for another position, following a transfer of functions at the center by the Franciscan regional order (to whose intentions and logic I can never see rhyme nor reason). He apparently was attending the meeting of friars. I glimpsed him briefly at Mass, but I was unable to make my way through the crowd to say hello before he disappeared. I miss him very much, and I pray for him as often as I can. (He is not young: 80+.) I was disappointed, of course, that I came so close, yet missed him, but not as much as I would have been had not a special book fallen into my hands recently. In this book, Abandonment to Divine Providence, deCaussade wrote, "When God lives in the soul, it has nothing left of self but only that which the spirit which actuates it imparts to it at each moment...often enough it is even deprived of a regular director, for God allows it no other support than that which He gives it Himself." I am extraordinarily grateful that this book popped into my hands at just the right moment in my life (as so much seems to do these days).

Yesterday, I had to go into work late because I had to pick up a good-bye mug for one of our administrative assistants whose last day was yesterday. (It was good that I took the time to get it because I could tell from the expression on her face when I presented it at the good-bye luncheon that she had expected it.) Donnie designs the mugs, and a local novelty shop makes them. They read "Bon voyage. Thanks for making Division C a better place." They also have the employee's name on the cup. They seem to be treasured by the departing employees, and I would not dare to forget one. With the mug carefully placed on the floor in the back seat, I headed to work only to be stopped by a rooster. Roosters have the right of way, legally, in San Ignatio, and this one seemed confused. He was not crossing the street, as the joke goes, to get to the other side. He just stood in front of me, leaving me no room on either left or right to get around him without his potentially running under my tires. I waited, and waited, and waited. I waited long enough to miss the meeting that I had promised to catch the tail end of. (The organizer told me it was the most unique excuse/justification he had ever heard! Held up by a rooster!) The longer I waited, the slower the day became and the calmer I became. I am very thankful to that rooster and the slow start to the day because I arrived in a "slow" frame of my mind, and the whole day was stress-free. I hope I can repeat that often. (Well, maybe without the rooster!)

I am very thankful for our cats, Murjan (Arabic: coral - an immigrant from Jordan, he has a white coral body and a red coral markings), Intrepid (another Jordanian), and Simone (a local feral cat whom I tamed). They bring us such pleasure. Murjan is an especially social cat and misses me when I am away. Since we returned Sunday night from a weekend in Los Angeles, preceded by my week in Maryland, Murjan has not left my side. Of course, he began by jumping onto the kitchen table and begging for treats (his manners are not the best in that respect), but once he had inhaled those in 2-3 big bites, he jumped onto the couch beside me and nothing would entice him away. It has been that way all week; if I get up to do something, he follows and sits beside me until I come back to some place more comfortable, where he then lies down.

I could include more things about which to be thankful. A supervisor who came and presented a plaque with the names of my employees who had been recognized for service to the organization and distinguished performance; in the process, she made everyone, including me, feel valued. My prayer group met at my house on Monday evening and watched China Cry (I recommend it), during and after which we all cried -- and then ate some berries and cream. On Monday, I was able to have a senior staff meeting; everyone was back for the first time in weeks, including one supervisor who had safely returned from Afghanistan. Indeed, I could go on. It has been one of those weeks that makes up for the difficult ones. A week permeated by an attitude of gratitude because the days themselves have been resplendent with reasons to say thank you to colleagues, friends, God.

More information about the Thankful Thursday meme can be found at the website of Grace Alone.

Monday Morning Meditation #34: Care for Your Enemy

This week I wandered into the next chapter of II Kings. Here is the narration of the foray of troops of the King of Aram against the King of Israel, whom Elisha forewarned. With the help of God, Elisha delivered the warring troops to the King of Israel in Samarria. The King of Israel wanted to kill them, but Elisha persuaded him instead to feed them and let them go.

Reading: II Kings 6: 8-23

Meditation: This passage gives substantive meaning to "love thy neighbor as thyself" and "love thy enemy." I cannot see significant differences between a stranger, neighbor, enemy, and friend. A stranger is typically, in my experience, simply a friend in waiting, as are neighbors and even enemies. So often, we have much in common with enemies if we just take the time to find out. Elisha spent time with the warring Aramaeans, and he showed great compassion for them. It is difficult to spend time with anyone, friend or foe, and not feel compassion. Living for two years in Jordan taught me that Arabs, in general, are friends, not enemies. Living in the Soviet Union during the Cold War showed me that Russians are friends, not enemies. It was difficult in both eras of our country for many people to see that. Governments are not people, and people are generally peaceful. (Yes, admittedly, there are some misled groups of people, who choose a violent approach to living their lives and need to be managed -- with love, not hate, otherwise it just becomes one form of hatred over another.)

So many times I have been assisted in all sorts of things, including learning language and culture, finding a place to live, assistance with my kids, and much more by people considered to be my enemy. One of my favorite meals was dinner with the vice president of a Belarus university who at one time had been a captain in the Red Army, specializing in American order of battle. At the same time, I had been a captain in the US Army, specializing in Soviet order of battle. Oh, my! That was a highly emotional meeting, and here he was, giving food and drink to me, his enemy, the same way that Elisha had urged the King of Israel to feed the troops of the King of Aram.

The height of bad thinking about enemies was exhibited by my own mother years ago, who at the time had just met my best friend, an immigrant from Russia. "I thought you told me Sonya is Russian," Ma said, implying that she did not view her that way and was confused.

"She is," I replied.

"She cannot be," Ma objected. "She is normal."

Yes, our enemies are often every bit as "normal" as our friends. When we learn that, perhaps there will be a chance for a little more peace in the world.

(And if you want to read a heart-warming war story in which the heart of one German soldier, invading Belarus, was touched by an enemy baby, related to me years later by a survivor from that family, click here: Three Vignettes and One Thought about an Enemy).

And that is far as I can go with you this Monday morning. I must retire to prayer to ask God to lead me to treat my "enemies" as friends, to thank Him for his daily guidance even though I sometimes pay scant attention to it or am aware of it later than I should be, to praise Him for the wonderful ways in which He can and does set us free from our hatreds and petty annoyances with neighbors simply by our turning to Him for help. After that, I will spend as much time as I can in contemplation, my favorite part of the day, letting God take over the direction in which my relationship with Him moves.

