7 Quick Takes Friday #48

See more 7 Quick Takes Contributions at Jennifer Fulwiler's Conversion Diary.

Sitting here in Linthicum, Maryland, looking back on the past week, I have two adjectives to use: busy (as usual), peaceful (although I traveled, not without incident). A (somewhat) typical week for those times that I spend outside my California office.

1. Friday was such a great day. I took annual leave. After all, it was the day after Thanksgiving, and few people were planning to be at work, anyway. I have recently been in contact with Fr. Terry, who had, until he was reassigned to another city in February, been my de facto spiritual advisor and certainly a good friend and mentor. I missed him and never did find a "replacement." I don't believe that we can ever "replace" people. They are what they are and they are who they are to us. Finally, after the passage of many months, I decided to press some electrons to paper, print out the resultant letter, and mail it. After a couple of backs-and-forths, Fr. Terry offered to come to San Ignatio for lunch. Friday was the day. He celebrated Mass in his new community, and I attended Mass in San Ignatio. After the Masses, we met at my favorite restaurant, Jardines, and had a long and leisurely lunch, for the most part playing catch-up. Fr. Terry has a way of making one feel special, and certainly his willingness to drive two hours (one each way) just for lunch made me feel very special on Friday. Of course, he is very special to me. (I bet he knows that.)

2. The weekend was quiet. I attended Mass on Saturday with Doah and did some chores. That left Sunday to prepare for an upcoming conference, pay bills, and, yes!, stay inside on an unusually cold day. (We don't know what to do in and with cold weather in California). The smallest pleasures in life are sometimes the greatest. For me, it is getting all the little things done: bill paying, phone calls, mail, laundry -- the things that I seem never to have time for until they reach critical mass. That is just what I did on Sunday.

3. Monday flashed by. At work, it was like Sunday had been at home -- catching up the little stuff. That felt good. I was leaving the next day, and I was excited to be able to finish the day with a clean desk. (It is indeed the smallest pleasures in life that are sometimes the greatest.) After work, I drove to the home of the wife of our Bible Studies director who died a couple of weeks ago. She had expressed an interest in coming to our Monday night prayer group, and I did not want to leave her sitting alone if there was something comforting she could do. It took some time and a few wrong turns, even with a GPS, to find her house, but eventually I arrived -- only to find out that her grandson was supposed to have brought her a dinner and had not done so yet. She was hungry and wanted to wait for him. A wasted trip? Perhaps. Nonetheless, I would rather be the one making the useless trip than the one in need of assistance.

4. Tuesday was a half-&-half day. In the morning, I attended no less than three meetings, fortunately, all by being tied in telephonically to my conference room. What a marvel to live in a technological age. I packed and printed out my ticket while I talked. Then, Donnie drove me to San Francisco where I caught a non-stop flight to the Baltimore-Washington airport. Piece of cake, or so it seemed. I had already printed my ticket, checked my baggage curbside, and made it quickly through the 1K United line inside. The flight was easy; I sat beside a chatty computer scientist about Shane's age and interested in the same things as Shane. Piece of cake, or so it seemed. The plane arrived early, and I called my employee who was meeting me to tell him that I would just grab my suitcase and we could speed off to the hotel. Still a piece of cake, or so I thought. Everything was too smooth, though, so there had to be a glitch. There was. No suitcase. Having been through this scenario before, I made my claim and went to the hotel to await the delivery of my suitcase. No suitcase. My suitcase made its own trip; it went to Chicago. You can read its story here: the errant suitcase. My sister asked if, since my suitcase takes trips all by itself (this is not the first time), might United give it frequent flyer miles. Dunno. Good question to ask.

5. Wednesday was a nondescript day. It was cold outside, but I had a warm coat. I worked all day at various tasks together with the local office director. My suitcase arrived, and I had a very leisurely (unplanned so) lunch with the office director -- for hours. Literally. I learned a good lesson over lunch: if the restaurant is totally empty at noon, there is probably a reason for it. Moe's Seafood sounded like a good place to eat. The tables looked nice. The menu looked even better. The waitress was sweet. So, we thought we would grab something quick and be back for a 1:00 meeting. The waitress took our order and returned 30 minutes later with some bread. Another 30 minutes passed, and then our meal arrived. By the time we finished, we were not late for the 1:00 meeting; we completely missed it.

6. Wednesday evening was much better. I had dinner with my administrative assistant from the time days when I worked in Jordan. She was visiting relatives in the USA as she does every December, and we had our annual dinner together. Since I attend a December conference every year in the Linthicum, Maryland area, our dinner has turned into a tradition. We went to a safe bet: Ruby Tuesday. We talked about family and acquaintances, Jordan and Bahrain (where she now lives and where I also used to work), and a dozen more things. Much happens in a year -- except that we do not change (or, at least, we think we do not. Even better, when I returned to the hotel after dinner, there was my suitcase. We had a joyful reunion. Just think! Two reunions in one day.

7. Thursday I was "on" to review our local programs. I have never seen our office director (who is new to this particular position but whom I have known in other positions for a long time) so nervous. Everything was perfect, starting with the bagels and juice that had been set up for everyone. The review went smoothly: the director and assistant director were well prepared, and the work is clearly being done well. I was pleased. They were pleased. The day ended, and I headed to dinner with another Jordanian, this one a friend and member of the Board of Directors for the conference that would take place the next day. After dinner, I stopped by the airport to pick up a friend who would be participating on my panel at the conference on Saturday -- yet another Jordan. The week for Jordan!

