good for the soul

I stink at Lent, so I suppose I need to embrace it

I’m enjoying a stay-at-home day, which essentially means nothing … same thing, different setting. But I had trouble sitting down at my desk to get some work done because the clutter in my home office is just, frankly, out of control. It’s the dumping ground for all papers and things of “value” that don’t get pitched when the house is straightened. You know, the items one looks at, thinks they’re important, but not important enough to address at the moment.

My desk is a depository for important stuff that is soooo important, the dates have expired, passed me by, and become irrelevent. Yeah, because that’s useful.

A couple of years ago I joined Fly Lady and decluttered my life. Satisfied that I had been effective, I slipped back into my careless ways, which of course brings me to today and a stack of, let’s be honest, crap that has settled into piles all around me.

Don’t get too judgmental, the living room looks nice.

But here’s the problem: that’s external. It’s what a casual guest would see. The truth of my existence lies behind closed doors.

A little like my spiritual life? Hmm. How about a lot like my spiritual life. Oh sure, I say the right things, go to church, give alms to the poor. In public. What am I doing in private? I’m afraid it looks like my office — dusty and not at all conducive to any kind of healthy prayer life. Gotta dust in there, too.

So here’s the plan. I’m going to declutter my body and soul. I’m going to do the 40 Trash Bag Challenge, renewed this year over at Faith & Family (read Danielle Bean’s post here) to declutter my house.

And then, I’m going to do that other challenge, you know, Lent. That one’s a little tougher. I’m usually better with a physical challenge, so I’m going to go on a spiritual diet. A change in my praying habits. If I can find 30 minutes a day to dump the clutter in my life, I need to find 30 minutes a day to fill that void with something healthy.

What that is yet, I don’t know, but I’m sure I’ll think of something. Rest assured it’s going to start with the Sacrament of Reconciliation.  The point is, I’m going to be exhaling the toxic waste, and inhaling the fresh air.

Join me?

thistle nor thorn do I grow

When I started teaching last century (ha, that amuses me, so I said it that way) I found myself overwhelmed by a smart group of high school seniors jaded beyond belief. It didn’t matter what we read, it was always stupid and always inconceivable that they could connect with what they considered to be ridiculous scenarios in the stories. It was clear to me as a novice that it was all my fault for failing to communicate the beautiful expression of the human condition found in literature.

Crushed, I shared my disappointment with a veteran teacher who had taken me under her wing in order to save me from myself. She offered me some sage advice that I have almost always followed. She told me never to teach a poem that I loved.

The “almost always followed” is important because sometimes I take a risk and follow my heart. As with any risk, sometimes I win and sometimes I lose. When I win, it’s a beautiful thing.

When I lose (and it happens often enough to make me sad — but not so much that I would quit trying) it makes me sad in a million directions, like a little kid showing her magnum opus to her mommy and being shoo-ed out of the kitchen. Or the puppy greeting his master with the paper in his jaws, only to be rebuffed. Or the teacher sharing a meaningful poem and being laughed at for being sentimental.

Ouch. That last one stings a little.

So, today I did it again. Shared a simple poem that I was surprised to find in a composition book. I found the translation wanting, so I shared the original, too. To a room full of blank stares. And a bored yawn.

Go ahead and rip out my heart and stomp on it, but please do it quickly. Thank you.

Here’s the original poem, a few lines from José Martí called, aptly, Simple Verses/Versos Sencillos XXXIX

Cultivo una rosa blanca,
En junio como en enero,
Para el amigo sincero
Que me da su mano franca.

Y para el cruel que me arranca
El Corazón con que vivo
Cardo ni oruga cultivo:
Cultivo la rosa blanca.

And here’s the translation that was in the book, and too literal for me:

I grow a white rose,
In June as in January,
For my sincere friend
Who gives me his hand frankly.

And for the cruel man who tears from me
The heart with which I live,
Thistle nor thorn do I grow:
I grow the white rose.