I will now leave you to your prayer and contemplation, but first, I would like to bring to your attention a Monday morning prayer post that you might enjoy:
Fr. Austin Fleming, priest of the Archdiocese of Boston and pastor in Concord, Massachusetts, posts a prayer each Monday morning that he calls "Monday Morning Offering." I enjoy his prayers very much. I hope you also will find them inspirational. He has graciously given me permission to include a link to his blog on my Monday Morning Meditation posts.

For additional inspiration throughout the week, I would point out two sets of blogs: (1) the list of devotional blogs that follow the enumeration of Monday Morning Meditations on the sidebar of this blog and (2) my blogroll, where I am following a number of inspirational priests and writers about spiritual matters. I learn so very much from all these people. I highly recommend them to you.

Monday Morning Meditation #34: Care for Your Enemy

This week I wandered into the next chapter of II Kings. Here is the narration of the foray of troops of the King of Aram against the King of Israel, whom Elisha forewarned. With the help of God, Elisha delivered the warring troops to the King of Israel in Samarria. The King of Israel wanted to kill them, but Elisha persuaded him instead to feed them and let them go.

Reading: II Kings 6: 8-23

Meditation: This passage gives substantive meaning to "love thy neighbor as thyself" and "love thy enemy." I cannot see significant differences between a stranger, neighbor, enemy, and friend. A stranger is typically, in my experience, simply a friend in waiting, as are neighbors and even enemies. So often, we have much in common with enemies if we just take the time to find out. Elisha spent time with the warring Aramaeans, and he showed great compassion for them. It is difficult to spend time with anyone, friend or foe, and not feel compassion. Living for two years in Jordan taught me that Arabs, in general, are friends, not enemies. Living in the Soviet Union during the Cold War showed me that Russians are friends, not enemies. It was difficult in both eras of our country for many people to see that. Governments are not people, and people are generally peaceful. (Yes, admittedly, there are some misled groups of people, who choose a violent approach to living their lives and need to be managed -- with love, not hate, otherwise it just becomes one form of hatred over another.)

So many times I have been assisted in all sorts of things, including learning language and culture, finding a place to live, assistance with my kids, and much more by people considered to be my enemy. One of my favorite meals was dinner with the vice president of a Belarus university who at one time had been a captain in the Red Army, specializing in American order of battle. At the same time, I had been a captain in the US Army, specializing in Soviet order of battle. Oh, my! That was a highly emotional meeting, and here he was, giving food and drink to me, his enemy, the same way that Elisha had urged the King of Israel to feed the troops of the King of Aram.

The height of bad thinking about enemies was exhibited by my own mother years ago, who at the time had just met my best friend, an immigrant from Russia. "I thought you told me Sonya is Russian," Ma said, implying that she did not view her that way and was confused.

"She is," I replied.

"She cannot be," Ma objected. "She is normal."

Yes, our enemies are often every bit as "normal" as our friends. When we learn that, perhaps there will be a chance for a little more peace in the world.

(And if you want to read a heart-warming war story in which the heart of one German soldier, invading Belarus, was touched by an enemy baby, related to me years later by a survivor from that family, click here: Three Vignettes and One Thought about an Enemy).

And that is far as I can go with you this Monday morning. I must retire to prayer to ask God to lead me to treat my "enemies" as friends, to thank Him for his daily guidance even though I sometimes pay scant attention to it or am aware of it later than I should be, to praise Him for the wonderful ways in which He can and does set us free from our hatreds and petty annoyances with neighbors simply by our turning to Him for help. After that, I will spend as much time as I can in contemplation, my favorite part of the day, letting God take over the direction in which my relationship with Him moves.

I will now leave you to your prayer and contemplation, but first, I would like to bring to your attention a Monday morning prayer post that you might enjoy:
Fr. Austin Fleming, priest of the Archdiocese of Boston and pastor in Concord, Massachusetts, posts a prayer each Monday morning that he calls "Monday Morning Offering." I enjoy his prayers very much. I hope you also will find them inspirational. He has graciously given me permission to include a link to his blog on my Monday Morning Meditation posts.

For additional inspiration throughout the week, I would point out two sets of blogs: (1) the list of devotional blogs that follow the enumeration of Monday Morning Meditations on the sidebar of this blog and (2) my blogroll, where I am following a number of inspirational priests and writers about spiritual matters. I learn so very much from all these people. I highly recommend them to you.

Sabbath Sunday #16: The Boy in White

Fr. Christian Mathis (Blessed Is the Kingdom) has made the suggestion that we "rest" on the Sabbath by taking a break from our normal blogging and sharing an older post of which we are particularly fond. Rest? Gladly! I don't get to do that very often, but now, thanks to Fr. Christian, I get to do it at least once a week -- and it gives me more time to spend with God, which is a wonderful gift.

For this week's post, I chose what might be a prequel to the angel story that involved my daughter Lizzie that I posted last week or what might simply be a human story of impoverishment that came from a childhood experience. You can read it here: The Boy in White.

Have a blessed Sunday!

7 Quick Takes Friday #20

This week has been little more than a blur of planes and hotels and meetings. I would not say that it has been an easy week -- and I ended it with a broken Lenten pledge, as you will see from this week's contribution to the Quick Takes Friday meme hosted by Jennifer Futwiler at Conversion Diary.

1. The week started out with our Saturday retreat for the kids from my catechism class. I always find it interesting that Jennifer’s choice of Friday as the quick takes day throws me into treating Saturday as the first day of the week. It is, actually, in Bahrain, where I have spent considerable time, so Jennifer has me working a Middle Eastern schedule again. I discussed the retreat a little in yesterday’s blog about Bart, an atheist in our catechism class. To summarize beyond Bart, I would say that the retreat, for the most part, was both bonding and spiritually fulfilling for teens and teachers alike. (in photo, teens from first-year confirmation class and others walking through the mission garden behind the church enroute to Mass)

2. Sunday was a stuffed day in more than one sense because I broke my diet – twice – and simply stuffed myself with good food, gaining three pounds in the process! (Yowie, how can one bad day undo a week of good days? It’s not fair!) It may not be fair, but it was worth it. We started Sunday at Mission Café in San Ignatio, following early morning Mass. A place that hearkens back to the 1950s/1960s, Mission Café charmed our guest, a Jordanian colleague currently living and working in Egypt who had come to my organization in mid-January to organize a new project for us. When he is in town, he comes to Mass with me, and upon occasion he, I, and Fr. Ed (and once, Donnie) have gone to dinner together. In Jordan, he lives at the foot of Mt. Nebo, and all of us enjoy his stories of growing up in the Holy Land. On the wall at Mission Café hangs a world map, and people put pins in the locations from which they have traveled to San Ignatio. No pins were in Jordan or Egypt, so we added both.

