On Feeling Rich

I woke up this morning, feeling like a princess. I had a sheet underneath me, a sheet over me, a blanket on top of that, and then, riches of all riches, a fluffy bedspread to snuggle into. Ever since purchasing a new bed in early July and moving our old bed into the empty bedroom for Doah and guests, we have had only a blanket on top.

I have hankered after a bedspread not because it is the commonly accepted way to finish a bed -- everyone knows I am eccentric, anyway, so having a blanket was sufficient in many respects: warmth, covering, etc. No, I just wanted a bedspread the way children want a ball or candy or something special. For me, the bedspread was special.

Certainly, with my income I can afford a bedspread. But there is an odd thing about my income: it disappears rather quickly. (I suppose I am not unique in that way.) First, there is Shane who needs $300 a month for special milk for Nikolina who is missing most of her intestines. Then there is Lizzie and her cat, who seems to need surgery periodically. Then Doah and Noelle, who needed scads of money to pay for medical expenses as children but need little these days, are always happy to have a small gift. And that's family. After that, there is Sula, the parish cat, who needs surgery -- I promised God's credit card in support of that cost. And the mission and the retreat center and other charities. And, the most fun of all, nearly every day someone who happens into my life who needs the money more than I do. After all, I need little and, surprisingly, I find myself post-conversion wanting little. I enjoy sprinkling my income around in this way, but somehow it did not leave any extra for a bedspread the past two months.

Until I got my recent travel reimbursement and per diem and found that I had spent considerably less on eating than my office thought I should have. Yippee! Bedspread money!

There is something special about waiting. There is something special about wanting. Instant gratification does not compare with the richness of want deferred or potential want gratification given away to someone else.

Yes, I feel rich with my new bedspread. However, I feel even richer each time I am able to take money from my pocket and give it to someone who needs it more.

(Also posted on Clan of Mahlou.)

Monday Morning Meditation #86: Of First Fruits, Filled Barns, and Overflowing Vats

During this week, I continued to read further in the book of Proverbs. I have enjoyed the reading very much, and I have found much worthy of attention. I was particularly struck by verses 9 and 10 in Chapter 3. They hit home in an interesting way for nearly every pay day I am faced with a set of choices that include bills, donations, kids (charity begins at home, as they say), savings and investments (not much money available for that, but we try) and, upon rare occasion, some leisure activity (not much time available for that, but we also try in this area). Verse 9 is the key one, in my opinion.

9. Honor the LORD with your wealth, with first fruits of all your produce;
10. Then will your barns be filled with grain, with new wine your vats will overflow.

Reading: Proverbs 3:9-10.

Meditation: Pay days always bring a host of decisions, especially when the money does not stretch to cover all planned needs and unplanned contingencies. Take this past week, for example. Lizzie called to say that her cat, Princesse, had broken her paw and needed $2250 for surgery, which Lizzie did not have. Sixteen-year-old Princesse is an immigrant from Tunisia and has been Lizzie's constant companion through college, graduate school, and two professorial assignments. There is no question that she was worth every penny of the surgery, but Lizzie did not have the money, which was demanded upfront by the pet hospital. This was one of those unplanned contingencies. In addition, I needed to come up with the planned purchase of special milk for Nikolina who cannot digest regular milk because of her short bowel. It costs $300 for a month's supply, and Shane, having lost his job when her medical expenses became too much for his employer's insurance company ($2 million during her first six months of life), needs help coping with the lower salary he makes from the replacement job he was able to find. Of course, we have the same food and mortgage needs as everyone else. So, where does the money to give to God come from?

For some reason, from the moment of my conversion, I have not worried about this. Perhaps it was the way in which I was converted that produced the deep trust that allows me to give to God from my first fruits through donations and by committing funds when led to using God's credit card to help others. I have found that by giving to God first, the funds for my remaining needs, no matter what they are and how impossible it seems to cover them, always appear.

A little over two years ago, I was approached for a small donation for St. Francis Retreat Center, a local retreat center which does much good for many people. The center had burned down and needed to be rebuilt. I learned that the fundraising committee had raised much of the $1 million needed to rebuild but was still in need of $50,000 in order to construct the center's kitchen. After much prayer, I felt certain I was being led to donate this amount, but it would require about 15% of my income from every paycheck for five years (in addition to the 10% I was already donating to Old Mission and other diocesan/Christian charities). Yikes! How could I possibly manage 25% of my income for that 5-year period. Nonetheless, certain that God wanted me to make this commitment, I did, trusting that where God asked for what I did not have, God Himself would provide the difference. The pledge astonished the fundraising committee and the priest director; they knew I did not have this kind of money. Nonetheless, inspired by my trust, they went ahead and took out a bank loan for the full amount, and the kitchen (and rest of the center) has long ago been built. For nearly two-and-a-half years, every pay day, I have somehow found the pledged amount among my "first fruits," and it appears that my pledge will be paid off on time and so will the center's loan. Sometimes, I have had to make a sacrifice of some sort here and there (no vacation this year, for example), but, for the most part, money has appeared from unplanned sources (extra royalties, requests for consultations, etc.) in fulfillment of God's promise of barns filled and vats overflowing.

Contemplation: That is far as I can go with you this Monday morning. I now retire to private prayer to thank God for His great trustworthiness upon which I rely. I will praise God for the multitudinous ways in which He helps me to keep my promises to Him. I will ask God to deepen my trust, and, as God knows, I seriously repent those times where my trust could have been stronger. Then I will move on to contemplation, my favorite part of the day, letting God take over the direction in which my relationship with Him moves.

I will leave you now to your prayer and contemplation. First, though, 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 think 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. (During the week, he also posts great homilies and other thoughtful discussions. I enjoy reading those, too, as do readers of this blog who have taken the stroll over to his blog.)

For additional inspiration throughout the week, I would point out two sets of blogs: (1) the list of devotional blogs on my sidebar 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.