I’m not a fan of that, so I made a minor change which I think captures a different subtleness:

I grow a white rose,
In June as in January,
For my true friend
Who gives me his hand unconditionally.

And for the cruel one who tears from me
The heart with which I live,
Thistle nor thorn do I grow:
I grow a white rose.

I think it looks more balanced, too, with the long 4th and 5th lines. So there you have it, my heart on my sleeve this week. Be gentle.

in the “those without sin throw the first stone” category

It seems like I’ve been having a little bit of fun with Trekkies lately (please, I know you younger folks prefer Trekker, whatever, Trekkie implies all the geekiness loser aspect of it–from back when it WASN’T cool to like science fiction, and that’s when I liked it).

Anyway, as I was saying, I’ve been enjoying the Trekkie thing, and re-discovered THIS GUY who has a blog and podcast about the Bible in KLINGON!  Save the mockery for another day, guys, okay? I’m actually being serious here. See, I’m even wearing my Starfleet T-shirt to prove my sincerity.

I really think this is cool. I mean, I’m not compelled to go out and learn Klingon any time soon; I have my hands full with the English, but it’s cool that he’s doing it, and it’s cooler still that he does it while providing reflections on some very key scriptural references.

I’m not gonna get my weekly dose of Jesus there, but I think that in the big picture, what he’s doing is both admirable and entertaining.  I’d like to think that when I write a serious post about the Catholic faith, perhaps in exploring my journey through the joy and revelation as it comes clear to me through my reading and understanding the Catechism, that I can help enlighten someone and make their journey easier.

That’s me being all altruistic and stuff. The truth is —  and I promised myself I’d be honest in my writing — the truth is that I write for myself as as way to explore my thoughts and my feelings. So, if you get something out of it, good for you. If you don’t, well, if you don’t then perhaps it’s moot because I can’t imagine why you’d be coming back.

My point is, and I did have one though I seem to have forgotten it, is that this guy is doing something that he enjoys and seems to be benefiting him probably in the same way that my writing benefits me. And everyone who is moved by it as a bonus.  So let’s not tease him today.

Tomorrow, however, is another day and my Starfleet uniform will be at the cleaners, so it’ll be open season on nerds again.

nuqneh?

The Incredible Rosary Army Reverse Giving Campaign! Yay!

So once upon a time I was a pretty lukewarm Catholic. Tepid. Neither hot nor cold. Worse than a pizza slice that has been sitting out and congealing. Then, through a series of incredible events culminating in my joining Rosary Army and becoming a rosary-making machine (now I also teach people at the Eucharistic Congress), I have found peace and ….well peace. That’s a good thing in today’s world.

I challenge you to check out this fun and very important (really…you never know who needs this) activity that Rosary Army has masterminded! Yes! Instead of asking YOU to send in money, we are sending YOU rosaries to give away! You can send us money, too, but that’s not what this is about.

It has also inspired me to start blogging, so this little piece, translated from the original Spanish, speaks to my conversion.

The Holy Rosary

It’s been a while since I reflect on the graces that I have received by praying the rosary but find that today, on a day that celebrates saying yes to life and to God’s gift of that life through the Walk for Life, I am reminded of those graces, and how they embolden, strengthen, and often console us.

I could say that the rosary changed my life. Perhaps better said, it saved my life. My faith and prayer life had been a lukewarm challenge for more years than it has been on fire for the Lord. So much of that time was spent longing for a better relationship, but not really knowing how to proceed.

It’s kind of like when I was in school and I could see the groups of kids doing really neat things, and I knew that they probably would welcome me to join them, but it was me, shy and feeling awkward, that stood back and didn’t initiate the friendship.

God is like that, I think. He longs for a relationship with me as much as I seek Him. But it is my weakness, my shyness, and sometimes those feelings of inadequacy in not knowing how to pray or what to say that held me back.