3. In the afternoon, a friend from our Old Mission Monday night prayer group and I drove to San Jose, where we attended Fr. Kevin’s monthly contemplative prayer session. I finally found someone to whom I could give my last vial of water from the baptismal site in Jordan: Fr. Kevin. It turns out that he does not have access to the Jordan River, and so I was pleased to carry (carefully) a vial of water to him for his congregation. Sometimes my friend and I stay for the 6:00 Mass there, but not this time since between Saturday night and Sunday morning, we had been adequately Massed. Two interesting topics came up at the meeting that I am still thinking about: the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous applied to “soft” addictions (perfectionism, workaholism, and the like). I had not thought of those things as addictions, but, of course, they are, especially when they interfere with time that could be spent in prayer but is put aside for some worldly goal that, in the long run, does not really matter. Second, Fr. Kevin, who is an assistant exorcist for the diocese (mostly involved with delivering people from demonic oppression, not possession), has made a CD on angels, demons, and exorcisms that is absolutely fascinating. The topic interests me because of the angels that I (and Lizzie) have run into and the negative beings that have upon occasionally appeared in my car, on my path, or in nightmares (the latter ceasing to be a problem once I started asking God every night to guard me in my dreams and let them focus on only Him and positive beings). I know that I am fortunate (or, more likely, protected) because I have been attacked far less often than many others.

4. Sunday ended with my picking up hamburgers at JJ’s Burgers for Donnie and me for dinner. JJ is a fixture in town. When we serve community dinners at the Old Mission, JJ donates the hamburgers, hot dogs, and cooking oil and even comes to flip the burgers himself. JJ’s mother-in-law is the formation director for our religious education classes. It’s a small town! The burgers are delicious, but I am sure they added to that extra three pounds!

5. Monday morning in San Jose I boarded a plane bound for Maryland, where I had a three-day summit to attend for directors of our branch offices who report to me. I flew through Los Angeles, and then had a wonderfully direct (read that: non-stop) flight to Baltimore. To get that direct flight meant spending a two-hour wait at the LA airport, not a bad “sentence” since I am a member of the Red Carpet Club (United Airlines), where I can unwind or work, depending upon the mood. On Monday, I did both. Seated beside me on the flight to LA and flying out with me, just one row apart on the LA-Baltimore leg, was a young lady who, like I, slept most of the way to LA. We first started talking as we got off the plane, and when I learned that she would be on my next flight, I invited her to the Red Carpet Club with me since I am allowed to bring in a guest. As we talked, I learned that she was a tax auditor for the IRS. Ah, hah! That’s my kind of luck – bring in a tax auditor with me. Regardless of her profession, she was a nice enough person and very grateful for the comfortable chairs and ability to hook up electronically. On many occasions, the Red Carpet Club has salvaged business dilemmas for me since I can get and send emails from there, as well as take care of any business-related requirement and re-charge my equipment. It is not a major expense since I have the option to get membership for frequent flier miles, and I have plenty of those. The last thing I want to do is get on another plane, so I give those away in the form of tickets to family and friends. A couple of days ago, Lizzie got online, using my ID information, to get a ticket for herself to attend the wedding of a friend in Indiana. She sent me my balance, with a comment. “I used 25,000 miles of your 175,000 miles. That’s an insane number of miles, Mom!” Yeah, tell me about it!

6. Thursday was a day of Doah, Donnie, and I heading for Los Angeles, but from different starting points. I flew in from Baltimore in time to be picked up by Doah and Donnie, who drove down from San Ignatio. It is about a six hour drive, so they had some time together, including stopping at the California state poppy reserve. That stop was a bit disappointing for them since none of the poppies were out yet. Even though it seems like California is eternal spring, apparently the poppies do not agree: they have their own season.

7. The reason we all headed to Los Angeles is that I am attending a religious education conference here for catechists. I had totally forgotten about that when I booked a retreat for our anniversary, and I had forgotten about our anniversary when I arranged to give the students in Lithuania a review class and their final exam on Friday and Saturday evenings (my time). In short, I quadrupled-booked myself, a first even for multi-tasking me. So we had to give up the retreat and donate the deposit as a scholarship to someone else. (Well, I did not have to do that, but it seemed only fair since the center counts on certain numbers of participants.)I should have known that all of this mis-scheduling was bound to lead to trouble, and it did. The first hotel, the one near the convention center, had poor Internet access, and I cannot give an exam to students in Lithuania while sitting in California if I cannot have good Internet access and the simultaneous ability to ship files back and forth and answer questions via Skype. In any event, Doah will be my proxy for much of our anniversary. Donnie reminded me that Doah was also my proxy for our Valentine's dinner this year. Oops! Probably not the best habit to cultivate although Doah does not mind!

I hope that your evening and weekend will be smoother than what I have encountered so far in Los Angeles. I admit it: I did get frustrated. Now I have to start the Lenten pledge anew!

Not the Right Attitude

As I left the house last Saturday morning to help Renata, my catechism co-teacher, lead the planned retreat for our first-year confirmation teens at the little house on the edge of town that the church owns, I knew I was not in the right frame of mind. There was neither a sense of calm nor purpose. The source of the disturbance in my peace was Bart.
Bart has come very irregularly to our Thursday evening classes, but his mother is planning to have him "make up" the lessons in writing so that he can be confirmed with his peers next year. The issue is not whether this is an acceptable approach to dealing with missed classes. It actually may be a very acceptable approach because Bart will have to read every word in the lessons and in the accompanying scriptures and respond in writing to the questions that we discuss in class. In class, Bart participates actively, but in a challenging manner. He makes no effort to hide the fact that he does not believe a word that we say. He makes loud declarations from time to time, out of the blue in some cases, that "there is no God." There is hostility in his words, a hostility that disconcerts our largely Hispanic group of teens who share a deep faith with their parents, one that I have found to be typical of rural California Hispanic towns. Bart is one of the English-speaking kids, referred to here as Anglos, with no disrespect intended, and, indeed, Caucasians and Latins blend quite naturally in our community, resulting a considerable number of mixed marriages. Three of my four children have united White and Hispanic (two cases) and White and Black (one case). No, the issue is not an ethnic one; it is a spiritual and religious one.