Turnaround Foreclosure

And one more interesting story from the Internet, this one reported by CBS News --

Collier County, Florida -- Have you heard the one about a homeowner foreclosing on a bank?

Well, it has happened in Florida and involves a North Carolina based bank.

Instead of Bank of America foreclosing on some Florida homeowner, the homeowners had sheriff's deputies foreclose on the bank.

It started five months ago when Bank of America filed foreclosure papers on the home of a couple, who didn't owe a dime on their home.

The couple said they paid cash for the house.

The case went to court and the homeowners were able to prove they didn't owe Bank of America anything on the house. In fact, it was proven that the couple never even had a mortgage bill to pay.

A Collier County Judge agreed and after the hearing, Bank of America was ordered, by the court to pay the legal fees of the homeowners', Maurenn Nyergers and her husband.

The Judge said the bank wrongfully tried to foreclose on the Nyergers' house.

So, how did it end with bank being foreclosed on? After more than 5 months of the judge's ruling, the bank still hadn't paid the legal fees, and the homeowner's attorney did exactly what the bank tried to do to the homeowners. He seized the bank's assets.

"They've ignored our calls, ignored our letters, legally this is the next step to get my clients compensated, " attorney Todd Allen told CBS.

Sheriff's deputies, movers, and the Nyergers' attorney went to the bank and foreclosed on it. The attorney gave instructions to to remove desks, computers, copiers, filing cabinets and any cash in the teller's drawers.

After about an hour of being locked out of the bank, the bank manager handed the attorney a check for the legal fees.

"As a foreclosure defense attorney this is sweet justice" says Allen.

Allen says this is something that he sees often in court, banks making errors because they didn't investigate the foreclosure and it becomes a lengthy and expensive battle for the homeowner.

CBS News

7 Quick Takes Friday #59

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

This has been a week that I choose not to repeat. Golly, the stress level rose to the top of the barometer and broke through. Colleagues, too, had the opportunity to share the stress, but whatever rises, ultimately drops, so things, in most cases, did get better.

1. Money had its moments this week. Down and up. First, I got the bill for the few minutes that I used the cell phone to call from Qatar and, mostly, to respond to some urgent emails: a $900 bill for less than a week in the desert outside Doha. Then, I found that my merit pay this year was only $400 for the entire year. Accepting that as being a matter of my organization not having much money to spend and hoping that my employees were given more since they need it more, I was astonished the following day to find out that this was just a salary increase and that I will soon receive a cash bonus of $3600, just about the amount that we desperately need to fix our deck and paint the house trim, which has dried out and is starting to deteriorate. Yippee!

2. Two days ago I was casually reading some posts on Facebook and found a comment from my nephew's wife that her divorce would be final on June 2. Say what?! I sent her a note and asked her if I had read correctly, and she said yes. Apparently, my nephew has hopped into bed with another (married) woman and is about to have a second son, with this woman and not with his wife. His wife filed for divorce. I have, indeed, been traveling too much. All of this has been going on for some time. (Of course, she is not in the habit of consulting me on her love life, as is the case with my own children, i.e. all those children I raised for all or part of their lives.) I am proud of her and my nephew that they have resolved everything amicably and with respect in order to give their six-year-old son a sense of security and love for both parents.

3. Today was the most miserable of the days. I learned that one of the senior leaders (above me) got into trouble for not doing his portion of a project that we have been working on together. So, he told the CEO that I was the one who had fallen through on the project. I was shocked, but there is not much I can do because of the relative statuses of all involved. I just have to relax and assume that the CEO will eventually find out the truth on his own. Life is like that: truth does have a way of ultimately coming out.

4. To add insult to injury, the CEO referred to a major reorganization at our big pow-wow this morning and looked directly at me. I know he has significant respect for me (after all, I just got that very nice bonus), but I certainly wish that he would consult with me about any reorganization that will affect my division and my employees. As it is, I will have to wait until the pieces start falling into place. I brainstormed this afternoon with my most trusted subordinate. We are planning for several possibilities so that we can have the best possible outcome for our employees. I will land on my feet. I am a permanent employee, and unless I really mess up my work (hopefully, unlikely), I don't have to worry about moving into a similar or better position than where I am. However, the employees who work for me are used to being empowered, and none of the other divisions empower people. Sometimes, I feel quite isolated in a sea of peers and bosses. Well, God put me in this job, so I assume God will control where I end up. (Note: Pow-wow print for sale from Lydia Dillon-Sutton.)

5. All these stressful machinations were accompanied by meeting after meeting. At least, two long meetings every day occupied my working hours all week. Since I find it difficult to sit still, I truly overloaded on meetings this week. When I have a lot of meetings, I end up having to do my paperwork in the evening. This happened every day this week. Boring! Tiring! I fell asleep on the couch every day, checking my personal email.

6. There was one bright spot at work: lunch. Thursday's lunch was much more successful than my last business lunch when I met with a colleague at a local fish restaurant -- except he went to the one on the north side of town and I went to the one on the south side (20 minutes apart). This time, a Greek colleague I have not seen in four years returned from Greece, called me, and we met at the local Greek restaurant. The only thing better than eating Greek is eating Greek with a Greek!

7. Cats are great companions. I think Murjan, who is a very sensitive cat, must have felt some of my stress. All week he stayed at my side every minute I was home, meeting at the door, wanting to be petted or have his belly rubbled, snuggling against me, curling up on my lap, licking my face. He created an easy de-stress environment for me. I rescued him in Jordan a few years ago, and he rescued me from my stress a few days this week. Life is balanced!

Wishing for you a balanced weekend!