And now it is nearly bedtime, and I have to get my beauty rest so that I can moderate the panel well tomorrow morning at the conference, before heading home. Oh, yeah, gotta pack, too! I hope you all have a great weekend -- relaxing, good weather, and whatever else you might want.

The Intimacy of a Handwritten Note

As a child, I had many penpals. At one point when I was in elementary school, I had a penpal in nearly every state. I learned about the differences that form the fabric of the United States. Later, in high school, I had penpals in France, Germany, Mexico, and India. I learned about cross-cultural differences and practiced using the languages I was studying: French, German, Spanish. Writing the letters, putting them in an envelope, putting a stamp on the envelope, stuffing the letter into the mailbox, and then waiting for a response provided entertainment, suspense, and charm that does not seem to be reflected in today's world of the electron.

Today I do not have penpals. Rather, having worked in 24 countries, I have friends all over the world. I can practice Arabic with friends in Jordan, Lebanon, Syria, Qatar, Egypt, and Bahrain; Russian with friends in Russia, Ukraine, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, and Moldova; Spanish with friends in Ecuador (and the USA for that matter); Portuguese with friends in Brazil; German with friends in Germany and Austria; and so on and so forth. In some cases, as is the situation with friends in Cambodia and Thailand, where I do not speak the local language, my friends get to practice their English with me. Our words fly back and forth instantaneously, and there are times that we are on line (Skype, Facebook, gmail, etc.) at the same time and can IM each other or even, as in the case of Skype, see each other as we talk aloud. It is, indeed, a brave new world.

Still, I miss the charm of the handwritten letter. I rarely see a handwritten letter these days, but occasionally, very occasionally (as in once a year or so), one finds its way into my mailbox. When I pull these letters out, I feel another attribute beyond charm. Let me explain by describing two "correspondents" of recent years.

(1) A couple of years ago, after reading every one of Fr. Thomas's books that I could get my hands on (you can find a tally on the reading list I maintain on Mahlou Musings), I wrote to Fr. Thomas. What prompted me to do so was his book, Authenticity: A Biblical Theology of Discernment, that helped me to understand much better the locutions I have experienced and to know what to do about them. As I described in the post that contained his obituary, Sad News: Fr. Thomas Dubay, I typed a letter with reactions and questions and sent it to him. In near-immediate response, I received my letter back with handwritten comments on my comments and suggested answers on my questions. It was a shaky hand and a sincere one.

(2) A couple of months ago, a friend suggested that I write to Fr. Terry, my former 83-year-old de facto spiritual advisor/director, who had been transferred to a town on the other side of the mountains about an hour away and whom I missed, not having found anyone else in whom I could share some of the spiritual "oddities" that occur in my life. So, I typed off a two-pager, and off it went while I went off to Afghanistan. Upon return, I found a letter in my mailbox, addressed to me in shaky penmanship. It was from Fr. Terry. We have since been in additional correspondence about each other's lives, as well as spiritual matters, and Fr. Terry offered to drive over the mountain to have lunch together this coming Friday, which we shall indeed do. I am happy to be back in contact with Fr. Terry, even if only in slow-mail, handwritten mode. Fr. Terry has not fully entered the e-age. Perhaps he never will. It does not matter. If I have to wait for a handwritten response, that only increases the charm -- and suspense of the correspondence. His notes arrive in my mailbox in a shaky hand and a loving one.

There is much that the handwritten note gives away beyond its factual contents; factual contents could have taken e-format but the emotional content is often conveyed not in words but in the way the ink is laid down upon the paper. In the way the letters are made, one can see the character of the writer -- urgent, leisurely, tenative, bold, loving, sincere... In the smoothness or lack thereof of the pen strokes, one can sense the age of the writer. There is far more than just old-world charm in the handwritten letter. There is an intimacy of personal revelation that one cannot avoid as the hand of the writer guides the pen in drawing word-pictures for the reader. One cannot but feel the touch of the writer's hand.

Anne Rice, Recooked

Many have been the blogs in recent days that have posted about Anne Rice's once again leaving the Catholic church (although this time not leaving her faith behind). Given the amount of discussion that has run around the blogosphere, I don't know if yet another post is in order, but, at risk of boring readers, I think I shall say a word or two on the topic. Rather than commenting on whether it is truly possible to follow Christ outside the church when He told us that we are His church (it does not seem possible, but God follows neither man's rules nor man's logic), whether Anne Rice is being used by evil forces to undermine the church, or whether this is a matter of stubborn unwillingness to accept that with which she disagrees, I would point out that this is not just her loss (aspects of which I am sure we could all quickly, or too quickly, point out), it is also our loss. Any member of our church is a member of our body. Losing a member of our body is a personal loss.

Losing a member of our body would indicate that we did not take good enough care of our body. Before conversion, I would take the high horse (I called it the high road), insisting that the rather frequent immoral and unkind behavior of those who called themselves God's people, regardless of their Abrahamic religious brand, evidenced for me the lack of a God and, if I were to be wrong, then this was not any kind of a god that I would care to know. I have since learned many things: (1) I was pretty ignorant and way too self-assured in my atheism, (2) we cannot judge God by those who claim to be His people, (3) there is no moral high road but only a meandering, thorny, narrow path that entrances and delights as well as pains and sorrows, a path so filled with wonder that I could never choose any other and regret not noticing earlier, and (4) as God's people, we have an obligation to take care of our personal physical and spiritual bodies as well as our greater Body. From my observation, we do better at the former than the latter.