When I got into the car, I stopped long enough to pray for God to intercede in my mood and for me to find and use the right words with the kids, not only with Bart but especially with him. The group has not bonded as well as groups in the past even though most attend the same high school or maybe because they attend the same high school. They are generally quiet and would prefer lectures to thinking activities. They, in fact, seem to lack either critical or creative thinking skills, and part of our hope for the retreat was not only to bond them spiritually but also to make a dent in the wall blocking them from independent thought.
My hope for post-prayer instant calm was unrealized, and internal irritation caused me to fidget during the short, one-minute drive to the edge of town. (From one side of town to another is at most a two-minute drive.) That one-minute, though, had an impact. I arrived peaceful and calm.

Bart participated, surprisingly, with enthusiasm in the various kinesthetic activities we had the teens do. Somehow, for once, communication with him flowed easily, and he did not push back whenever talk turned to spiritual matters. Of all the teens, he most readily applied spiritual meaning to the physical activities (building a house out of marshmallows and spaghetti, blind walk, etc.), something that was very difficult for most of the kids who wanted to wait for their teachers to tell them the meaning (which I refused to do – I want them to learn how to think). At the end of the day, we could honestly say, “a good time was had by all,” including Bart.

Then, it was time to attend Mass. We cleaned up, packed up, and walked the few minutes it takes to get from the edge of town, through the field, past the parish office and education center, into the mission garden to the church doors. Bart sat in the few in front of me and a little to the left. I had a good view of him. While he behaved himself properly and quietly took communion, Bart, clearly emotionally disengaged from his automatic responses to the liturgy, exuded a level of unhappiness that was difficult to miss.

Renata has talked extensively to Bart’s parents. They know that he described himself as an atheist and publicly states that he has no faith. Nonetheless, his parents want him confirmed, whether he wants to be confirmed or not. They want him to “have options within the church” in the future.

All of this sits uneasily with me. I disagree with Renata. I know the feeling of being forced to attend church when one has no religious beliefs. At least, Bart’s parents do not whip him with raspberry switches as my parents did to me until the day I stood up in church, having been asked to speak at Youth Sunday, and declared that parents in the congregation should consider raising their children in an honest atheist environment rather than in a dishonest Christian home where all kinds of improper things went on, such as Deacon X sleeping with the wife of Mr. Y and the like and then pretending it was all okay because they came to church. I managed in a very short few minutes to reveal most of the town’s secrets; whether they were really secrets or simply part of a conspiracy of silence, I would not have known and still do not know. The result, though, came swiftly. My family was expelled from the church, and I was delighted. No more being forced to spend Sundays there, no more switchings in order to make that happen.

Oh, I understand Bart very well. Except for gender, he might be me in a younger generation. That is why when he has his atheistic and anti-theistic outbursts and the other teens tell him, “You can’t say that here,” I respond, “this is precisely the place he should say it because here is the best place to talk about it.” I have shared my conversion story with the teens, and I can tell that it flustered Bart but has not changed his mind, let alone his heart. That is why I also know that neither Renata nor I are going to “convince” him that God exists and loves him just as he is. No, God will be the one to change him, in time, at the right time, in the right way, as God always does.

I had been contemplating talking to Fr. Ed about the situation, but he has been in Ireland due to his mother’s recent death there. Unexpectedly, I ran into Sr. Maria after Mass, and, grateful for her willing ear, shared my concerns about Bart with her, about the “rightness” of someone being forced into confirmation by parents. She agreed with me. If Bart is truly an atheist (or agnostic) next year at this time, he should not be confirmed. She felt certain that Fr. Ed would not confirm him if he knew the situation but suggested that we wait until he was nearing the end of the second-year confirmation class to see if he has a change of heart.

I don't believe removing Bart from the catechism classes is the right approach even though he acts out and tries to force his atheistic viewpoint on the other teens. I assume he does the same in school if the topic comes up. At least, in catechism class, I can be a countervailing force since I have gone through what he is going through. At least, in catechism class, Bart, and any others who wish, can put forth their doubts so that we can respond to them and discuss them and so that other teens in the class can share their faith. It is better to share them and in the ensuing discussion have those doubts dissipate than to store them permanently without any response except one’s own thinking, and class may be the only place that this happens for some of the teens. And at least, in catechism class, Bart experiences prayer at the beginning and end (and sometimes during) of each session, reading & discussion of scripture, and a spiritual way of interpreting his daily experiences. That he brings up daily experiences for interpretation, albeit always in a sardonic manner, tells me that the Holy Spirit has gripped him though he may not know it – yet.

I would love to know how readers would handle this.

(Picture is of the kids as they head to church after the retreat; one can see the mountains that surround San Ignatio on all sides.)

The Wonder of Nothing

Justine Buisson in a chapter called “The Gifts of Andrew” (in Richard Rohr's book, Grace in Action) describes how the devastation wreaked on Miami by Hurricane Andrew brought the unlikeliest of comrades together as they shared the few supplies of water, food, and batteries that were available. Her tale reminded me of the every-month-or-so yard party in Amman, Jordan that took place in the wake of each brownout that routinely afflicted our Um Uthaineh neighborhood. There being nothing else to do, people who lived in each of the stone buildings on our street would gather in their yards with the residents of the various floors of their building, drink tea, munch on figs or dates, and catch up on a month’s worth of happenings (well, maybe not a month’s worth—people visit each other frequently in Jordan, and we were no exception).

In Jordanian apartment buildings, often one family owns the whole building and one sibling’s family lives on each floor, but that was not so in our case. Donnie and I, Americans, lived on the top floor. The Arafats, Palestinians with relatives in Israel, lived on the second floor, and Abu Yelez (lit., Father of Yelez, Yelez being his oldest son, who lived in Chicago) and his family occupied the first floor. Obviously, to get to the third floor, there being no elevator in the building, I had to walk past the first floor, and so often I would pop in.

Om Yelez (lit., the mother of Yelez) was not quite old enough to be my mother, but she was not young. In her late 70s, she spoke no English, but no English was needed because I could easily figure out the Arabic for mother talk. Don’t all mothers talk about the same things? Our kids, our homes, our spouses, our kids, our plans, our worries, our kids.

