Month: July 2017

I didn’t do it. I chose not to scroll my Facebook feed. I kept away from politics, healthcare, world news on terrorism, the gender identity crisis, people who are missing, out of work, molested, sick and dying, the Pope, and pretty much anyone who had a negative opinion about anything.

I didn’t glance at my checkbook or pay attention to the outstanding bills. I didn’t look at the calendar to see how many more days I had left before my kids went off to college, nor did I put one minute of thought into what needed to be purchased before they left (or how we were going to afford it.)

The unfinished projects around the house, the fact that we need the carpets cleaned, rooms painted, and clutter gone through and thrown out were nowhere on my radar. Nope!

My father’s caregiver arrived early, which meant I didn’t have to worry about toileting, dressing, or feeding him breakfast; I was also spared any accidents needing to be cleaned up. In addition, the kids all slept in, making the ambiance around our home peaceful and quiet.

Taking advantage of this rarity, with pillows propped against the headboard of my bed, I settled in with a freshly brewed, piping hot cup of coffee and a meditation on Saint Anne. It’s her feast day, July 26th, which she shares with her husband, Joachim. They are the parents who raised and prepared their daughter, Mary, to hear and accept the invitation of the Angel Gabriel to become the mother of Jesus.

The meditation drew me in. I recollected some of the amazing blessings this patron bestowed upon me and my family through her powerful intercessory prayers, thus setting the tone for the day; a spirit of thanksgiving became my focus and a refusal to allow the attitude of the world to skew my mood, my resolve.

I bolted out of bed, threw on some shorts and a T-shirt, splashed cool water over my face, brushed my teeth, ran a comb through my hair, penciled in my eyebrows, lathered on the sunscreen, and yelled down the hall, “Come on! We’re going to the beach!” And so the day began.

Perfectly content basking in the sun, I observed my youngest daughter and her friend. They were laughing, jumping and diving into oncoming waves like to dolphins. “I love seeing my kids happy.” I thought. “But on top of that, I love seeing them filled with joy, and those two are beaming with it!”

Joy – it’s beyond happiness. Happiness is what you feel when your team wins the Super Bowl, or you ace a test for which you’ve been studying, or you get chocolate cake for dessert. Joy is entirely different in that it wells from deep within and cannot be contained. Sometimes the feeling is so explosive it exits our eyes, runs down our cheeks, and produces this pressure in the chest as if your heart is going to burst wide open! It’s a complete abandonment in knowing you are right with God and the world around you.

The real difference between happiness and joy is that with joy the world could be crumbling down around you, yet there is still an intellectual certainty you are exactly where you should be in time and space; and on a higher plane, God is orchestrating whatever you’re going through to bring about something wonderful. Happiness is an emotion of the moment, void of any connection to God and the universe.

We returned home in enough time to grab a shower and head to 5:30 Mass. Mary asked if she could come, too. I was in a pleasant mood, happy that I could celebrate this feast day in church and offer it up as a “thank you” to God for all he’s given me. It didn’t hit until after receiving communion that my happiness turned into utter joy.

I walked back to the pew and began to thank God for my life (which was an answer to my parent’s prayer invoking the intercession of Saint Anne), my parents, my siblings, my friends, my husband, his job, our children, their friends, their schools, our home, our vehicles, our health, the food on our table, clothes on our backs, shoes on our feet, my father and the caregiver we have for him, our loving community, the holy priests we’ve been exposed to and the formation I have received, the trips and vacations we’ve taken and even the simple nights of sitting and watching a movie together as a family – the list kept going.

I started thinking of the people who were put on my path and how they helped guide me one way or another; some were a good influence and others not so good, but both kinds, I believe, were allowed on this journey to help me become who I am today.  I thought of the jobs I had and the experiences I encountered; again, good and bad. I even thanked Him for those tragic and difficult times when I was led into darkness and thought there couldn’t possibly be any light at the end of my tunnel. I see now, many years later, every one of these instances happened for a specific reason – so that one day they’d lead me to my current place of peace and happiness.

Then I thought about all the times I blatantly spat in God’s face – the times I chose my will over his, having complete knowledge of what I was doing – and yet, his mercy was beyond my selfishness. Even though I acted in complete disobedience at times, after overcoming pride and coming to the point of repentance, he blessed me over and over again with a generosity far beyond that which I was deserving.