Anne Rice's departure from our midst, i.e. the loss of a member of our Body, is a wake-up call. My beloved Fr. Terry always asks, "If someone knew you, would they want to know your God?" I think that is a question for us to reflect upon frequently.

Equally important is another question. Are we letting God direct our behavior and thoughts? It would seem Anne Rice is not, but the minute I would say that, I would be making one of those judgments that Jesus warned us against. I would also be presuming to know the will of God, which I do not and cannot know. God does move in mysterious ways. Perhaps Anne Rice is being used to catalyze us into taking better care of our Body, into humility, which requires us to put others first.

I cannot presume to know anything more than the fact that Anne Rice left the church again, at least for the moment. I do know one thing very clearly, though. Whether she is a prodigal daughter who will come home again, a straying sheep (oh, yes!, I was one of those for decades), an instrument of God, a tool of evil, or simply a confused soul does not matter. Present or absent, she is a member of our Body. We are not called to judge her, criticize her decision, or consider ourselves superior to her in our faith and obedience. We are called only to love her.

Monday Morning Meditation #44: When God Requires Something from Us, He Always Provides the Resources

Well, I continued on last week, but I was unable to post anything. Many apologies if you came here, looking for the MMM. The Internet went down in the hotel where we were staying, and we had to check out for our trip back to California from Ohio before the Internet went back up. So, my MMM was an alone time. This week, I finished reading I Chronicles. At the very end, my eye and mind caught onto the story of Solomon being selected for the task of building a temple for the Ark of the Covenant and Solomon being young and inexperienced. Solomon did not have the skills or resources for the task. David, knowing this, gave splendidly to the building of the temple. Yet, it was not enough. So, he turned to the people and asked the people of Israel, upon which "the leaders of families, the officers of the tribes of Israel, the commanders of thousands and commanders of hundreds, and the officials in charge of the king's work gave willingly."

Reading: I Chronicles 29: 1-9.

Meditation: I have noticed as I read through various Bible stories that God appears to have a habit of picking the most unlikely people to carry out his missions and tasks. They are often people without any desire to have the task and/or lacking skills for the task. They are also often people who lack the resources for the task. That is where trust comes into the picture.

I have been asked on several occasions to perform a task or give support to an undertaking. I have written about several of them in my various blogs. With tasks, I have usually felt that I lacked the skills, as in when I was told to take on a modern-day Goliath or to write a tome. I even usually argue with God initially, but we all know where those kinds of arguments have historically ended. So, I don't know why I react that way. My second "initial" reaction is to comply. Over time, I have stopped worrying about whether I have the resources, knowledge, or skills for the task because each time all of those things, as needed, have always appeared.

The appearance of resources, especially, has been marvelous to observe: one modern story of the fishes and loaves after another. For example, a remarkable example, I was asked to contribute to the rebuilding of our local St. Francis Retreat Center, which had burned down as a result of old, faulty wiring. For its director, Fr. Terry, rebuilding the center was reminiscent of what Solomon experienced in building the temple except that Solomon was too young for this sort of thing and at 80+ one would think that Fr. Terry might be a tad old for it -- unless you know him. There was no money for this, but the money came from all over. I had been making a small but regular contribution, simply turning over my book royalties to the center, when Fr. Terry, somewhat reluctantly and at the urging of the fund-raising committee, asked me if I could make a pledge, as opposed to regular donations. That way, a local bank would lend the funds upfront. Now, a pledge is a commitment; donations are not. So, I prayed about it, and I prayed about the amount. Into my hands at that point fell a note that there were still no funds for the kitchen, which cost close to half my annual salary. I could not believe that God would really want me to commit to this amount of money, but it became clear that He did. So, I did, relying on Him to find the money for me. The pledge clearly shocked both Fr. Terry and the fund-raising committee because they do know I do not have that kind of money, not now and not spread out over the five years of the pledge period. I have not worried, however, because where God asks something of me, He always provides the resources. This instance is no different. Extra money has fallen into my hands from higher royalties than anticipated from my various books, a large return on my taxes, per diem that I have not needed on business travel, merit pay bonuses, and, finally, overwhelmingly surprising to me, a whopping 125% pay raise that has more than covered the pledge amount, which will allow me to pay off the pledge in considerably less than five years. Yes, indeed, when God requires something, He will for sure provide the resources needed. We have no need to fear or worry -- and I don't.

That is far as I can go with you this Monday morning. I must retire to private prayer to thank God for always, always providing for me, to praise Him for the marvelous surprises He provides for me in that respect, to repent for each time that it took a second initial response (and not a first and immediate response) for me to acquiesce to whatever task God has set before me (Why, oh why, am I so contrary at times?), and to ask Him never to give up on asking me and tasking me in spite of my contrariness because deep down I am always willing to take on the tasking (I suppose God knows that). Now I retire to 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 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.

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.

7 Quick Takes Friday #18

My second week in a row at home! What pleasure! And now it is time for this week's contribution to the Quick Takes meme hosted by Jennifer Futwiler at Conversion Diary.