As for her kids, I knew most of them. The youngest, Lana, would take evening walks with me. A first-grade teacher, she was certain that the reason I could not speak good Arabic was because I was illiterate, so she would bring the first-grade book upstairs after our walks a couple of times of week and give me a reading lesson. It was indeed helpful and did much to confirm the assumptions I made about Arabic letters and words throughout the day as I read signs and talked to people. The second oldest, Sami, had opened a computer graphics firm with a partner, and he and Donnie, who at the time was teaching computer graphics at the university, became good friends. (It helped that Sami speaks English since Donnie never did learn much Arabic.) Maha, the next to youngest, worked quite successfully as a financial counselor at a bank. Given that she had completed only a bachelor degree, her career had likely already topped out although she was only in her early thirties. I talked her into enrolling in the MBA program at the university where I was chief academic officer, and she was just completing that program when we left. I met Olga upon a few occasions; she had married, mothered three children, and lived on the street behind us. Yelez had moved to Chicago to go to school and had ended up marrying another Middle Eastern student and remaining there, but I did meet him when he came back to show off his first-born.

Beyond the brownout parties, we also had water shortages. A number of times Sami carried a heavy bucket of water from their first-floor apartment to our third floor apartment, sharing the limited resources. Occasionally, Lana would stop by with loz akhdar (green almonds – unlike in the US where almonds are usually roasted, in Jordan they are eaten raw in their soft green covering), or Maha would bring up apricots from their tree. Our apartment was owned by Abu Yelez (it was his building), and, with his approval, we added some modifications, such as air conditioning in the bedroom and office/den, that he would not otherwise have been able to afford. So, there was truly a sharing of resources.

I realized that this family had crossed the line from neighbors whom you meet on the lawn at brownouts and with whom you occasionally share the breaking of the fast during Ramadan, when Om Yelez died. Her death came unexpectedly. Abu Yelez had been sick and had broken his hip. His children had expected him to be the first to die but instead the heart of Om Yelez, the quiet, gentle, uncomplaining woman I had come to love as an older friend with shared interests in each other’s children (Doah lived with us in Jordan for nearly a year), simply stopped one day with no warning. I was filling in for the academic dean at our sister campus in Bahrain at the time of Om Yelez’s death, shuttling back and forth between the two countries on a weekly basis, and so I missed the sitting, the Muslim wake in which everyone gathers in the home of the deceased, sits together, and reads the Q’uran, each reader taking a different chapter until all the chapters have been read. Words are few although people do talk quietly to the relatives while sipping on cardamom tea and reading. Usually any one person stays for 1-3 hours, but some stay longer. When I returned from Bahrain, I apologized to the children for having missing the sitting. “Please do not worry about it,” Sami told me. “We know you loved omna (our mother), and, more important, she knew you loved her.”

As misfortune would have it, two months later, Abu Yelez, who deteriorated rapidly after the loss of his wife, abruptly, but not unexpectedly, died. That time both Donnie and I were home. Donnie went to the men’s sitting, and I went to the women’s sitting. I stayed most of the day, making sure that any Q’uran chapters that I read were also read by someone else since my Arabic is not good enough to read with understanding, and reading with understanding is important in this situation. In the early evening, food was brought in for the family. As the women who had come in the afternoon began to leave, I stood up to go, as well.

“Where are you going?” asked Maha.

“I am leaving so that you, Lana, Sami, and Olga can have dinner alone as a family,” I replied, indicating that I understood the Jordanian traditions.

Maha looked genuinely confused, and Lana appeared distressed. “But you are family,” Maha said, as Lana nodded in agreement. Of course, I stayed. What had started as nothing – just people making the best of limited resources -- had turned into kinship.

Monday Morning Meditation #33: Lord, Help Me, But Do It My Way

This week I made no progress at all through 2 Kings because I found the story that followed last week's to be profound. In it, Naaman, captain of the King of Aram's military forces, suffered from leprosy. He was convinced to seek help from the King of Israel, whom Elisha offered to help. When Naaman showed up, Elisha told him to wash himself in the water of the Jordan River seven times and he would be cured of leprosy. Naaman became angry with such a simple response, saying that the rivers of Damascus were just as good, if not better. However, Naaman's servant convinced Naaman to at least try the Jordan River cleansing, and it works. Naaman was cured of leprosy.

Reading: II Kings 5: 1-14

Meditation: Namman wanted to see some great feat -- a waving of hands, some pre-conceived concept that he had in mind, and that nearly kept him from being cured. How often do we miss out on blessings because we do not see them for what they are because they are small, not grand? How often do we expect answers to be prayers to be exactly what we expect them to be and reject anything else although the "anything else" might well be better -- and often simpler -- than what we asked for. I have observed teens in my first-year confirmation religious education class ask for good grades, rather than good study skills. The good grades are temporary; the good study skills are permanent. When they do develop good study skills with the help of God, they may not recognize God's help at all for it was simple and appeared in small doses over time.

Likewise, I observe how my Lenten pledge to give us frustration is proceeding and am astonished at what has been happening. In totally imperceptible ways and without any specific incidents or obvious points of assistance, the amount of frustration in my life has slid from a high of strong frustration many times a day, not an unexpected thing given the new ground that I have been assigned to seize with very limited personnel assets and resources (new ground means little experience or knowledge on anyone's part), to a low I have never felt before. With the absence of frustration has come an incredible sense of calm that flows out from me into all the divisions that report to me. People have even started asking me how I can be so calm and relaxed in the tidal wave of escalating requirements. I cannot answer that question other than to say that God has been helping but so imperceptibly in manner that I do not know how yet I see and feel the result. This is not what I expected would happen. I expected to be able to see, measure, define, and elucidate the process of ameliorating frustration. No dice. I asked God for help, and He gave it to me in his own way. And you know what? His way is much better than any way I could have imagined. It is like body surfing on top of that tidal wave, going with the flow almost literally. (I know I am not explaining it well, but I hope you can somehow construct the picture from my limited ability to see, understand, and describe the mysterious way in which God has been working.)

The best part, in my experience, of letting God answer prayer His way is that I don't have to think up how I want to get help. I can just give God the problem and wait to see where He leads me in its resolution or simply observe, usually with amazement, how He resolves it. (One example about which I blogged a number of months ago is the time that Doah, my youngest son who is mentally challenged, ended up in court. Another example is the time when, being in a tiny lake-side town a few hours from Moscow, I asked for strength to outlast the pain of a bladder infection until morning when I could get to a hospital for help and God simply cured the infection on the spot. God's answers are always better and more appropriate than anything I could think up so, therefore, I do not want God to do it my way; I want God to do it His way.)