7 Quick Takes Friday #45

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

1. Earlier this week I described the "first" day of this week: Saturday. On Saturday I went to the ball conducted each year at our organization. (You can read about my attire dilemma here: Going to the Ball. The attire decision was not the only dilemma the ball presented. Upon arrival, I learned that I had been seated at one of the VIP tables beside the assistant in the CEO's office with whom I have been warring for the last three weeks: he has retroactively changed per diem on some of my employees after they have returned from expensive travel locations in order to save costs. It is completely illegal, and I have sent them to the legal office, in addition to carrying on some rather vociferous conversations with the assistant by email. Oh, joy! I was going to get to sit beside him for the entire meal. Surprisingly, it worked out okay. I made an effort to put aside differences for the evening -- and so did he. While at the ball, I got an urgent message from our folks in Afghanistan; documents I had sent earlier had not made it through and were needed immediately. So, like Cinderella, I left the ball early, but, at least, I managed to hold onto both shoes until I reached home. En route, I stopped at my office and re-sent the documents. Right before I left, the dancing started. I spent a few minutes dancing with the head of one of our employee committees, another case of putting aside difficulties since this person I had removed from my directorate last spring. (Another, less-demanding, directorate picked up the employee, fortunately.) It was more than just setting aside hostilities; the employee has come to grips with the understanding that the skill set needed for the complex job in my directorate had not yet been acquired and so, finally, had accepted the transfer as a positive, not a negative, action.

2. My experiences at Mass on Sunday were interesting and a little out of the norm. I already blogged about the man in need of a hymnal/missal: It Was a Small Thing, Really. Fr. Ed always asks if we have any visitors, and because our mission is one of those places that tourists love to visit, we almost always do, and they often come from distant states and, quite often, from foreign countries. Sunday was no different. Fr. Ed queried each person who raised his/her hand as to origin, but he missed the man in the pew in front of me. (I usually sit very near the rear of the church, and it was a bit far for Fr. Ed to see.) So, being an inveterate introvert, I hailed the man after Mass and learned that he was from Kalispell, Montana and, of course, knew where Hamilton, Lizzie's birthplace, is located. It was an interesting conversation and became even more interesting when I learned that he might move here. One never knows what is going on in the heads of the people sitting one pew ahead of you!

3. Sunday evening I took off on a crazy flight from West Coast (California) to east Coast (Arlington, Virginia.) A two-hour flight followed by a two-hour layover (Phoenix) followed by a four-hour flight followed by a two-hour layover (Philadelphia) followed by a one-hour flight. Finally, I landed. I suppose it is a sign of the times that in Reagan National Airport (ironically so named, considering that Reagan did not want National Airport enlarged and modernized) outside Washington, D.C. there were no working faucets or air dryers in the women's room that turned out to be my unlucky choice the morning of my arrival.

4. On Tuesday, I joined three colleagues in briefing a large group of generals and admirals at the Pentagon. The briefing garnered kudos, perhaps because we had rehearsed the briefing -- twice. The most difficult part of that long morning, for me, was not the briefing itself but rather the constant need to check my urge to cough. I am still trying to get rid of the mold of whatever it was that crawled out of the air conditioning, sneaking past the one or two wispy cilia I still have in my bronchial tubes and taking up residence in my lungs, a couple of weeks ago when we were visiting Padre Julio in San Diego. The room at the Pentagon was small; there were many people; all were silent and listening, except for some occasional tough questioning. Any rustle of paper brought all eyes to the person doing the shuffling, so you can imagine the effect of a cough ricocheting off the front wall and ping-ponging to the back of the room. I devoured three full rolls of Hall's cough drops in an effort to tame my excited cough mechanism.

5. Ah, Wednesday! A great day! First, I could sleep in. I had no appointments or meetings in the morning! Yippee! I did have to check out of the hotel at noon, but I could do that in a leisurely manner. Prior to my 1:00 meeting, I was able to accomplish quite a bit of email catch-up and calls that had been put off for days. It seemed like order was returning to my life. And then my life was rolled back 27 years. In 1983, when I first moved to Washington to work at the US Department of State (where I stayed until 1989, when I moved to California), I left the kids with Donnie while I looked for good schools and proper housing, not an easy task in a city about which I knew little. Not wanting to stay alone in an apartment (proving that I am an inveterate introvert), I moved into a large house with four college students, two of whose parents owned the house but were assigned by State Department to South Africa at the time. That made five of us: two guys and three gals. We have remained in touch all these years, but the only I have seen since in person has been K. Lizzie lived with K and her family during her senior year, earning her board and room by babysitting K's kids. (We had moved farther south by then, and Lizzie wanted to graduate from Washington & Lee High School where she had been since freshman year; K lived in the W&L district.) Right after Donnie and kids arrived from Pittsburgh where they had been living (and I with them before my transplantation to DC) D and M married each other, a surprise to the rest of us. Donnie took their wedding pictures, and we reminisced about that. C and S have remained in touch, and S lives in San Diego, so we are state-mates. It was a fun evening, less boisterous than in our early days because we all had to work the next morning and, well, because frankly we are all a bit older. The evening began with Indian food for dinner, blossomed into a round-robin telephone call with S in San Diego, and ended with my spending the night with K before she took me to the airport Thursday morning. (In photo, from left: C, me, M, D, K.)

6. Thursday morning put an adrenaline-and-tears end to the pleasantries of the night before. Shock, really, was the state I began the morning in, and I am still in shock. A good friend and the leader of our Bible Studies program, I learned through an email, had simply not awakened in the morning. His wife has been quite ill, and he has been her caretaker. No one, including the doctors, ever thought that he was ill. Now he is dead, and no one knows why. The funeral will be on Monday. It was a sad, numb day -- all the way home through all my return flights and drives. I still do not know what to make of it. I have now received calls from several people, all of whom are in the same state as I am. Sr. Maria was the one who learned what happened, but even she does not know why, just what. Of course, too, we are all concerned about the sick wife, who is also a friend of ours. Her daughter will be taking care of her; that much is clear since the daughter lives at home with her. One thing gives me consolation. Last year, when he and she celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary and, being on a very limited income, had no plans for a party or eating out, let alone traveling anywhere, I learned that their anniversary was on the evening of our Bible Studies class, which my friend was prepared to lead that day. So, without telling him, I ordered Middle Eastern food from the city near where I work (his favorite food and not obtainable in the town where we live) and brought it back, along with a cake, to celebrate the anniversary there. As luck (and mybe more than just luck) would have it, Fr. Ed worked late that day, so he joined us in the celebration. I know that my friends enjoyed the surprise very much. Little did I know that they would not make their 51st! How happy I am that I could make their 50th memorable! I am also more committed than ever to being thankful for every day I have, knowing that none of us know which of our days will be our last, and to making the most of each day for the glory of God because each day that passes is a day we don't get back while the days before us are numbered. That is how my friend lived. He was an example for all who knew him.