1. The saga of the friend that I had to "fire" on Friday continued this week. Last week I promised the ending, and here it is, but first, a recap from last week: "I have to fire a friend, currently working as a junior manager, for poor performance. (I did not hire her; my boss forced her on me against my better judgment. Now, he has some embarrassment, too.) Ugh! Unfortunately, this relatively new junior manager, in three months of training, was unable to learn even the basics of management. I had a team of six people mentoring her on various aspects of her job. All of them came to the conclusion in recent days that not only is she untrainable but also her pride and lack of self-awareness preclude anyone's ability to train her. So, the decision was made to fire." On Friday, she was supposed to see the senior manager, her supervisor, at 1:00. At that time, he would have given her the bad news. Well, instead, she sent him an enote, saying that she was ill and going home. Later in the day, she popped up in my boss's office on another matter, and he ended up being the one to tell her that she was being reassigned as a rank-and-file employee, that she did not have the skills at this time for being a manager. His involvement seemed like poetic justice. On Monday, she met with the senior manager and got the bad news -- again. (None of us knew what had transpired on Friday.) He said she was stoic, but it turns out that she was prepared. A little later, she wrote a note to all her employees, saying that she had decided to leave her position and had asked to be reassigned for reasons of health. Wow, she seemed to have taken it all very well, and if she wanted to save face by announcing that it was her decision and health-related, we were all willing to look the other way. I did not get a chance to talk to her on Monday, but Tuesday, before going home, I dropped by to say good-bye and was walking with her to go out the door when she started sobbing -- and sobbing and sobbing. So, I led her into my office and talked to her for more than two hours. She exhibited a complete inability to look at herself objectively, but I was able to bring her to peace with the decision to replace her. I don't know how I was able to do that, but it really helped that while talking to her I was very aware that God was with us and in her -- after all, a little piece of God is within all of us, that is what binds us as a body of believers, right? Clearly, guidance I had asked for was given, and I am very grateful to God for my sake and for hers.

2. I learned this week that my beloved Fr. Terry, whom I can consult for just about anything, is leaving the area. He will be working as a chaplain at a retirement colony for friars. I suppose it is an appropriate assignment since he is 82 years old, but he acts -- and clearly feels -- much younger and has been very active in our community, at Old Mission, and as director of the local retreat center. Everyone loves him; I cannot think of anyone who does not or who has not benefited from his years and years of experience in walking with God and advising God's people. When I called to say goodbye to him, he told me that I had been "a light" to him in the past three years he has been here." He certainly knows how to make someone feel happy. If these were more than kind words and this were really true, then I am infinitely grateful to God for allowing me to play this role!

3. A sad event took place on Sunday. The mother of Fr. E., our parish priest, died from breast cancer. Fortunately, Fr. E. was able to get home to Ireland before she died and be with her during her last hours. Today the funeral took place in Ireland, and concurrently we held a rosary for Fr. E's mother at Old Mission. People turned out in force, and various parishioners led the service. At the end, Fr. M, the Latin Mass priest, gave a final benediction. Sula, our parish feral cat, came in before the service, came up to me for some petting, then found herself a seat on the pew across from me between two men. Except for nestling on someone's coat during communion, she sat up proudly between the two of them during the entire service, just as if she fully understood what was going on and was participating. Fr. M went over at the end of the service to greet her. I love this parish! (Photo is of the statue of St. John the Baptist on the Old Mission grounds.)

4. I had very good news from my cardiologist today. I was down another two pounds, and he is happy with my rate of weight loss. I am down 13 pounds since mid-January. My blood pressure is also down, and he reneged on this threat to replace my very mild medication with a stronger one. He is also allowing me six weeks before my next visit. He is still concerned about my heart although I am certain all is fine. Anyway, I have never seen him quite so relaxed about it. Yes!

5. I also had a good Arabic lesson today. Since we have a visiting manager from Egypt, who is originally from Jordan and speaks the dialect of Arabic that I knew, I asked him to talk to me in Arabic for a half-hour each morning since I am losing my proficiency in it for lack of use. Often, it feels like pulling teeth to be able to communicate well. Today, however, I surprised him -- and myself -- by spending nearly the whole time, talking about the theology of St. Paul, in particular in regard to his propensity toward dialectic thinking (i.e. thesis, antithesis, synthesis). I was so pleased that I could actually handle a rather complex topic with my limited Arabic, which might become less limited if I had more opportunity to use it.

6. Shane, Lemony, and kids spent the weekend in San Francisco at the Chinese parade and other activities. They go there every year for this celebration and decided it might be okay this year, too. Things are looking up for them, and I will indeed soon get around to writing the Clan Rising post I promised for the Clan of Mahlou blog. It looks like Shane will have a job perhaps as soon as April. A former employer wants him back but cannot offer a job until he passes a security clearance. They have put the clearance process on the fast track and assume that it will be completed by some time in April. (Here is a good example of why it is never a good idea to burn bridges when leaving a job. Shane left under pleasant conditions, and so coming back was a possibility -- and, thank God, they just "happened" to have an opening.)

7. Well, I am going to have to wrap this up pretty quickly and get to bed before the midnight hour fully approaches. Tomorrow morning I have to get up at 5 a.m. in order to travel to north with a team of people from work to an all-day meeting in Los Altos Hills. Oh, joy! A bus ride! (I am packing dramamine!) I have no idea where Los Altos Hills is located other than in somewhat north of us, so I assumed that it must be somewhere around San Francisco (or perhaps closer, near San Jose). Since I am not driving, I suppose I don't need to know. That is good; I already have too much extraneous information in my little head!