And that is far as I can go with you this Monday morning. I must retire to prayer before leaving in two hours for the airport. More important than that dash north (and it is always a dash because I tend to overfill my hours) is taking the time to thank God for the ways in which He continues to surprise me with answers to prayers (and the simplification of life's complexities even when I don't ask for help), to ask Him to help others see His hand where it is present (especially my catechism teens and those to whom I am close), and to praise Him for how wonderful His way is, while making an ongoing commitment to let God have His way always. After that, I will spend as much time as I can in contemplation, my favorite part of the day, letting God take over the direction in which my relationship with Him moves.

I will now leave you to your prayer and contemplation, but first, I would like to bring to your attention a Monday morning prayer post that you might enjoy:
Fr. Austin Fleming, priest of the Archdiocese of Boston and pastor in Concord, Massachusetts, posts a prayer each Monday morning that he calls "Monday Morning Offering." I enjoy his prayers very much. I hope you also will find them inspirational. He has graciously given me permission to include a link to his blog on my Monday Morning Meditation posts.

For additional inspiration throughout the week, I would point out two sets of blogs: (1) the list of devotional blogs that follow the enumeration of Monday Morning Meditations on the sidebar of this blog and (2) my blogroll, where I am following a number of inspirational priests and writers about spiritual matters. I learn so very much from all these people. I highly recommend them to you.

Sabbath Sunday #15: Angel Story

Fr. Christian Mathis (Blessed Is the Kingdom) has made the suggestion that we "rest" on the Sabbath by taking a break from our normal blogging and sharing an older post of which we are particularly fond. Rest? Gladly! I don't get to do that very often, but now, thanks to Fr. Christian, I get to do it at least once a week -- and it gives me more time to spend with God, which is a wonderful gift.

I am a little late posting today. Donnie and I spent the morning with a friend from Egypt who has been doing some consulting work here but heads back to Cairo on Friday (and I head out to Baltimore early tomorrow morning -- plane departs at 6:00 a.m., so I have to leave here at 4:00 a.m. for the airport. Yikes!) For this week's post, it being a bright, sunny, absolutely charming and angelic day in San Ignatio today, I chose an angel story that involved my daughter Lizzie that I posted last year. You can read it here: Lizzie's Angel Story.

Have a blessed Sunday -- what is left of it!

7 Quick Takes Friday #19

This week has been so concentrated on preparation for our annual review, entertainment (well, most people considered it hosting and briefing, but I find visitors entertaining), and conduct of the meeting all day Thursday that I wondered if there were even seven different "moments" to write about. But apparently they were -- barely. In fact, the time for this week's contribution to the Quick Takes Friday meme hosted by Jennifer Futwiler at Conversion Diary appeared all too suddenly; it just stole up on me.

1. I might as well start with yesterday's potted plant duty. That is what the three other directorate chiefs and I call those kinds of meetings, hosted by our CEO and board, where all we are required to do is come and sit for hour after hour while the CEO briefs the visitors. Thursday was no different. A full day of sitting is difficult for me because I am hyperactive. At least, there was one interesting interlude where one of the regulators put the CEO on the defensive and the barrage of questions was turned over to me to answer; the answers were accepted, even liked (God always seems to give me the right words to use in these kinds of tense situations -- a quick silent prayer helps a lot), so it was important that I was there, if only for that one talking plant moment. (Photo from Jeg's web.)

2. In the evening, I got to expend some of my pent up energy by leading the Stations of the Cross with our catechism teens. We went to the garden walk where we have a set of the stations. It was a bit chilly, but these are teens; they always seem to have warm blood. The kids loved the fact that Suli, the parish's feral cat whom everyone watches out for and who sleeps in the garden and attends Mass, was very interested in our prayers. She walked from one station to the next with us, sat down and waited as we did the readings at the station, then moved with us to the next station, just as if she were truly understanding what it was we were doing. After we got back to our classroom, our faith formation director found out what we had done (we have done it every year, but I guess no one knew) and told us that we are not allowed to walk in the garden with the kids because of potential liability issues. Someone might get hurt. Huh? What has the world come to?! Donnie and I used to take Girl Scouts 8-10 years old, on multiple-day canoe trips and backpacking trips deep into the wilderness in the "old days." There was great opportunity to get hurt; no one would ever think of suing us or the Scouts. Sheesh! Let's turn the clock back!

3. Yippee! Shane passed his security clearance late last week. On Monday, he got a conditional job offer from California Highway Patrol, where he worked for 12 years when he was in his early twenties (started at age 19, the youngest dispatcher ever accepted at CHP, and immediately won an award given to him personally by the governor of California for saving the life of a fellow dispatcher who had a heart attack while dispatching a three-county chase and for successfully taking on the dispatching in that two-person office so that the police officers had no idea that he was also doing CPR; the other dispatcher lived and the criminal being chased was caught); he clearly has a solid reputation there. The conditional offer is contingent on passing a medical exam, which he took on Tuesday. Everyone knows the dilemma with him needing medical insurance for his two kids with birth defects, so they have been kindly pushing the preliminaries rapidly. It looks like he may be able to start work on April 1, just about the time that Donnie and I would start to struggle with continuing to pay his COBRA.

4. Several months ago, Lizzie took on a personal trainer at her local gym -- she is a professor in South Carolina these days. She has dropped so much weight (and gained muscle and tone) that she had to have all of her clothes taken in this week. I have lost two dress sizes, as well, and now I can pass along my outgrown clothes to her because she has dropped to what I was. Donnie is now intrigued, but he wants to lose weight a third way (I count calories and Lizzie trains). He bought some kind of diet plan that he is following. We shall see how well it works. I think the old-fashioned ways are probably best: eat less and exercise more.

5. Saturday night Donnie and I had a pleasant good-bye Mexican-style dinner here in one of our beloved San Ignatio restaurants, Los Jardines (the gardens). This particular employee has been stationed in Egypt for two years now, so he makes it back here very rarely. I had needed him to direct a new project until we could get a permanent director in place, and he willingly came back for three months. He is young and from Jordan, where Donnie and I lived for a couple of years. I met his mother once, and she was very worried about his safety in the USA. (Just like Americans tend to think of the Middle East as an unsafe place, so do Middle Easterners think of the USA as an unsafe place.) His mother was quite relieved by my promise to be her son's American mother. I know she took that promise seriously, so I, too, take it seriously. We enjoyed the dinner, but it was sad to say good-bye again.