By coincidence (are there really coincidences or just opportunities to really see God’s hand in our lives?) at about the same time I was looking for a way to learn to pray, my oldest daughter experienced a retreat where she learned to make all-twine rosaries. She came home excited about the weekend and gave me that rosary as a gift. Her excitement was contagious. You see, the teens learned to make rosaries with the idea that they should pray them after making them, and then pass them on to someone else who would catch the wave.* [more… ]

ogres are like onions…when you peel away all the layers…you find…more layers

I suppose I’m ogre-like in that regard. I’m not one to wear my heart on my sleeve (and yet…). In fact, I am one to add a couple of long-sleeved shirts to the mix, in case that I remove one in a moment of distraction.

So, it may come as a surprise for those of you who know that I have been involved in the humanities for oh-so-many-years that I almost…almost ended up on an oil rig somewhere in the middle of the Gulf working for an oil company as a geologist.

Go ahead. Laugh it up. I’ll wait.

Yes. Life certainly is entertaining. As an undergrad, it turns out that I exhibited certain skills for geology. You might know that I am a NAUI certified diver–you might think that it’s because I love the ocean. That’s true. However, geologists kinda like to study the sea bottom sometimes, too.

My incredible skill set included the uncanny ability to identify all kinds of rocks, even the tricky ones, before having to do other things like scratch it or taste it or pour acid/bases on it. I blame Sister Eileen Murray, GNSH, for instilling in me a grand appreciation for the natural world. That included a deep curiosity about plate tectonics.

It turns out that I was a beast at reading seismic charts in the geology classes. There’s more to that science than earthquakes–there’s physics and chemistry, which interested me less, so much to my professors’ disappointment, I followed my love of the arts to the English department.

Still, my understanding of what happened in the earthquake in Haiti has hit me, pardon the expression, like a ton of bricks because specifically, I studied that fault line, and having had a Haitian professor, knew, in the early 1980’s, that the Caribbean basin is an implosion waiting to happen.

Really, can Haiti handle another hit like this? The aftershocks are going to continue to wreck the island, and in its wake, wreck more lives and livelihoods in a country that already boasts a dismal condition.

I am close to this crisis for a couple of reasons. First, my parish has operated a medical mission in Haiti for years, and I have over the years been an active participant in helping to generate funds for its continued presence and projects in the area of Los Palis. I’m not in health care, so I have no cause to go, but in recent years the building of a parochial school there has gotten my attention and I think I could dust off my French (and here’s another layer, limited Creole) to see what I can contribute.

My father recently challenged me on my interest in Haiti because of our own familial ties to a Caribbean country in a similar dismal condition, Cuba–where poverty and oppression have reached epic proportions.  Short of financially supporting humanitarian missions, both to Cuba and Haiti, I have little else to offer but the opportunity to get the word out through my blog, which has a very small readership, mostly people who know me and have their own ties to Cuba, so to belabor that point here is to preach to the choir. Still, I do what I can.

And that, frankly, leads me to the second reason why this crisis has hit me rather close to home. Many people have perished in the disaster, including the Archbishop, Serge Miot. Now, his life is certainly no more nor no less valuable than any of the the other thousands who perished in this terrible earthquake, but it struck a deep chord in me because my own family still living in Cuba is exposed to all manner of the same kinds of natural disasters, whether earthquake or hurricane. It is especially touching because my uncle, a bishop, and beloved by his diocese lives his life as a shepherd ought — in the midst of his flock to offer them succor and guidance. Last year during the terrible hurricane season, I posted about the destruction of my uncle’s diocese. The Marist community in Miami jumped immediately to the cause to help rebuild the area through monetary and other donations.

We are asked to come to the aid of our brothers and sisters in Christ again. And every time we are called we should jump. It is our charge as human beings to help each other, in the spirit of Christian fraternal love, not out of some notion of karmic reciprocity, but because we understand and know that of the three theological virtues, the one that we are called to at the moment is caritas, charity.

