Cat Humans

A few years ago, Iris learned about catechumens in her religious education class at St. Mary's. Her imagination caught fire and we had cat-human pictures all over the house. Now, tonight, she is one, though not in the way she originally thought of it. Two of my babies will be baptized and enter the church tonight, though they'll step into the font to do it. Praise, God!

30, 40, 50

This year I am the answer to life, the universe, and everything. That means that clever marketers think I am worried about aging and boy do they have the products for me. Scattered across the spectrum of lazy reading I am offered beautiful pictorials of famous people who have spent their lives cultivating their appearance for a living, some 30, some 40, some 50.  I want to see those glamorous images spliced with ordinary women who don't have two hours a day to workout or hundreds of dollars to spend on creams, because that's a great 30, 40, 50, too.  Then I want to go one step further and I want to see 30, 40, 50 year old refugees or others who have suffered the affects of grinding poverty and war.  After that, everyone should take a deep breath and change the direction of their attention. 

After all those pictures, what do we really need to do to improve the world? I don't know everything, but somethings are obvious.

Cross Raising

GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD," John writes, "that he gave his only son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life." That is to say that God so loved the world that he gave his only son even to this obscene horror; so loved the world that in some ultimately indescribable way and at some ultimately immeasurable cost he gave the world himself. Out of this terrible death, John says, came eternal life not just in the sense of resurrection to life after death but in the sense of life so precious even this side of death that to live it is to stand with one foot already in eternity. To participate in the sacrificial life and death of Jesus Christ is to live already in his kingdom. This is the essence of the Christian message, the heart of the Good News, and it is why the cross has become the chief Christian symbol. A cross of all things—a guillotine, a gallows—but the cross at the same time as the crossroads of eternity and time, as the place where such a mighty heart was broken that the healing power of God himself could flow through it into a sick and broken world. It was for this reason that of all the possible words they could have used to describe the day of his death, the word they settled on was "good." Good Friday.

Frederick Buechner

Intercessions for Holy Thursday

The Father anointed Christ with the Holy Spirit to proclaim forgiveness to those in bondage. Let us humbly call upon the eternal priest:
– Lord, have mercy on us.

You went up to Jerusalem to suffer and so enter into your glory,
bring your Church to the Passover feast of heaven.
– Lord, have mercy on us.

You were lifted high on the cross and pierced by the soldier’s lance,
heal our wounds.
– Lord, have mercy on us.

You made the cross the tree of life,
give its fruit to those reborn in baptism.
– Lord, have mercy on us.

On the cross you forgave the repentant thief,
forgive us our sins.
– Lord, have mercy on us.

From The Divine Office

And She Said, "Oh, Its You."

Knot Not Naught

tied,woven, macramed
fist in my chest
where God is not
O, Mary, lend me a sword

Cross Word

7 letters
starts with G
O how I love charades.

Thinking

My ideas about God are fairly simple. I believe He exists. I hope He is good. By definition He is incomprehensible. If He is good, then He cares about me. If there is a God, He is good and He cares about me, then things must be better than they seem, even if that is incomprehensible. You don't have to be a Christian to believe that. I choose to be a Christian because if I were a being like God I would make a gesture like Jesus. I would let you know that just like the suffering is killing you, it is killing me too, and just like it wasn't really killing me, it isn't really killing you either. If God is the kind of being I hope for, then He has demonstrated His compassion. He has shown us the truth. Things are better than they seem.

Waking up in the Grave

On Holy Saturday, I woke up in the grave. The night had been spent in one of those repeating nightmares, and we had cleaning the basement on the agenda. The basement is our classroom, and all those educational toys and manipulatives add up to way too many moving parts and a giant hassle. Easter errands needed running too, and I decided that cowardice was the better part of valor and ran off to do errands while Kurt and the kids got the basement started.
Ladies, you know how that goes. I did improve my mood significantly, which was good since not much had happened since I left. The floor was laid out in masking tape squares which were keyed into little prizes. It was kind of a random bingo game, but the kids were just not able to do the kind of work that needed done without help. Kurt and I got things going, and really, it was one of the best day's work we'd ever spent as a family in the basement. All prizes were earned, and we had done it without getting frustrated with each other.
We had just enough time left to eat dinner and get ready for the Easter Vigil, which was our first ever, and it was wonderful. The candles and the Scripture, I love reverence and the Easter Vigil was my kind of Easter service. I was quickly moving out of the grave and into the new life we were celebrating.
Easter Sunday, the youngest woke up under the weather, so Kurt took the girls to the Protestant service. There were a few hiccups in the day, but they opened opportunities for important dialogue with my children on a day when they felt absolutely loved. All things weighed I came through the Easter season awakened in a deeper way to the new freedoms and possibilities of my life. Much of the bitterness and fear from the past melted away like that old nightmare as I cleaned and celebrated and talked to my children. It wasn't the kind of Damascus road experience my old life was always hoping for, but it was the road to Emmaus. I did wake up to new faith.

Meatloaf in the Middle

This morning our 4th came into our bed and announced that she wanted to be the meatloaf. Yesterday, we'd played a game where she'd been the baloney in the middle of a parent sandwich, but since it had ended with tearful protests that she didn't want to be the baloney, I thought we'd never play that again. It turns out she objects to the baloney part, meatloaf is fine. We don't eat much balogna these days, just lowfat turkey and ham, maybe that is why I get so happy about leftover meatloaf sandwiches. Meatloaf is so comforting. The ingredients are frugal, so there's no guilt about expense. Mom and everybody else you knew growing up made it, so it's very familiar. And now that I'm an independent grownup, I can make it my way with the stuff I like and very, very crusty from going looooooooooong in the crock pot.
Today is the middle of the Easter holiday. The waiting day. When I was a kid it was a day of snooping and fluffing the frills on my dress. I'd try my little hat on over and over hoping not to get caught. If I was really good, I could even spend a few minutes tap dancing in my shiny new shoes. Saturday seemed very long, and just when you didn't want it to be. I had to wait, but at least I knew good things were coming.
Faith is always certain that good things are ahead, but waiting develops the excellent sauce of hunger. We get so weary and hungry when we have to wait for all those good carrots to stop dangling and start falling. I used to hate the waiting, but as I grow more disciplined in my spritiual life, I've come to think of it like meatloaf--inexpensive, familiar and nourishing. I can enjoy it as a feast of its own because perserverance has produced a little character. Waiting doesn't taste like anything when you first begin to eat it, but give it time. It grows you.

Sandals

Run and get your Jesus shoes.
Everybody spread the news.
The Son is kissing all our toes.
Now we can follow wherever He goes.

for my brothers and sisters at Lent

Scentual Satisfaction

Throw open the spice cupboard
Indulge in gustatory gluttony
Follow your nose wherever it leads you


Savor the thought of well-cooked meat
Salivate with the embarrassing abundance barbecue inspires
Let the greed spread across your mind like a grin


Picture piles of produce fresh from the field
Revel in the color and the shapes
Finger the memories lovingly and with gratitude


A true connoisseur prefers simple food simply cooked
Just a bowl of rice perfectly steamed with a pinch of salt

Cup the bowl in your hands
Inhale a pure fragrance
Ahhhhh.

Did you catch it?
The scent of shepherd returned from the pasture
Satisfaction.