6. As part of the regulatory board meeting, I had two visitors to my office this week. One was a two-star general, who was the most pleasant person; it turned out that we had a lot of experiences in common. I heard later that he was very impressed with my directorate's work. That is always a double-edged sword. First, one does like to be appreciated, and it is often a relief when someone with great authority considers one's efforts at least competent. Second, and on the other hand, it often means being given increased responsibility, more programs, and more money (but not more resources!), creating a greater span of control and even more stress. The second visitor is a very high-ranking person within the US government and someone I met many years ago when I was working for the US government in a consulting capacity. So, I have trouble being highly serious with him; I just enjoy talking to him, bringing him up to date on our activities, and sharing funny stories of our getting into and out of trouble. He told me that whenever we meet or he is briefed by me, he leaves on a high note. Aww! :) Maybe it is because I don't worry about making a good impression on people; I only ask that God splash His love onto them through me -- and God seems to answer that prayer a lot.

7. Nikolina has a new pastime. I posted the pictures that are here earlier this week on the Twitterlets, but those will be replaced with new pictures over time, so I am including them here to preserve them, as well as to explain them better. Nikolina is entering such a fun age as she approaches the end of her first year, surprisingly healthy and on target for all developmental milestones. All her surgeries and months in the hospital seem to have taken little from her. Rather, she has developed quite a sense of humor at a very young age. It reminds me of both Noelle and Doah, who spent most of their first year in the hospital yet were very happy babies, toddlers, children, and teens and are adults whose personalities are dominated by a sense of humor and enjoyment of life, even the wonder of it all. Shane captured Nikolina at her bottle-throwing game. She heaves the bottle, watches it fall, then cracks up at herself for doing it. It's a joy to watch!

And now I wish all of you a joyful weekend!

"Please, Lord, Give Me Another Chance!"

Saturday morning during my start-of-the-day prayer time, the thought that we would be spending a significant portion of the day in Santa Clara with Doah, including going out to lunch together, floated into my head, and I asked God to send me someone to help. (I was thinking about the H2 Hunger challenge for which I began my H2 Helper blogsite: take a homeless & hungry person to lunch or dinner and get to know the person as an individual.) It had been some time since I have had that kind of opportunity, so I asked for Saturday to be the day that it happened again.

As Donnie and I headed out to lunch with Doah, I had a very specific scenario in mind: someone panhandling, asking for lunch money. Prior to lunch, I wanted to run into Kohl's to look for a new outfit since I have lost enough weight that most of my clothes do not fit properly. As we drove into the parking lot of a shopping mall where we had never been before, having set the GPS to find the store for us, I saw a man with a card on the exiting side of the entrance into which we were driving. Could this be our lunch partner, I wondered and mentally made plans to check for him after we finished at Kohl's and before heading to Roundtable Pizza, the sign for which we had noticed upon driving into the parking lot.

My errand at Kohl's took longer than I thought because I could find nothing appropriate or that fit. Finally, I gave up. By then both Doah and Donnie were hungry. We looked around for the pizza place, but it did not seem to be anywhere near its sign but on the other side of the very large parking lot -- large enough that we had to drive there. I glanced at where the panhandler had been standing, and he was not there. Hm...

Well, there was nothing to be done about that. We went into Roundtable, ordered some rather run-of-the-mill pizza, ate it, and left.

We left the parking lot through a different exit, one with a street that had a light at the end of the block. At the end of the block, by the light, there stood the panhandler who had been at the other exit when we entered a couple of hours earlier. That took me by surprise. He held a card that said "Hello, peace be with you. Please help. God bless."

This did not fit with the image I had had in my head. I had expected to find him before lunch and take him to lunch, not hand him money. Moreover, he looked like he was not desperate, like he did not even really need any money. Although I had no change with me, I did have a spare $10 bill in the car visor that we used for emergency cash, but I hesitated to hand it over. I was focused on the way I had planned on helping, not on this new scenario.

The light stayed red a very long time. I was able not only to think about the situation but also to talk about it.

Doah spoke up. "Belle [the woman in charge of his group home] says not to give my money away." Of course, she says that. He gets very little pin money from SSI and only about $5 a week from his sheltered workshop duties. Nonetheless, he would give all of it away. I have seen him do it. So, Belle was only looking out for Doah's interests in telling him that.

While I was debating whether to be charitable to this man or not, the person in the car behind me held out a dollar bill, and the man walked over to accept it. Well, at least someone helped, I thought.

Before I had time to consider any further, the light turned green, and Donnie drove off. As we left the area, I realized, too late, that this may very well have been the person in need that I asked God put in my path. Why, otherwise, would he appear in the spot where we entered and then reappear in the very different spot where we exited? And why would the light stay red such a very long time? I was so focused on the lunch option, on my plan, that I did not think soon enough about forking over our $10 emergency gas cash. Yet, somehow, I think that is exactly what I was supposed to do, like the people in the car behind us did, setting an example that I did not follow.

I do not know why I hesitated although I could make some guesses. A small part of the reason probably was the influence of Belle's words although they really did not apply in this situation. Another small part of the reason may be something that occasionally (actually, too frequently) causes me to hesitate: I wonder if the panhandler will use the money for bad things, not good things (but I know it should not be up to me to make that judgment). The biggest part, the important piece, I finally realized is that I was so focused on my plan that I probably totally missed God's plan.

I immediately felt miserable; I felt like I had failed God. Actually, I think I did fail God. So, now I am begging God to give me another chance -- and really hoping that I won't blow it the next time.

As I was writing this post -- I started it on Sunday -- I came across a post that helped me see the situation in a different light and thus to react differently. That post was written by Fr. Christian Mathis (Blessed Is the Kingdom -- a site that is on my blogroll because I find many of the posts insightful and educative) and titled Still Hoping for Failure.

Fr. Christian had written:

"May we not let our own failures to follow Christ get in the way of our faithfulness to Him. We don’t have to be perfect Christians. It is enough to simply ask for mercy when we need it and remember that love never fails."

So now, I am going to ask for mercy, forgive myself, and beg God for another chance. (I am also going to start carrying McDonald's gift cards because that way I might not be as likely to hesitate. It seems that I may have to protect myself against my own second guessings if I want to do any good in this world.)