I encourage you to give to any of the number of relief services working to help the victims of the earthquake in Haiti. I often give through Catholic Charities, but there are many. If, like in my uncle’s case last year, you happen to have access or knowledge of services that are providing direct aid, I often think that is a better choice.

And the king will say to them in reply, ‘Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.’  (Mat 25:40)

ninja noodles and the perfectly perfect day

Have you ever had a perfect day? I mean, a day that was absolutely Mary Poppins perfectly perfect all the way through? They are pretty rare. And I had one today.

I worked like a beast, too. I figure I probably put in a 14-hour work day. No kidding. It was perfect anyway.

For starters I slept in til 7 o’clock and then put on some comfy work out clothes and stayed that way til 4 in the afternoon. I did a little Harry Potter prep, got to play with my friends on the Secrets of Harry Potter and convinced Father Roderick that he should play Farmville, and I noted that he is already a level seven. This from the man who claimed he would not be addicted. We’ll see how that goes. Ha.

And then, after recording Harry Potter I worked. Like a beast (I think I said that already). Anyway, I have a lot of paperwork to catch up with, both at the college and for SQPN, so to say today was a productive day is an understatement. Still, it’s good to work, especially when it’s all stuff that is enjoyable.

After lunch I had a little business meeting that got me focused on a couple of things, but more than anything, tickled me and gave me the blog title. Wanna know what a ninja noodle is? It’s the patch of cold noodles that you encounter after microwaving pasta. You know, that random patch that somehow avoids detection by those dangerous DNA altering microwaves. That makes me laugh.

It makes me laugh because it’s so simple. I think that’s why I have so thoroughly enjoyed today. There is an element of simplicity in the activities and the relationships with everyone I encountered that put me at ease and gave me joy.

Funny to find that in a noodle, huh?

The soundtrack of my day, courtesy of my little philips mp3 player included about 2 hours of Marvin Gaye on repeat. Scandalous, I know. Even more scandalous is the song: Let’s Get It On. I had it on repeat and listened to it about twenty times before I realized that it had played on repeat. I listen to music for the white noise when I’m writing, and now, Marvin Gaye is forever imprinted in my psyche. Let me tell you that it’s not even a bad thing, really. I mean, once you get past the overt sexual message of the song it’s kinda nice.

We’re all sensitive people
With so much to give
Understand me, sugar
Since we got to be
Let’s live

Don’t you know
How sweet and wonderful life can be?

You see? That’s not awful. It’s actually pretty nice. I just won’t include the other stuff.

So you see, it was a perfect day. The shit will hit the fan tomorrow, but today…today was grand.

Happy Boxing Day!

Perhaps better known as the Feast of St. Stephen, so happy thoughts for all the Stephens, Steves, Estebans, etc. Our friends to the north and other countries with strong UK influences celebrate today, the second day of Christmas pretty much the way the Yanks treat the day after Thanksgiving. You can read the wikipedia article here.

I rather like the notion of the almsgiving although I am somewhat amused (or offended) by wikipedia’s assertion that one must give to the “inferior” people. Wow. Does it really say that? HA! I am motivated to scavenge through the house in a simplification ritual and make a trip to Goodwill though.

Anyway, as I am neither named Stephen nor living in Canada or Australia or the UK, I treat today as that obnoxious moment of reality when all the messes in the house must be taken care of with dispatch. That includes trying to figure out what to do with the weird and useless gifts, of which luckily, I received none this year. Nevertheless, there’s still time — it’s still Christmas after all.

I shall also not be re-gifting. Those of you who gave me questionable gifts can breathe a sigh of relief. If you’re interested, though, there’s a great site for trading and, if you have a sick sense of humor like me and wish to purchase such a gift, then entertain yourself at the Bad Gift Emporium.

This is maybe my favorite kitschy gift of the season, no doubt inspired by my niece’s slippers:

Merry Christmas!

I know I post this every year, but I love it. In fact, the whole episode is great. And while I maintain that my favorite all-time Christmas program is the original Grinch Who Stole Christmas, this here –that’s what it’s all about.