Hoping that you have a great weekend and will get some more sleep than it seems that I am in for!

7 Quick Takes Friday #11

Time again already to contribute to the 7 Quick Takes Friday meme hosted by Jennifer at Conversion Diary, but first let me report on Ray's condition after thanking all of you for your prayers. The doctors told Noelle this morning that Ray's eyes were moving, and therefore they believe he is dreaming, which is a sign of brain activity even if he is not yet conscious or responsive. One day at a time. We wait and pray for what is best for him.

It had been so quiet a week, relatively speaking (all things being relative), until Ray had his heart attack that I had to consider whether or not I even had seven “takes,” quick or otherwise, to share. I finally decided that yes, possibly, I did. Here they are:

(1) Saturday evening I attended, as is typical when I am in town, the Saturday evening mass at Old Mission. Fr. Terry, of whom I am very fond and who has been my de facto spiritual advisor, was the visiting priest. I had not seen him for some time, so it was a delightful surprise to find him there; we made plans to get together for dinner after I return from Lithuania and he returns from New Zealand (planned trips for the latter part of January). After Mass, I spent some time talking with Sr. M and this other person, whose name I promptly forgot (my memory is simply not under control lately). This other person has a friend, Cecilia Willis, whose very serious problem I also promptly forgot. I just know that I was asked to pray for her, so I have been doing that. Fortunately, my bad memory is of little concern here. God knows what ails her, so it is not all that important that I remember. I would also ask you to pray for her, too.

(2) Sunday I spent some time talking to an elderly friend who has no local relatives. Donnie and I visited her the weekend before Christmas, and Donnie had to go get some lights the weekend after Christmas, so he visited her again. When I called her on Sunday, she bubbled on and on about that surprise. I try to call every day, but I only succeed in talking to her a couple of times a week at best because of my travels. When I blogged about her deteriorating and isolated condition in October (7 Quick Takes #5), Pinksy 82 (Stranger in a Strange Land), who is a social worker, suggested a geriatric assessment. Wow! Thank you! We asked her daughter for permission and were given it. The assessment was done, and now the county sends someone there every day for a couple of hours to check on her, help with the housework, and assist her with daily living needs. In addition, the family has now set up a person to check on her every evening and bring her medicine and groceries. After work, a neighbor couple, who works with me and gives me a periodic report, comes by for socialization. And then, there is my daily (uh, weekly) phone call. The situation is much better now.

3) On Monday evening our prayer group at the Old Mission met. There I learned that Sr. M was planning to travel to Idaho. I asked her about how warm a coat she had, and she said she had no winter coat at all. In fact, she had not given a thought to the fact that Idaho would have winter weather that differed from California's sunshine. I have a very warm goose down coat that I wear in places like Siberia and Lithuania, and I would not need it until the 18th, when I have to leave for Lithuania. So, after the group finished our prayers for the evening, I ran home, then dropped by the convent to give the coat to Sister.

(4) Tuesday at the end of the work day, I had an appointment with a cardiologist. There is a bit of a story behind that visit. When I went to the clinic a few weeks ago to get some medicine re-prescribed, there was a new doctor who heard a heart murmur. It is not big deal. I have had a heart murmur all my life, including the eight years I spent in the military service. I have a strong heart. The murmur is functional, not structural, and therefore innocuous. The doctor would not listen to me, however, and sent me to a cardiologist, who panicked at my EKG, and wanted me to get an echo cardiogram and a blood test to check cholesterol level. The conversation went something like this:

Beth: "My heart murmur is no big deal. It's a functional thing. I've had it all my deal. It is innocuous."

Doctor: "Well, your EKG shows that your heart is not keeping up with you." (Hah! Donnie says that nothing and no one can keep up with me! Silly guy!)

Beth: "I'm really sure it's nothing, but okay, you're the doctor; I'll get the echo cardiogram."

Doctor: "And a blood test to check cholesterol level."

Beth: "Oh, I don't need that. My cholesterol level is fine."

Doctor: "You told me your heart was fine!"

Beth: "Okay, give me the details, and I'll go." (Actually, I knew that my cholesterol level was okay because I had had a test about a year ago, but the doctor was only doing his job, so off I went.)

Tuesday I was back in the doctor's office for the results. It turns out that the cholesterol level was on the high side of normal, but the doctor prescribed a diet change rather than medicine. As for my heart, he told me in surprise, "The echo cardiogram shows that you have a very strong heart." (Yeah, I knew that -- even if it does not keep up with me!)

That experience reminds me of the time that Noelle fell at school many years ago. The story is too long to repeat here, but if you have a bit of a sense of humor about medical matters, you can find it on Clan of Mahlou: The Episode of Noelle's Wrist. Sometimes doctors know best, but sometimes patients know best.

(5) On Wednesday, I found myself on a plane once again and once again with no notice. This time I had to make an urgent trip to Washington. Donnie listened to the weather reports for Washington. Oh, oh! Unseasonably cold temperatures – and I had just given my warmest winter coat to Sister, already enroute to Idaho. Well, I did have a winter-ish jacket that would keep me from freezing, and I could use taxis, rather than the metro and walking although I generally prefer the opportunity for some exercise. Regardless of the changes in my itinerary, Sister did need the coat more than I.