Note: Simultaneously published on Blest Atheist and H2 Helper.

Monday Morning Meditation #32: Multiplication, God's Way

This week I moved from I Kings to II Kings and wandered into the story of Elisha coming to Gilgal when there was a famine in the land. To a gathering of 100 men with Elisha, a man from Baal-shalishah brought Elisha 20 loaves of barley and fresh ears of corn, who told his servant to give them to the 100 men. The servant asked how on earth these few loaves would feed 100 people, and Elisha responded, "Give the people, that they may eat; for thus saith the LORD: They shall eat, and shall leave thereof." And that is exactly what happened. In a foreshadowing of the story of Jesus feeding the multitudes with five fishes and two loaves and having baskets left over, not only were the people fed, but also there was leftover.

Reading: II Kings 4: 38-44

Meditation: Whenever I hear these stories of God multiplying resources, whether it be loaves of bread or, as earlier in Kings, vessels of oil, I am reminded of so many times when God has has multiplied resources in order to help me and my family, for which I feel immense gratitude. We may live in an imperfect world, in which free will, running rampant, can result in some very bad things happening -- and then watching God bring good out of the bad is highly reassuring. Experiencing the multiplication of resources is about as awe-inspiring as it gets. Since the morning is very early and I do need to get some sleep before heading out to work, I will give only one example, but it is, for me, a powerful one and a bit complex.

After returning to California from Jordan a few years ago, we received an e-note from our tax accountant, informing us that the IRS determined that we had underpaid our taxes by $11,000, based on income from Jordan that we had not thought was taxable but was. The very next day a bill from the IRS stood proudly in our mailbox. "Due immediately" was stamped across it.

Ha! Fat chance in ___! We had just finished moving, and while the majority of our moving expenses had been covered by my new employer, many unanticipated expenses had not been covered. To complicate matters, we had moved all our savings from our bank in Jordan to Shane’s account in the United States to facilitate our return. Our safety valve of $14,000 had us resting easy until the greedy hand of a hospital accountant, unbeknownst to all of us, requested court permission to search Shane’s bank accounts for additional money in order to increase the rate at which he was paying off the costs of the five kidney surgeries of Nathaniel, our grandson. Lo and behold, during the exact two-month period that we were using Shane’s account to hold the money until I was back in the United States and could transfer the money to my own account, the additional $14,000 was found in Shane’s account and without any notice to him, our entire savings at that time was withdrawn by the hospital. All our income had dissipated or been used to cover moving expenses. Now, Uncle Sam wanted $11,000!

Our tax accountant was able to get us a six-week delay, no more. Six weeks to find a spare $11,000 while finishing moving from overseas back to the United States and trying to set up housekeeping, a major one-time expense in itself, turned out to be too great a task for my overwhelmed brain. So, I did what I always do now. I left it up to God. My trust was so complete that I asked only once. Then I put the problem out of my mind, continuing on happily with my daily life, confident that some unique response would come before the end of the six-week period as it always had. It did.

A few days after asking God for help, I received a letter in the mail from Indiana University, where I had worked five years earlier in an interim position. The letter in my hand concerned my retirement fund. I had such a small retirement fund with the university that I had actually forgotten about it. Fortunately, the university had not. According to the letter, all individuals no longer on payroll needed either to take out the retirement funds or roll them over into a retirement fund external to the university immediately. I called the fund, and the amount available for take-out, minus (of course) taxes, gave me 50% of what I needed for the IRS. God had rescued me yet one more time.

The other 50% owed, I was certain, would show up before the end of the six-week period. God had never before left me hanging at half-mast. Sure enough, a week later, a quarterly summary from another retirement fund at another institution, where I worked years earlier, arrived in the mail. I had put that particular fund out of mind because it had taken a big loss years ago. According to the recent statement, though, it still had most of the dollars that had been invested from my pay checks tucked away in it, earning a penny here and there in interest. Those dollars would cover another 40% of what was owed. I called the fund. A very kind gentleman agreed to close my account and send me those much-needed dollars. He could not give me a precise amount but thought it would be close to the amount in the current quarterly summary that I had received in the mail. He explained that I would have to wait for the stock market results at the end of the day, which would determine the precise amount to be disbursed. I would receive whatever the fund was worth at that time, most likely the amount he had just cited to me.

We were close! Clearly, we would not be trapped in IRS hell or married to the IRS for eternity. The remaining 10% would show up somehow. If necessary, I could eke it out of my salary or borrow it from someone.

As it turned out, there was no need to worry about the remaining 10%. The stock market leaped upward over the next few hours. Donnie said he thought it might have been due to the release of iPods on that day —- some of our stock was in technology.

On January 11, we received considerably more than we expected. The amount allowed us to pay off the IRS debt in full on the 12th, the last day of our extension. It also paid our tax accountant’s bill in full. Moreover, after paying all those with their hand held out, we found an additional $400 in our basket. What to do with that? The answer was obvious. That was God’s money. He had over-multiplied our resources, so I compelled to return it to God. (I gave it to Fr. Barry, the director of our local Franciscan retreat center; he was probably amused when I explained that the source of the money was a mathematical miscalculation by God. Actually, I don't think there was any miscalculation; the retreat center really needed that money because their main building had burned down and needed to be re-built.)

And that is far as I can go with you this Monday morning. I retire to prayer, to thank God for the ongoing ways in which He keeps my bread basket full just when they are beginning to look empty, to ask Him to help all others who have empty or emptying bread baskets, and to praise Him for that fact that He really can do this, while still allowing free will to reign. After that, I will spend as much time as I can in contemplation, my favorite part of the day, letting God take over the direction in which my relationship with Him moves.

I will now leave you to your prayer and contemplation, but first, I would like to bring to your attention a Monday morning prayer post that you might enjoy:

Fr. Austin Fleming, priest of the Archdiocese of Boston and pastor in Concord, Massachusetts, posts a prayer each Monday morning that he calls "Monday Morning Offering." I enjoy his prayers very much. I hope you also will find them inspirational. He has graciously given me permission to include a link to his blog on my Monday Morning Meditation posts.

For additional inspiration throughout the week, I would point out two sets of blogs: (1) the list of devotional blogs that follow the enumeration of Monday Morning Meditations on the sidebar of this blog and (2) my blogroll, where I am following a number of inspirational priests and writers about spiritual matters. I learn so very much from all these people. I highly recommend them to you.