7. If Thursday was not enough of a shock, I got a further electrifying input at work today. A number of employees and I are on salary supplements because our pay scale is not in keeping with the average for our field while our jobs are more demanding than most in our field. I learned today that effective immediately all salary supplements would be cut by 2/3. I have a salary that is among the highest in our organization so I cannot complain because I will be in better shape than most, but it will take so belt-tightening to manage expenses -- and the timing is not good since I am still helping Shane and Lemony in the wake of his taking a lower-paying job after being fired because of Nikolina's medical bills: Clan under Siege). I spent part of today giving the bad news to people and the rest of the day getting the paperwork in so that at least they can get the 33% pittance. Well, at least, we all have jobs. Not everyone can say that. While my employees were shocked, they were nonetheless grateful that they are employed. One must look at the bigger picture and, as Pollyanna would say, find something to be glad about. I am not only glad that I have a job but also that I have such terrific employees who also look for the "glad" in their lives.

Hoping that you have a pleasant weekend -- quiet, calm, and no shocks! Be glad!

Going to the Ball

As I emulate Cinderella and head off to this year's ball, I will leave a post for the sharing in my absence. First, let me say that I am not the ball type. I would rather be hiking mountains than sipping tea. But, I do not always get to choose. As one of the more visible leaders of our organization (combination of high post and big mouth), I cannot ditch the annual ball, much as I would like to.

Last year I wrote a post that garnered a fair amount of comments and discussion about my dilemma in what to wear. (I had actually been able to avoid earlier balls for acceptable reasons, but I had no acceptable reason last year, and so I appeared upon demand.) I could not bring myself to spend hundreds (or dozens) of dollars on the required attire: tuxedo or gown. There was so much more I could do of value with that kind of money, and there was also that Franciscan vow of poverty. So, I decided to wear a dress from Jordan that I had purchased there for $5 and that would look dressy in the USA although I had some serious doubts when I arrived and started to mix in among the tuxedos and ball gowns. (You can read the post here: VIP or VOP or Both? It includes a larger discussion of the decision-making process and results).

The most evident result was the reputation I gained by wearing ethnic dress. Everyone who did not attend the ball heard about it. This year, a few weeks ago, several people who had been to their home countries in the last few months brought me local dresses, asking me to wear them in honor of their culture. (I ensured that they had bought them for $25 or less, the ethical limit our organization places on gifts from employees to supervisors.) I understood the intent. They were not bribes; they just wanted to feel that their senior supervisor respected and even liked their cultures. Of course, I do. I have been to most of their countries and speak most of their languages. Wherever I am, I try to blend and often succeed. I felt honored by the requests. The situation, however, contains its own dilemma: which of the six ethnic dresses and four ethnic shawls should I wear?

Actually, I have decided on none of them. I will wear that $5 Jordanian dress again. Then, I will find other occasions to honor all those who have requested it through the gift of their ethnic attire.

Interestingly, I may have started something. This year's ball announcement again listed tuxedos and gowns as acceptable attire but added "or culturally appropriate attire." Never think that one person cannot create change!

[Note: Image above drawn by Tom Dubois -- click here to see more of his beautiful art work, which is for sale.]

God's Crazy Math

Although most of my bi-weekly salary is already spoken for before it arrives by bills, children’s needs, and routine living expenses, I do make donations to those causes to which I am led. A couple of years ago, I began sending $10/week to one cause only. Tt was all I could afford on my tight budget, or so I thought. Once I began the routine donation, it became possible to double it, then double it again, and again. I am now up to $210/week with that donation. I have also been able to add other donations to which I have been subsequently led: $110/week for donation #2, $20/week for #3, $15/week for #4, $12.50/week for #5, and $7.50 a week for #6. Each started out as a $10 weekly donation, then grew a dollar or two at a time until the older ones became sizable.

No, I did not win any lotteries, and I have no idea where the money comes from. It just comes, and I am certain that as a result, the lower donation amounts will increase in the same ways that the larger ones did. Before anyone thinks that I am simply being humble about my riches, let me confirm that my salary alone would not cover these donations. These are God’s causes, however, and God covers them through many small financial surprises, such as being able to use per diem to provide $1000 for the children of Palomar, Colombia. I save pennies, and God turns them into dollars. I share dollars, and God multiplies them multiple-fold. From out of nowhere come unexpected bonuses, a higher-than-normal (i.e. higher than the cost of living) salary increase, unexpectedly good royalties, and, when gaps appear, a paid consultation that appears without my seeking it through a phone call from someone whom I may or may not know in need of my professional expertise. I empty the coffers. God replenishes them to a fuller level than before.

Similarly, a financial dilemma with the IRS left me $11K in the hole with nary a cent in savings in late 2006. God not only took care of that but gave me more –- enough to pay the tax accountant and donate $400 to a retreat center struggling to rebuild after a fire. I figured that the extra money belonged to God and so found a way to return it to God through the retreat center.