I had more important issues to worry about, anyway. As the plane from San Jose landed in Phoenix, I tried to pull out my Phoenix-Washington ticket, but could not find it. I had only one ticket: San Jose-Phoenix. I involved the man sitting next to me and the people in front and back in looking on the floor to see if I had accidentally dropped my follow-on ticket. Nothing. Then I realized that I should not have the San Jose-Phoenix ticket. That should have been taken at the gate in San Jose. Ah, hah! Powers of deduction told me that the ticket agent took the wrong ticket. (I’m no Sherlock Holmes; Holmes would have realized that the first time he pulled out the San Jose ticket.) That, I was pretty certain, would be an easy fix once I got to the gate for DC. It was.

However, as in most cases where there are problems of some sort (at least, with me), a number of people had become involved in my ticket issue. As we were all standing in the aisle, waiting to debark, everyone started talking about my ticket dilemma and similar things that they had experienced. Of course, there was some concern that I had been able to get on the plane with the wrong ticket!

(6) In Washington, I had two days of meetings. On Thursday, I visited our Washington office and laid to rest some potential animosities and certainly some unbased suspicions coming from the head honcho there. It always feels good to change a potential enemy into a current friend. Then, on Friday, I visited the organization where I worked when I was an employee of the U.S. Department of State. Actually, the call was not personal but work-related. I wanted to introduce one of our new supervisors to people who had greater knowledge of some of the international issues with which she was dealing. Of course, though, I took the opportunity, being an extrovert, to renew old acquaintances. After the formal meeting with that head honcho, it was on to informal meetings, with hugs and kisses all around!

(7) And now Friday is drawing to a close. I have all my business done, and I will be off in about an hour to visit a dear friend, the person who helped me with the spiritual needs of Shura when he was having his surgeries at the University of Virginia Hospital. Oh, and it's not just a Friday evening that we will be enjoying together. My friend is on vacation right now because is Orthodox Christmas. We will have yesterday's Russian-Christmas-specialties leftovers tonight. So, I will have two Christmases this year! Now how could this week end any better even with the worries about Ray! A second chance to celebrate a special birth! How often does that happen?

So, in this case, in closing, I will wish all of you a merry Christmas -- again!

7 Quick Takes Friday #10

Time again already to contribute to the 7 Quick Takes Friday meme hosted by Jennifer at Conversion Diary! This time, I will not do a day-by-day review since the days were so full as to blur one into another in retrospect. So, instead, I will share the seven events that I best remember.

(1) Early in the flip between last week and this one, one of the most senior people from headquarters appeared in town without much notice. After an all-day meeting, he left behind a staggering new budget to manage and an overwhelming amount of work, including the need to set up three new branches next month and several more worldwide later in the year and to hire about 100 new people immediately and more later in the year. My head is still spinning; so are the heads of the senior managers to whom I will delegate much of this work. One is currently on Christmas break in Germany; he says he is glad he made it there before all this came down on us. Not to fear -- he will get to share our stress when he returns; we will be sure to save a fair amount for him!

(2) Nathaniel's birthday is Christmas day (December 25). Back in 2001, he was quite a Christmas present! To avoid dividing attention between the two events, Shane and Lemony celebrate his birthday earlier in the month, and he gets to choose the location. This year, we celebrated Nathaniel's birthday this past Saturday, and Nathaniel chose Sapporo Restaurant. He loves sushi and delights in the hibachi cooking.

(3) Sunday was such a restful day, and I needed it! Fr. Kevin, priest at a parish 45 miles north of where I live, teaches contemplative prayer "for busy people" once a month. His deep spirituality and talent at teaching has helped me understand much about my contemplative experiences. We use Ursula King's helpful book, Christian Mystics, but Fr. Kevin's ability to distill essential information from throughout the ages is even more helpful.

(4) Another priest cusped my horizon this week. Fr. Terry called me to thank me for some Russian chocolates I dropped off for him for Christmas and mentioned that he would be leaving the St. Francis Retreat Center in January for a parish about three hours away. Having a big mouth, I spread the word to our prayer group, and, devastated to think that Fr. Terry, who has been a de facto spiritual advisor to many of us and who was instrumental in the establishment of our group a few years ago, would not be in our immediate environs for long, we planned a potluck at my house for him next week. As it turned out, I had misunderstood. (I need to practice speaking English more often.) Fr. Terry was only going to the central-state parish on an interim basis, to fill behind an ill priest. So, now we are all happy -- and we are going to have the potluck, anyway, because we will latch onto any opportunity to let Fr. Terry know we love him!

(5) Our prayer group meeting was curtailed by our parish's penitence service that began a half-hour later that same evening. So, we went to confession as a group. Fr. E had brought in several local priests, including two who speak multiple languages, a necessity in our community. I patiently waited my turn to confess to either Fr. E. or Fr. Terry, when they suddenly walked out, there being more priests than were needed. That left me with a choice of three priests whom I knew only on a hello-goodbye basis, with no idea of what kind of confessors they were. The first one who had an empty chair was Fr. M., our Latin priest. I approached with some trepidation because I barely know him at all but knew him to be traditional and strict. He generally prefers to use the screen, and it was set up in his corner of the church. However, he did not require that of me. (I am not a confessional/screen type.) In fact, he was so gentle and kind that I immediately felt comfortable with him -- and I saw him in a new light. I am so glad that I went and that I had the opportunity to confess to Fr. M.