There is nothing more humbling than knowing full-well you have grievously hurt someone, either because of your stupidity, spite, or sheer selfishness – guilt gnawing at you, confirming just how unlovable you are – only to have the one whom you hurt see the agony of regret you carry in your heart, forgive you without question, wrap their arms around you, and tell you they love you. Not only do they extend undeserved kindness, they shower you with it!

The tears continued all the way home as I contemplated these things, my spirit soaring higher than a kite. I called a friend who knows me well – one who would not judge me as being a crazy woman – and I told him through the tears that there wasn’t a word to describe the joy I felt at that moment. My friend remembers when I only sought happiness, having no idea what real joy felt like. I could tell there was a lump in his throat and emotion in his heart as he shared in my euphoria. Yes, during that moment I was right with God, right with the world, and I knew this exact point in time had been orchestrated just so I could feel how much He loved me. This was the feeling my friend told me about years ago, but I was slow to grasp. This was what I always wanted, but was too scared to trust and receive.

Hanging up, I looked at Mary sitting next to me in the car. She heard the whole conversation and smiled. “It’s so cool you are this joyful mom.” She reached over and laid her hand on mine, which rested on the gearshift. Even that made a few more tears fall.

“No soul that seriously and constantly desires joy will ever miss it. Those who seek find. To those who knock it is opened.” ― C.S. Lewis

For the cynics out there, I acknowledge it’s most annoying to be around joyful people when you’re miserable. Trust me, I know what this feels like. You want to punch that stupid smile off their lips and hope they fall in a face plant on gravel… at least that’s how I used to feel. But deep inside every miserable person there is a silent envy because you wish you could feel joy, too, but are convinced you never will. The truth is, you can feel it if you want to.

Just like everyone else, I’m constantly hit with struggles: There never seems to be enough money, responsibilities are daunting, attitudes of others are not always forgiving, and life seems down-right unfair at times. But I have come to the realization that when I force myself to get out of the negativity of world and live in a state of thanksgiving for those things I do have – be them small and insignificant – I notice a significant change in my state of mind.

Too many people these days are angry or depressed. They’ve been inundated with a cloud of negativity, reminded of all they don’t have, made to fear the unknown, and are left feeling hopeless. It’s as if they’ve been infected with a debilitating flu which knocked them out, rendering them exhausted, and having no desire to get up, push back the curtains, and bask in the beauty of life. The only antidote to this kind of contagion is to replace those negative thoughts with positive ones.

I wonder how often these people sit and take an inventory of their lives beginning when they were young. Do they think about how often they’ve been shown mercy, or given blessings in both the good times and the not so good? Sometimes when we carry a heavy load, we tend to forget there were good people and good opportunities sprinkled in and among those tough times. It’s these we need to keep in our focus, remembering the many others who are much less fortunate.

Also, it’s become an epidemic for folks to blame their unfulfilled lives on being victims of the dysfunction of others. Is there anyone out there who hasn’t been victimized in some way by another’s dysfunction? Let’s face it, all of us are dysfunctional to some extent! We need to stop excusing away why we can’t be joyful. People or situations don’t take away our joy; it’s available to choose at all times. A big part to obtaining it is acknowledging that God really does have things under control and is constantly trying to reorient us onto a better path. Unfortunately, if we are so infected with negativity, there isn’t much room left to trust and hope in His plan for something great, which could waiting just around the corner.

We all need to curb our appetite for the junk. It’s been said over and over, “You are what you eat”. If you’re stuck eating a diet of negativity, try eliminating snacking throughout the day on depressing news and people’s impugning attitudes. Instead, seek out healthier choices to fill the void like immersing yourself in words, images, and music that encourage, lift the spirit, and provide hope. Most of all, don’t forget to count the blessings scattered throughout your day – they are the calories that fuel joy!

I walked down the center aisle and slipped into a pew near the front; its patina was dark and worn smooth with years of polishing. The old-world style chapel showcased an ornate altarpiece, and stained-glass windows lined the side corridors in lofty panels.  I came here to escape and just be.

This particular evening a choral group was practicing (uncharacteristically) in the sanctuary, making it difficult to quiet my thoughts. On any other night the harmonic voices intertwined with the instrument’s tones and tempos would have been a lovely accompaniment to this beautiful space, but at that moment I only heard a cacophony of shrills.