It’s the same way with God’s credit card, about which I have blogged on several occasions. The latest need was $500. Last week, on Saturday, I put $500 on the card for a couple in need, figuring that I could expect $50 in immediate return from others wanting to help out. On Monday, I got $90 in donations from others wanting to help. I turned around on Tuesday and charged $82.50 to the card in order to secure frequent-flyer miles help the sister of a friend and her two children escape from an abusive husband. The friend paid back the $82.50 and added $118 to help pay off God’s credit card balance from the earlier charge. The rest will come. I have learned to trust God’s crazy math.

P.S. I just have to add this note for anyone who reads this post again or later: the rest of the money to pay off the credit card came the next day after I received the $118! Yippee! Now I have money for someone else in need.

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.

The Grace of a Lost Wallet

This evening as the cab driver pulled up in front of Dulles International Airport, I reached into my purse for my wallet... Oh, perhaps that introductory sentence had better be explained since the last time I posted here I was in Ohio. As Donnie and I wended our way back across the USA to California with Noelle and Doah, following my nephew's wedding this past weekend, I received a phone call from my boss.

"Where are you right now?" he asked.

I looked out the window. This was an easy question. "Somewhere in the middle of the Mohave Desert," I replied.

The next question was not as easy, but there was clearly only one right answer. "Can you attend a meeting in Washington, DC tomorrow morning? It is an urgent matter, and the CEO has asked for you to accompany him."

Hm. Let's see. I looked at the GPS. We were on a two-way road, meandering through the desert in the same way that desert plants spring up from seeds strewn by meandering breezes, i.e. without much direction except as the road took us. Almost 400 miles still to go. Hm. Projected arrival time: 7:30 p.m. I read the stats to my boss.

"Oh, that will be cutting it too close to catch a transcontinental flight."

"Ah, wait," Donnie chimed in. "That time is with dropping off both Noelle and Doah." They live in different cities from us.

Donnie punched in our home address. Up popped a pleasant time: 4:30. "Yes, I can do it," I told my boss, "if I take the red-eye from San Francisco." United Airlines has a wonderfully efficient 5-hour non-stop flight from San Francisco to Washington, DC, and since I can sleep easily on planes, I would not arrive too tired.

So, Donnie dropped me off at home, then went on to deliver Noelle and Doah to their homes. He returned right on schedule: 7:30. Then he drove me, newly washed and dressed in business attire, to San Francisco to catch my plane.

And that is why I was in the cab this evening, searching for my wallet. I wanted to give the cabbie cash and not put the tip on my business credit card. I searched, and I searched again. The wallet is large, not small. It could not hide. It was definitely gone, lost, but not likely purloined. I think I must have dropped/left it somewhere.

After entering the airport, I sat down and zipped off a note to one of the people who work in our Washington office, where the CEO and I had spent some time preparing for our "urgent" meeting downtown. Perhaps the wallet fell out there and was still on the floor. So, I await her response because clearly by the time I had made it to the airport, she had left for the day.

While I wait, all kinds of scenarios pop into my mind. Who might find the wallet, and what might he/she/they do with it? It contained sixty dollars. Fortunately, the money was withdrawn on a credit card -- yes, I will have to repay it, but at least it wasn't my grocery money for the week or a draw-down of my checking account, and my per diem will be more than that. It contained no credit cards; I keep my money and credit cards in separate places just because I am ditsy enough to lose one or the other periodically. It did have some stamps from by-gone years; none that would send a letter anywhere this year. It also had some of my business cards so anyone who finds it will know where to send it!

Now, it will be interesting to see if I get it back. With the money? Without the money?

One happy scenario has a kindly and honest person finding it and, seeing the business cards, dropping the wallet into the mail to me, money and all. Or, without the money.

Another happy scenario has an honest person calling me or writing me at the coordinates on my business card and letting me offer to pay for the mailing of the wallet and/or letting me offer an award.

Another scenario, sadly, has a person finding it, seeing the money, taking the money, and throwing the wallet away. Hm, what might that person do with the money? Give it to someone who needs it? Use it because he or she is desperate for money for his/her family and sees the wallet as an unrequested gift or a requested one. Use it out of sense of entitlement or with an internal commitment to return it when able (but not realistically likely ever to be able). Or, using it, and years from now, having not returned it, deciding that since the money cannot be returned, s/he could pass on the same amount to another person -- any person anywhere in need.

I really like to think that perhaps my lost wallet will help someone. (And, since giving up frustration for Lent last spring, I surprisingly -- or maybe not so surprisingly -- feel no frustration at losing the wallet; after all, at this point, I personally have no way to control the outcome.)

I know, though, that it is just as likely that it will be found by a reprobate, who will take the money without a twinge of conscience, and use it to buy booze or something else equally unsavory and unhealthy. Sigh! My first reaction is, "Well, s/he will get his or her comeuppance when everything is over and done with. God will make sure that this person gets punished for his/her dishonesty."

But wait, what if that person repents at some point for all his/her acts of dishonesty. Then, there is no punishment. The grace of God forgives completely -- even the expenditure of my money by someone else. So, I lose the money, and someone else gains it, unfairly, and ultimately, perhaps even sooner rather than later, is washed clean of any wrong doing by the grace of God!?? Now, is this fair? Am I supposed to like this scenario?

Oh, yes, I do like even this scenario. After all, I have needed the grace of God; still do. So, if the choice is between getting my money back and having someone receive the grace of God, is there really any need to think about a preference? Is there really any need even to ask that question?

Oh, I do believe in the grace of a lost wallet!

For a Few Silver Coins

Once a man heard about a place where people worshipped a tree.

"These people are under a delusion. They have replaced the glory of the transcendent God, the secret of all that is alive, with a mere tree? I must save them from this path. I must cut down this tree."

And so the man climbed on his horse and headed towards the tree. When he got there, he picked up his ax and began to strike at it. People ran to him, yelling:

"Stop. This is our most sacred tree."