(6) One evening this week we ran out to a Kohl's store in the nearest large town. We needed some mattress straps. Finding them seemed to be an easy enough task. However, we could find no sales person who spoke English, and I did not know the name of the item we wanted in Spanish. Donnie quickly became frustrated, commenting that this was America, so where were the English speakers?! I lamented the limits of my Spanish! (We are two very different people.) As we walked toward the exit, having given up, we passed a Mexican friend with excellent English. (How does that sort of thing happen just about every time I need it??) My friend told us the name of the item, and that ended that problem. However, along with improving my English, I think I need to improve my Spanish!

(7) Today, when I arrived home, I found a surprise: flowers. Now safely ensconced on a table in Donnie's office where Intrepid, our herbivore cat, cannot eat them, they had been sent from a professor in Michigan, whom I mentored through her dissertation-writing years. She just began a new position this year as an assistant professor, and she wanted to thank me for my support that she attributed to landing her current job. She would have gotten it without my help and with her talent, but expressions of gratitude are always pleasant.

And now, may you find your weekend strewn with flowers!

A Day Off? A Matter of Definition!

Many thanks to all of you who have wished me well and prayed me well! Finally, I seem to be coming back to life. Not that I have completely avoided living -- or working -- while feeling mostly dead! Anyway, I think the flu is behind me; just some stuffiness and little aches and pains reminding me that perhaps I am not in top condition yet. Still, I managed to drag myself onto the plane yesterday and reach my Maryland destination. Today I led a meeting with a major client, did some training for the local staff, put out a fire at our Georgia branch, raised a ruckus over a stupid decision back in my office in California, conferred with the director of the Maryland branch over lunch and in the afternoon had a joint conversation with his boss (my direct report) back in California about various issues, had dinner with my administrative assistant from the days when I worked in Jordan (quite a surprise -- she is visiting her children who are in graduate school here), talked to Julie in Virginia about a possible visit after the conference since Shura (the dying-child-artist-now-healthy-adult whom we rescued from a Siberian hospital 15 years ago) is in town from Russia (another surprise) and did some initial networking to set that up with others who would want to see him, and then went to the airport to welcome a professor/guest speaker from Jordan who will be at the conference I will be attending at the end of the week and got him settled in the hotel, after which I turned to email and the like. Oh, and some scattered moments for prayer -- wish I had more! I always wish I had more. Sometimes the best I can do is a frequently interrupted running dialogue throughout the day, especially the plea for "help" right before a major decision or the feeling that a gasket is about to blow -- it rarely does blow. God has a way of cooling off the gasket. So, anyway, I would have to say it was a pretty normal day.

Thinking about the "normal" work day, I recalled recently taking a day off work to be available should my son Shane and his wife Lemony need my help in support of their daughter Nikolina's hospital visit (she has an appointment at Stanford about once every other week). I always look forward to babysitting Nathaniel; already at age 7 he is a little scientist and, like his father before him at approximately the same age, has declared me "eccentric."

As it turned out, Lemony did not need me, so I got a "real" day off, or at least the best version of a day off that I seem to be allowed. Lemony did not need me, but my office did. My assistant faxed some paperwork home, and I was off to the races. I finished that just in time for the daily noon mass. Fr. E was out of town, and at those times the priest at the noon mass is unpredictable except to those working in the parish office. To my delight, Fr. Terry had come down from the retreat center on the hill, where he is director. Mass with Fr. Terry is always special: intimate and personal, with lots of time devoted to silent prayer, even in places during the mass where one does not expect it. For that reason, Fr. Terry's masses are very spiritual in nature, constantly giving the congregation time to absorb the joy of being in the presence of God together. The undoing for me is always the way Fr. Terry asks everyone to circle the altar. I always feel God's presence more strongly the closer I draw to our humble altar. (Our mission church is old and made by the hands of Native Americans before the days of precision architecture; there are even animal paw prints in some of the floor tiles.) So there we stood, and I could feel the tears coming, the ones that well up in God's presence. They are good tears. One, however, might feel foolish for them except that among God's parishioners there is no need for embarrassment. That is why I love this community and this church. People understand and accept and love. Noon mass, when I can make it, is my psychological oasis during the day.

Then, quickly, I was back in the bramble bushes. One after another they rolled in, those pesky emails, about 200 all told, about par for my daily intake. Most of the issues I could send off to one of the senior managers, and having delegated them, I could go on to the other big issue of the day: a problem employee who had taken the first steps to filing a law suit against us for firing her. Of course, she had no grounds for filing, but that rarely stops aggrieved people who seem to enjoy watching us push aside everything else and pay attention to them. Sometimes, as in the case of this person, if the immediate supervisor had paid attention to her early on we would not have been facing a potential court case. Our lawyer called. I gave him all the details I had in my head. Then, a real surprise kicked in. My boss called with the news that another directorate wanted her. Well, that was a win-win. We released our claim on her, and she dropped her lawsuit. The last I heard she has been doing a good job. I like it when we can help even the people who seem to us not to deserve it. (Yep, problem employees are my specialty; I love them, literally!)

The rest of the day was routine, but full. Not one minute of the afternoon was a free one. And so that night, I went to the store, searching for some pleasure. I wanted my day off, even if it were only an ice cream cone.