Enjoy, and may you and your families have a blessed Christmas season.

are you ready?

For every perceived betrayal that my body delivers to me as I age, I am consoled by the graces that come with aging – the most important and appreciated is wisdom. I’m still nowhere near that place where the patience to be quiet and wait comes naturally, but I’m working on it. At least on an intellectual level I understand it. That knowledge, however, doesn’t make the exercise any easier.

It seems that impatience and wanting it now is a condition of the times in which we live. If we can’t access that website in a click, we get frustrated. If there are two cars ahead of us at the drive-thru, we feel put out.

If God doesn’t answer our prayers on the spot, we are quick to accuse Him of not listening.

Once, I fervently asked God to give me patience. He accommodated me rather nicely. By providing seemingly endless opportunities to practice being patient! I’m not bitter; I got what I asked for. I learned that I cannot control the clock – but I can use it.

It wasn’t an easy lesson to grasp, but once I understood it, the peace that came to me was almost overwhelming. Letting go of that need for control (and by the way, a control I never had) was not just liberating, but empowering.

I’d love to say that I have a singular purpose in my faith that allows me to live my life in perfect concert with what God wants for me. Unfortunately, I regularly fall short of my potential. The human propensity to sin, whether through commission or omission, is alive and well in my heart. The thought would ordinarily depress me except that I have finally understood that God has given us a powerful gift in the sacraments of Holy Communion and Reconciliation. One nourishes our spirit, and the other heals it.

 Advent, as a time for preparation, capitalizes on the graces of those two sacraments in such a profound way, that the effect is to slow us down rather than agitate us. If only we’d stop and see it.

I have wasted innumerable opportunities for peace over the years because of my impatience and failure to see the opportunity in the Advent Season. As a child, Advent didn’t even exist for me! There was Thanksgiving, and then a countdown to Christmas morning. Oh, and there was Baby Jesus in there somewhere. Sort of.

That attitude continued as I became an adult, only the problem was in reverse. I was counting the days because I had so much to do that the days would not be enough. I had gifts to buy. Food to cook. Parties to attend (obligations, not fun). A house to decorate. Oh. And Jesus was in there somewhere. Sort of. Maybe at the Christmas pageant where I had to dress up a kid as a shepherd.

I forgot – or perhaps better stated – I failed to realize the gift of Advent. Christmas morning was coming, whether or not I had picked out the right tinsel. In the end, the only thing that mattered was whether or not I was ready for the real Christmas, not just the celebration of the birth of Our Lord, but ready for his return.

The Catechism states, “When the Church celebrates the liturgy of Advent each year, she makes present this ancient expectancy of the Messiah, for by sharing in the long preparation for the Savior’s first coming, the faithful renew their ardent desire for his second coming. By celebrating the precursor’s birth and martyrdom, the Church unites herself to his desire: ‘He must increase, but I must decrease’ “ (524).

 Advent is a time for quiet prayer and public prayer. That’s why traditions such as a family Advent wreath are powerful. We pray and reflect and get ready for Our Lord.

That’s why parish missions are popular at this time of year. We gather as a community, united in our powerful need to seek the Lord, just as the Magi did.

And that’s why we are shrouded in purple – a majestic color often misunderstood as a symbol of kingly splendor, but also used as a symbol for penance. Most of us are quick to clean the house and make it presentable for the celebration…let’s also clean house in our souls and embrace the Sacrament of Reconciliation.

I urge you to slow down during this Season of Advent, and embrace the opportunity for preparation. We can still prepare for Christmas with our shopping sprees and decorating sessions, but we should also keep in mind that these physical acts of preparation for Christmas day are not enough. We must also seek the greater spiritual preparation for the coming of Our Lord.

Get ready. You have time.

This blog posts appears as part of the Catholic New Media Advent Calendar. Follow the link to see what else is going on over at CatholicRoundup.com