But everyone who tried to push him away from the tree failed. He was simply too strong and too determined. When everyone was about to give up, an old man approached him and said:

"Listen my friend. The truth is that you have severely surprised these people. They are all very devoted to this tree and they will be very hurt if they see it cut down today. However, if you were to wait just till tomorrow, they will be far more prepared mentally to see their special tree cut down. Meanwhile, here is a bag of silver coins. It's not a bribe of course. Give it away in charity or use it for some good purpose. Then come back tomorrow and you can cut down the tree. I promise it will still be here waiting for you."

The old man's words seemed very convincing. After all, what would a day possibly change? And as for the silver coins, it's true, he could think of many good ways to spend them.

And so he returned to his town. First, he used a few silver coins to help an old widow he knew. But later, he began to use the coins to buy meat, milk and honey.

"Its ok," he would comfort himself, "I'm simply trying to stay strong and fit so I can perform good deeds."

When the last silver coin was spent, ten days after he had taken them from the old man, he decided he would now return and cut down the tree. When he arrived, he found the old man along with others prostrating to the tree.

"Move away," he screamed. "The time has come for your tree to be cut down."

But no sooner had he said these words, when a woman approached him and pushed him to the ground. Surprised, the man stood up again and waked towards the tree. This time, a child, no older than seven, approached him and pushed him to the ground. Suddenly, everyone appeared to be stronger than him, far stronger than him. The faces that only ten days ago were full of fear were now full of contempt.

"Cut down our tree? Who do you think you are to cut down our tree?"

"We'll cut your head off if you try this again!"

But the words of the old man echoed within him the most:

"There is nothing weaker than that which can be stopped with silver!"

-----------------------
The above story is excerpted from a book, Metaphors of Islamic Humanism, by my friend, Dr. Omar Imady, copyright 2005. I have previously shared excerpts from this book: Destiny!?? and The Angel in the Desert.

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.

Vengeance Is Mine! Yes!! No?

Each year every person in our organization is evaluated for the possibility of being given a performance bonus. The bonuses range from a few dollars to a few thousand dollars, depending upon the points given by the supervisor. There is a limited number of points spread throughout any unit within the organization, so obviously the competition is fierce. Sometimes I wish we did not have annual bonuses because in many cases employees are dissatisfied with the bonus, wanting to have had more money rather than being grateful for getting any at all. The bonuses, in my opinion, build a climate of avarice, fortunately in my division for only a few weeks. Is this a case of money being a root of evil? I misspeak. The bonuses are needed and welcome, especially for the lower-paid employees.

Normally, the only stress in the system for us senior managers is the junior managers' lament about limited points for some of their high-performing units. There is an average number of points (i.e. average bonus) granted for each employee. Immediate supervisors then have to shift the points, giving more (higher bonuses) to higher-performing employees, the granted amount to average employees, and a lower number (lower bonus) to employees whose performance is lacking in some way. It is a difficult balance to achieve, but we all try honestly to achieve it.

Or so I thought until a couple of days ago. A junior manager rushed into my office, incensed. It turns out that the Human Relations office, HR, had put one of his employees on the list for another unit. To be fair to HR, our employee had been loaned to that unit for a few months, but he had long ago returned to us. So, that was an HR error. While it would seem to be an easy error to fix, without going into details about how our cumbersome personnel system with its rules and regulations works, at that point in the process, it was nearly impossible to fix without causing the HR staff a lot of embarrassment and an incredible amount of paperwork, including reconvening at least two pay panels, inconveniencing at least a dozen people for about as many hours. The HR director's response to my plea for equitable treatment for all was that the process is not perfect and it is working pretty good actually if only a few people get less than they might deserve.

Now, being on the wrong list would not really have been a problem had the immediate supervisor of the unit to which my employee had been assigned played fair. She had only two employees, and she could have given an equal number of points to both since both had performed equally well. In fact, she had written my employee's supervisor on several occasions about how wonderful this employee was and twice asked to keep him longer. So, one would think that she would give him a good bonus, but no. She took away as many points as allowed from him and gave them to the remaining (her) employee, creating a 2-1 difference in bonus for equal work.

I was furious. I complained to HR. HR would not budge on the matter of who got to make the decision on the points. I finally complained to the local head of our organization, my immediate supervisor, and he weighed in on my side. (He also made an interesting comment about the horrible little manager of the other unit: "She did what any supervisor would have done: grabbed as much as she could for her unit without regard for the larger organization. You don't treat people that way, but most supervisors do.") He directed the HR office to move my employee to our list.

HR still did not budge. I offered to provide additional points from my division since I had saved points for this particular employee. I even began exploring how I might pass on any points that would be given to me personally even though I really wanted/needed my bonus to help meet my pledge to St. Francis Retreat; certainly, though, if my money would go to help someone, then God would help me find more elsewhere for my pledge as He has done ever since I made it. Neither brilliant idea worked: HR insisted that points could not be transferred across divisions.

My prayers for a deus ex machina way out of the situation and especially for serenity and the ability to love someone I really just wanted to kill went unanswered. Actually, I was so occupied with wielding my wrathful sword of righteous indignation as I rushed into the fray that I suspect I might have blindly brushed aside any gift of peace held out toward me. The object of my attack was the unit supervisor in the other division. A level of selfishness that deliberately hurts another being, especially one who has helped you, lies beyond my capacity to understand. I had one thought only: "Off with her head!"

And then it seemed like perhaps a prayer had been answered. I was called to my supervisor's office, together with a couple peers, to decide how to divide up the bonus money for the 200 or so supervisors in our organization. Eureka! My little selfish opponent was on the list! I could do to her what she had done to my employee. Yes! Oh, yes! I was ready for the kill! Vengeance is so sweet! And it had been placed into my hands so easily!

Or had it? The brief sweet taste of payback slid across my tongue at the same time that a repetitive refrain started ringing through my head along the lines of "'vengeance is mine,' saith the Lord." Darn! I really wanted it to be mine!