As I took $20 from the ATM, I mentally added up the outstanding and incoming billpayer checks. The total was higher than cash available. Oops! Another one of those days! It reminded me of the time that Lizzie, then in the fourth grade, was asked by the teacher what she should immediately think upon seeing a problem that she had copied down as 24-36. The answer for fourth graders was, of course, that they had copied the problem wrong. Not for Lizzie! What, Lizzie give a traditional answer?! "I should think that I need to remember to include the negative sign in writing -12," she volunteered. That flustered the teacher who certainly did not want to get into negative numbers with fourth-graders. She hastily said that negative numbers do not exist. I suppose she wanted Lizzie to move back into fourth-grade math. But nothing doing! Lizzie was genuinely puzzled and innocently asked her teacher, "If there are no negative numbers, why does Mommy have them in her check book?" Sr. Beatrice, do you remember this? Thank you for not telling the principal -- St. Leo's would never have taken another check from me!

Well, I would have to find some money to change the color of my future checkbook from red into black, but I was not worried. All the outstanding billpayer checks were for donations of various sorts. So, since these were God's bills, I trusted that God would find me the money to pay them. (In case you are wondering, the money appeared, as it always does for good causes.)

As I walked into the store, my pocket buzzed with five more Blackberry messages. Argh! I sat down on one of the cafe chairs and answered each of them, then walked over to the ice cream counter. After all those enotes and a day off that had mostly turned out to be a day on, maybe, just maybe, I had earned some ice cream! And even if I had not, I was going to get some anyway -- and I did!

And that, folks, is how my days go and how my life meanders on. Well, perhaps "meander" is not the most appropriate word! That's why I do sincerely appreciate those noon-mass oases, scattered moments of prayer, surprises like seeing Fr. Terry, opportunities to lend a hand to those in need of any sort, and ice-cream cones whenever they come my way. Those are the important things, not the training and meetings and clients and business travel and supervisory tasks. I consider those things divine gifts, the most important of which is being surrounded by the Clan of Mahlou and God's love.

Monday Morning Meditation #13: What the Face Shows

Moving forward by two chapters in Exodus, I found a description of how Moses's face shone so brightly after being with God that the Israelites became afraid of him. There are no less than three mentions of this inner light beaming outward.

Reading: Exodus 34: 29-35

Meditation: I cannot but wonder by comparison how much of the inner light that God gives to us when we come to Him in prayer that we afterward beam out onto those with whom we come into contact. Can, indeed, anyone tell that we have been with God? Or do we keep it all locked up inside?

Somehow, the reading of this passage brings to me Hawthorne's story, "The Great Stone Face," in which Ernest, who lived in Franconia Notch, NH, had one wish above all others: to live long enough to meet the man who looked like the great stone face. Those of us who grew up in New Hampshire (I did, at least, part-time) knew the saying that just as cobblers hang out a shingle with the imprint of a shoe to show that they make shoes in their shop, so, too, did God hang out His shingle to show that that He makes men in New Hampshire. The legend of the Old Man in the Mountains, the rock formation similar to a man's face "with the sunshine brightening all its features" (Hawthorne's words) that stood high above a small pond for centuries before it fell to erosion about five years ago, said that some day a great man would appear, one that looked like the great stone face. Throughout Ernest's life, one person after another was heralded as fulfilling that legend, but when he looked at them none did. People moved out; people moved in. Ernest grew up to minister to them. A very humble man, he asked for little and gave much in return. His riches were in his love for others. Always he watched and waited for the coming of the man who would look like the great stone face, but none did. Near the end of his life, as Ernest was delivering an outdoors sermon with the mountains in the background, a poet noticed that it was the face of Ernest that resembled the great stone face. While Hawthorne leaves some things to our imagination, I can easily see the light beaming from Ernest's face, light that came from a lifetime of doing God's bidding and gathering the inner light that none of the grand visitors had ever beamed upon the people of the valley; hence, Ernest's inability to see the likeness in their visages. His humility prevented him from seeing his own.

So what do our faces show? For that matter, what does our behavior show? And what do our words show? Do they shine with God's love?

Fr. Terry, a local priest about whom I have blogged before, asks, "If people know you, would they want to know your God?" Well, would they?

For me, that answer is, often yes but sometimes no. I am working hard, with God's help, to get those no's removed!

And that is far as I can go with you on this Monday morning. I must retire to prayer to ask God to shine through me more, to repent for all lost chances to share God's love with those who might really have needed it, to give thanks for all the inner light He has given me, and to offer praise for the sunshine of His love that is so grand that it can fill the whole world, were the world to let it, and still have spare.

After that, I will spend some time in contemplation, open to any inner light God cares to give me for the minute, the hour, or the day. Being with Him, surrounded by His light and love, is the most joyful start to the day that I can imagine.

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.

Have a good day and a spirit-filled week, and may you find the patience you need in dealing with others and the trust to wait for responses to prayers not yet answered.

If you pick this up as a weekly devotional activity, please share with me and others your own thoughts about the message of Exodus 34: 29-35 or any other scripture that you choose for meditation. Feel free to copy the image of the mission church; maybe some time in the near future my Internet-inept self will be able to figure out how to use the Mr. Linky buttons, but to date I remain incompetent at the more sophisticated blog stuff. Yes, I know it has been 13 weeks, but I am exceptionally computer-inept. In the interim, you are welcome to use the image and share the meme of Monday Morning Meditation for starting out the work week closer to God.