Annoyed, I huffed trying to find something on which to focus my attention. The altar and ambo were adorned with lovely white orchids amidst a sea of greenery. Candles were lit and the smell of incense began to waft the heights, but my senses were unaffected.

Peace and quiet. That’s all I wanted but it’s not what I was getting. Agitated and ready to depart, I took one more look around then saw it. A simple vase was placed under a small statue in the niche to my left. In it was a handful of bright yellow sunflowers. I closed my eyes and a little smile came over on my lips as an association came to mind.

In 2004, the private Catholic school, where our youngest daughter attends, purchased property to build their permanent campus. The first time I drove by to see it, I was caught off guard by the thousands of sunflowers carpeting the parcel. My first thought was, “How Providential that a garden of monstrances was planted on the land where our children would come to learn about Jesus and, hopefully, become like Him – little vessels radiating pure love into the world.”

To those unfamiliar with the word, a monstrance reverently displays a consecrated Communion Host in a glass receptacle. It’s customarily surrounded by a starburst to replicate how Jesus, being the Light of the World, pours forth his light into our darkness. We use a monstrance in times of special prayer to honor and adore the true presence of Christ in the Eucharist.  (For more on why we honor the Eucharist, see link below.)

The sunflowers in the niche ignited a cavalcade of thoughts. I was no longer distracted by the musicians, but moved to a place of observation and retrospect. The first thing I noticed was how those perky, bright yellow blooms stood out in such a formal chapel. The white orchids more suited the decor; elegantly poised with svelte stems, gracefully bending as if mingling aristocratically amongst one another.

“Those orchids…” I thought, “they are the ones in life who seem to have it all together: beautiful, refined, intelligent; sophisticates who know exactly what to say and when to say it. And refrain from speaking when they know that’s in order, too.”

I was still bemoaning an earlier event. While my heartfelt intent was to compliment someone, it was not received that way; instead, it upset them and was taken as an insult.  I was beating myself up for opening my mouth in the first place. We’ve all been there, some of us more often than others. We speak before thinking and wham! We end up doing the opposite of what we set out to do.  Our words are misconstrued and we feel like a complete idiot, wishing we could hail the TARDIS and go back in time.

A glance towards the orchids then back to the sunflowers. Cheerful, round faces attached to pudgy, thick stems stood crowded in the tiny vase. They didn’t seem to be too concerned about looking sleek or keeping their personal space. On the contrary, they appeared to be enjoying the closeness, gazing outward like a group of happy kindergartners huddled together shoulder to shoulder, smiling at everyone in the room.

Thoughts returned to the flower field and how it reminded me of the children who attended our school. “Innocent”, I mused. They were innocent of the world’s ideology, comfortable in their clumsy, immature bodies, and didn’t pretend to be something they weren’t. Putting on airs would never have crossed their minds. They spoke honestly and openly; having hearts wanting only to love.

Children don’t take what others say and try to read something into their words, suspiciously concocting scenarios in their heads, or overthinking things beyond their competency. When one gives a child a compliment, it’s received at face value, bight-eyed and most appreciatively.

These innocent souls are also quick to forgive when offended and just as quick to accept another’s mercy.  How many times have we seen a child hurt by a playmate and, after an apology, the two quickly resume their play as if nothing happened? No brooding on the part of the afflicted, and no beating themselves up on the part of the afflictor; both understand having fun together is more important.

Matthew 18:3 came to mind, “Amen, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.” We think of heaven as a place of complete joy where one day we’ll eventually enter into its sanctuary of total bliss. But note how Jesus says we’re going to get there: We have to become like children. I doubt he means getting back into diapers. (Though, in most cases, that is what generally happens in our twilight years.) So what does becoming like children look like?

Think about the average toddler. They rely totally on their parents. If they’re hungry, they ask for food. If they’re in need of a hug, they crawl into their parent’s arms. Lonely, they clamor for attention. Scared, they run to daddy and mommy.  They don’t worry about clothes, shoes, or material things. Theirs is the simplicity of humility; an innate understanding of their littleness and complete reliance on someone stronger, wiser and more capable of taking care of them.

Unless they’ve been taught to fear, most children at this age have a tremendous amount of trust in the world around them; they see only the best in people and desire to please. Slow to judge and quick to accept others (defects and all), they are anything but shy in showing affection. Their little hearts are bursting wide-open to share the joy bottled up inside.