Yowie! What had I been about to do? Something that Romans 12:19, citing Deuteronomy 32:35, warns against? I have since checked. The Bible is full of references to vengeance but always, from what I have seen, in reference to God's vengeance, not man's against man.

At least, I listen eventually -- usually! So, I had to be fair to her, but how? I really couldn't in my emotional state. So, I recused myself from the decision and explained why to my two counterparts, telling them that I considered her unethical and uncollegial, using a few other choice words that one grants oneself the liberty to use when among friends. Obviously, given that negative view of someone whom I had never met except through a couple of e-notes, I would be poorly equipped to make an objective decision, I confided in my counterparts.

"I am going to recuse myself, too," one of them told me. "I am dating her." Ouch! Clearly, I continue to suffer from foot-in-mouth disease.

So, the horrible manager's bonus was decided by our remaining counterpart. This is, obviously, as it should have been.

I had really wanted the chance to settle the score, to let her feel what it is like to get an unfairly low bonus. I had wanted to be the arbiter of ethics. And then an incredible opportunity had presented itself, but somehow I didn't think that this opportunity had come from God.

I am so glad that I had removed myself from making a decision while under the influence of negative emotions. Yesterday, this little horror of a manager called me and, while unwilling to split the bonus between our employee and hers, offered to scratch our employee off the list she had received from HR. I then could write him into our list for the amount I wanted him to have. I don't know whether or not her moral courage was prompted by her boyfriend. The source does not matter. Rather, her willingness to risk getting into trouble for the benefit of an employee made her an instant ally. We did as she suggested, and HR is going to have to deal with it.

Now I will pray a more appropriate prayer -- for a change of heart in our HR director! Or at least for him to have a heart! (And perhaps for a change in heart in me, too. Where did that to-the-death desire for vengeance come from?)

What Is Better Than Money? Merry Christmas!

We cannot put up a Christmas tree (real or artificial) because one of our cats, Intrepid, eats all kinds of plants and nearly died once from ingesting a lot of plastic branches. (Thanks to a concerned vet who rushed to our house, he is a wonderfully fine herbivore today.) We can, though, note Christmas in many other ways with decorations outdoors, Christmas cookery, finding fun gifts for colleagues, and shopping for the kids and the grandkids.

Ah, shopping for the kids! That is a relatively new and wonderfully pleasant experience. When they were growing up, we never had money for shopping for them. Medical expenses for Doah and Noelle always robbed us of that particular pleasure, and visiting them in the hospital -- Noelle was there Christmas day for a number of years in a row -- meant little time for shopping of any kind had we had any money to engage in that popular activity.

Nonetheless, we have many pleasant memories from Christmases past. For example, one year we had moved into a new place with a fireplace. Donnie had built a warm fire on a cold Virginia night, and we sat together, enjoying the evening while the kids were sleeping. Five-year-old Doah, however, woke up and crept downstairs. Seeing the fire, he began crying loudly.

"What's the matter, Doah?" we asked.

"Ho-ho burn butt!" he sobbed.

For the sake of Santa Claus's posterior, we put out the fire. Doah went off to bed quite happily, satisfied that he had finished his task of ensuring a safe entrance for the deliverer of gifts.

Then there was the year that we had no money at all. Christmas celebrations of the traditional variety were seriously out of the question, especially since we were moving at the end of December. The day after Christmas, as we were taking our first load of household goods to our new residence, we happened to drive past a Christmas tree lot and noticed that the lot had been abandoned. In the back of the lot was a lone, sickly-looking, leftover Christmas tree. Lizzie and Shane jumped out of the car and delightedly dragged it over to Donnie, who lashed it to the roof. Off we went, pleased with our acquisition, although we got strange stares from passing cars. We later decorated our puny little tree with our traditional ornaments, turning it into a festively proud fir. Homemade gifts in the form of food items were the theme of that year. We decorated the tree with cookies, fudge, and other favorite items of the kids that they removed and ate New Year's morning, the day we had decided would be "Christmas" that year.

Other examples of special Christmas events abound. I will share some of them:

(1) Our introduction to Christmas with kids came when Lizzie, our oldest and at barely two years old too young to know anything about Christmas yet -- or so we assumed -- stood in her pajamas at the window as dark settled around our apartment on Christmas eve and suddenly announced, "Santa Claus is coming tonight!" Oh, no! There were no plans for Santa to come that night! Donnie dashed to the car. It was nearly 9:00. The only store still open was a Five-and-Dime, and all Donnie could find in it were little socks for Lizzie's doll. It was enough to make her happy, and from that day we began the practice of one present per child for Christmas.

(2) We tried to make the one gift something very special, but we could never predict our children's strange requests. For example, Lizzie at the age of eight, a precocious fourth grader (she had skipped second grade), asked for a college textbook on genetics. Her interest came from attending the university Russian courses I taught on those days when she had no school and spending the hour in my intermediate Russian course solving problems passed along to her by one of my students who was majoring in genetics. (He also proudly dragged her to the honors program director, who invited her to attend some lecture-form university courses, where she promptly fell asleep. Nonetheless, the director offered to "enroll" her in the honors program as an aspiring college student, but doing so became too complicated. She had to wait another four years before taking her first college course for credit.) When Lizzie, who did become a genetics major for about three years before changing her major to cognitive neuroscience, received her Santa-delivered genetics textbook, she ecstatically raced from house to house in our small neighborhood to display her treasure, then returned home, plopped down beside me on the sofa, and mourned, "None of my friends like my gift! They think it's dumb."

"Well," I asked her, "What do you think? Are you happy with the book?"

"Yes. It's exactly what I wanted, and I really like all the problems at the end of the chapters."

"What did your friends get?"

"They got dolls. That's dumb!" I don't remember Lizzie ever playing with dolls other than the one that needed socks when she was little, a soft pink lamb that my grandmother gave her as a toddler and that she has to this day, and a monkey that my grandmother made for her out of a sock that she eventually wore out.

(3) One year, no one had been in the hospital all year, and we had money for Christmas! It was enough to buy bikes for Shane and Lizzie, pre-teen and teen at the time. Donnie and I were as excited as children to be able to get those bikes for our kids. (Noelle, who is paraplegic, and Doah, who is mentally retarded, never were able to ride a bike, but they got gifts that they had asked for.) That year, Shane and Lizzie had made no particular gift request, and we played a very cruel trick on them. We hung only the bike-lock keys on the tree and hid the bikes behind the house. The keys blended into the ornaments, and after the other gifts had been given out, Shane and Lizzie had nothing. In true Shane and Lizzie fashion, they looked around the tree one more time and said nothing.

"Did all the gifts get passed out?" I asked innocently.

"It seems so," said Lizzie. "Shane and I don't have anything, but that's okay. We don't really need anything. We didn't ask for anything this year."

"Really?" I asked. "Are you sure there is nothing else?" Donnie pulled one of the keys off the tree and handed it to them.

"Oh, oh, oh!" Shane exclaimed, "We have a bike!" Clearly, he assumed that Lizzie and he would be sharing.

"Go look out behind the house," Donnie suggested, and they took off running. We regretted not taking a camera with us when we saw the look on their faces when they caught sight of TWO bikes! They were extraordinarily understanding kids. They knew what it had taken for us to gather the money for two bikes, and they were grateful to us every time they rode them. That was a special Christmas. Donnie got a bike the following Christmas, and for years the three of them would ride together on Saturdays while I spent the day with Noelle and Doah.

The most special Christmas, though, was not one when we had money for gifts but one when we did not. It came two years after the bike Christmas. That year, multiple surgeries drained our coffers dry. Fortunately, we had an artificial Christmas tree with which a relative had gifted us a few years earlier, so we put up the tree and decorated it. Christmas eve ultimately came, and we knew we had nothing for the children. Donnie and I contemplated another year of cookies and fudge, but before Donnie got down to cooking (something he had to do alone -- I am such a bad cook, I would have wasted the ingredients in preparing inedible foodstuffs), one of us -- I don't remember which -- had a scathingly brilliant idea, to quote Hayley Mills' character in The Trouble with Angels. Donnie had by then begun working as a computer graphist, and we conceived of making coupons for each of the kids for one-on-one activities with Mom or Dad: a snack at McDonald's, a special lesson in one of our specialties, private walks, an activity that the child would choose, and so on. Each child received a book of twelve coupons that could be redeemed at will during the year. They loved them, and they used every one of those coupons! That year remains our favorite. In spite of our annually increasingly brighter financial status, no year matched that one for that year Christmas lasted not one day but twelve months.

The end: As I was writing this post, nostalgia made me turn to Donnie and start reminiscing about that very special Christmas. We want to repeat it. So, we have just decided to give our children and grandkids coupons for future joint activities this year. As for the money we had set aside for gifts, we are now excitedly planning how to get rid of it and have scads of ideas about where to distribute it. I will add a PS later, once we have decided where it will go.

Oh, this year is going to be such a great Christmas!

Friends Are God's Way of Taking Care of Us

A friend sent me the following story. It is too good not to share even though neither of us knows the source other than that it is reputed to have been written by a Denver hospice physician. (The quote in the title is by Eeichido Oda, author of One Piece, in which Monkey D. Luffi, the protoganist, makes this comment about friends.)

Here is the physician's story:

"I was driving home from a meeting this evening about 5, stuck in traffic on Colorado Blvd., and the car started to choke and splutter and die - I barely managed to coast, cursing, into a gas station, glad only that I would not be blocking traffic and would have a somewhat warm spot to wait for the tow truck. It wouldn't even turn over. Before I could make the call, I saw a woman walking out of the quickie mart building, and it looked like she slipped on some ice and fell into a gas pump, so I got out to see if she was okay.

When I got there, it looked more like she had been overcome by sobs than that she had fallen; she was a young woman who looked really haggard with dark circles under her eyes. She dropped something as I helped her up, and I picked it up to give it to her. It was a nickel.

At that moment, everything came into focus for me: the crying woman, the ancient Suburban crammed full of stuff with 3 kids in the back (1 in a car seat), and the gas pump reading $4.95.

I asked her if she was okay and if she needed help, and she just kept saying 'I don't want my kids to see me crying! ,' so we stood on the other side of the pump from her car. She said she was driving to California and that things were very hard for her right now. So I asked, 'And you were praying?' That made her back away from me a little, but I assured her I was not a crazy person and said, 'He heard you, and He sent me.'

I took out my card and swiped it through the card reader on the pump so she could fill up her car completely, and while it was fueling, walked to the next door McDonald's and bought 2 big bags of food, some gift certificates for more, and a big cup of coffee. She gave the food to the kids in the car, who attacked it like wolves, and we stood by the pump eating fries and talking a little.

She told me her name, and that she lived in Kansas City . Her boyfriend left 2 months ago and she had not been able to make ends meet. She knew she wouldn't have money to pay rent Jan. 1, and finally, in desperation, had called her parents, with whom she had not spoken in about 5 years. They lived in California and said she could come live with them and try to get on her feet there.

So she packed up everything she owned in the car. She told the kids they were going to California for Christmas, but not that they were going to live there.

I gave her my gloves, a little hug and said a quick prayer with her for safety on the road. As I was walking over to my car, she said, 'So, are you like an angel or something?'

This definitely made me cry. I said, 'Sweetie, at this time of year angels are really busy, so sometimes God uses regular people.'

It was so incredible to be a part of someone else's miracle. And of course, you guessed it, when I got in my car it started right away and got me home with no problem. I'll put it in the shop tomorrow to check, but I suspect the mechanic won't find anything wrong.

Sometimes the angels fly close enough to you that you can hear the flutter of their wings."

I know how the writer feels every time God calls upon me to use His credit card.