I recall the cherub faces of my children at that age as they picked a droopy dandelion from the backyard and presented it to me with all the satisfaction of handing over three dozen roses; or their excitement in honoring me with a handmade card displaying a giant sun shooting multicolored beams out of its center where a rudimentary smiley face had been scrawled. As a parent, these small gestures of love were enough to melt my heart. It wasn’t the size of the gift, it was the love with which it was given.

All these attributes of a child manifest under one condition: having a trust and a security in one who loves them without limits. Before we were introduced to the cruelties of the world, we felt these conditions with our parents. We didn’t worry about materialistic things, have fear or anxiety, second-guess people, or need to guard ourselves. We assumed our parents would take care of our necessities. We approached life with boundless felicity, living in the moment, and absorbing all its goodness; usually with someone else. (Notice, too, how children don’t like being alone – they thrive when connecting with others because they perceive it’s an important element to being fully alive.)

Inevitably, because we are humans dealing with other humans, we get hurt. That’s a plain fact of life. If someone, or many people, let us down or breaks our trust over and again (or if we perceive God has let us down because he doesn’t deal with us in a way we think he should), we begin to develop an attitude of self-preservation. We take it upon ourselves to control our environments and extend it to the people in them. A hardened pride forms in thinking our way is best. With this also comes the great burden of the responsibility to make things perfect. When that fails (because we all know we can’t fix everything, all the time), fear and anxiety take over, followed by a lack of inner peace and joy.

This is what Jesus is talking about. He wants us to get rid of the pride of self-reliance, be secure in the knowledge that our Heavenly Father really does love us, will provide for us, has a wonderful plan for us, and wants us happy in this life, as well as in the next.

Pride is Satan’s best tool of combat because it masks things into being something good. I was told in my teen years, “have pride in your work”, “be proud of the family name”, and “show pride in how you dress, conduct yourself, etc.” These types of pride can be good – to a degree. If we do them because we want to honor our Heavenly Father they can be an example for helping others see His beauty.

However, if the root is to promote something good about one’s self, gained by our own accord to make us look impressive, it can turn into an inordinate self-esteem, inflated ego, or conceit, which becomes the onset of all of our sin. By the latter we make ourselves into a god, taking control into our own hands. While this might seem good, Satan smiles because he knows when we place our trust in ourselves, we eventually lose those elements of being a child of God, thus losing that inner joy of being childlike.

Once again staring at the orchids I thought, “While they may look lovely, they do not appear to be as happy as the sunflowers. They are elegant, yes, but they seem quite lonely.”  I felt sad for them. Not for the flowers per se, but for the orchids in the world – those who miss out on joy because they’ve become preoccupied with presenting themselves under a particular guise; those who can’t seem to trust God, but choose to unnecessarily carry heavy burdens on their shoulders; those who go through life thinking they don’t need anyone because they’ve got it under control; those who live in fear and anxiety – always second-guessing their every move.

I came to the conclusion it was most fitting for those sunflowers to be there and to be placed under the statue of our Blessed Mother. I’m pretty sure little thought had been put into their placement in contrast with the orchids, but I saw it: Those under the watchful eye of Mary are joyful. I could almost hear her say as she did at the Wedding Feast at Cana, “Do whatever he tells you.” (John 2:5).  As any good mother, she too, wants us happy. Her gentle nudging came as a reinforcement to my thoughts. Jesus wants us to trust that we have a good Father who can take care of us in order that we get accustomed to living in joy, now, here on earth, because there is no place in Heaven for human pride.

With my pride plucked, I shook my head. Yes, God does seem to give me what I need, when I need it instead of what I want sometimes. I may not have gotten the quiet like I wanted, but by providing an annoying group of singers to teach me a lesson, I did walk away with the peace. He knows I’m stubborn and just how drive home a point.

Being a sunflower didn’t look too bad- pudgy stalk, big round face and all. They may say things without tact, exhibit a clumsy awkwardness, and act stupid at times – even be disobedient here and there – but the bottom line is they are happy and full of life!

The following morning, I entered a store and was greeted by a display of sunflowers. I purchased a bunch and placed them in my kitchen (next to a statue of our Blessed Mother) as a reminder of my goal. We are all called to be vessels pouring forth His Light into the world by engaging in the childlike effervescence of loving, laughing, trusting and living!

Click here to learn more on how Catholics view The Eucharist.