What I'm doing

G. K. Chesterton and John Paul the Great Catholic University are keeping me pretty busy.  I'm following a study course on G. K. Chesterton (as noted in previous posts) but along with that I've started an 11 week course on the basics of the Catholic Faith. 

Being a cradle Catholic who took a long break and then returned home, I did all the usual things you do when you are raising your kids in the Faith but after they were launched and in the world there wasn't as much learning going on - you know - the nitty gritty stuff; the who, what, when, where, and how of it all.  Oh, I knew quite a lot but something seemed missing, how to express that deeper understanding, the sources of understanding.

Discovering this study program through JP the Great U. came at a time when I was really searching, asking, and praying from direction and understanding. Going  back to school was no option; online learning wasn't an option.  Too much of life now is fluid and refuses to be committed to timelines and deadlines and structure.  I wasn't interested in starting a program and finishing it with the idea of having something to show for it for any larger purpose than what it could do for me.  And, by extension, what that knowledge could provide to me to share with others.

In addition, I am seeking a balance.  Day to day life is accompanied by a constant din of hollow values; values without spirit; values missing the element of God as the source - the idea that something is bigger at work, making it all happen.  Humanism and aethism have a strong grip on our society; mainline Protestant churches aren't growing; big box churches are.  Big box churches, lead by a charismatic leader, are only as secure as the person at the center of it all and since that person is not Christ, are very fragile. 

Split upon split happens.  Leaders and their faithful followers come and go.  Disappointment and searching is compounded by more of the same.  Even among Catholics, the following of one popular priest from parish to parish is in evidence.    This sort of splitting off is as weakening upon faith and community as the split of a big box church.  I've seen it happen. 

The past year has revealed to me a surprising realization from my internal musings.  I've become countercultural.  Me, a teen/young adult of the 60's/70's, missed it the first time it came around in my life.  Age and wisdom has taught me that I didn't miss a lot.  The Woodstock Generation was a messy one.  But now another countercultural wave has come around and I've determined that there is a lot I will not comply with.  As Chesterton said in "The Everlasting Man"

“A dead thing can go with the stream, but only a living thing can go against it.”

Postcards from Paradise

Yesterday I went to my first swim meet.  My brother, Dave, was competing for the first time in 15 years.  He's 50 now; has been surfing since he was a teenager and is an avid swimming enthusiast.  When he moved back closer to his old swim team location, he got back into training again.

He asked me to come to the swim meet and photograph his events.  I had enough lead time on this that I was able to work up a bit of anxiety.  I'm generally always ready for an adventure but the minute I know I'm going out of my comfort zone - i.e., doing something I've never done before - I get nervous.  There are always questions and what ifs, and how too's, and can I's, and blah, blah, blah.  Of course, once I'm there, I'm fine.  And really, what is more benign than a swim meet?  After all, I wasn't the one doing the swimming.

It was such an eye-opening experience.  All ages were represented, there was cloud cover so the morning was mainly comfortable.  Even a light breeze stirred up the air.  After seeing the Olympics and all those fit swimming bodies, I discovered that there  are swimmers and then there are SWIMMERS. 

The swimmers are you and me.  Many were young and tight, but most were bulging and sagging, man boobs were everywhere and aging female legs, whether thin and slack skinned or saddle bagged and cellulited, abound.  The great unifier was their love for swimming and their complete comfort in their skin.    It was a great lesson to me and how I view my own body, my own harsh critiquing of myself.  Now what to do with the lesson? 

In the meanwhile, there are a couple more meets coming up and I will get to at least one of them.  Oh, and my brother?  He's the third from the right in the picture, fully extended with his left leg flying wildly.  AND - he won three blue ribbons in his age group.  I'm so proud of him.

For more Postcards From Paradise, please click HERE

Sunday Scribblings - Drought

Dry heart. No tears for this emotionless drought.

Seered organ of life emptied of blood and health.

Land's parched heart cracks and leaf struggles in

vein/vain/vane

Dust motes settle on tears, dragged from dry eyes

suffering from the effort of breaking this emotional drought.

Just enough. . .  .  rein/rain/reign

to allow the breaking dam on the life blood of scorched earth.

Drought breaks. Heart weeps. Flood arrives.

Challenging My Writing Self - Picking up again on day 14

Pinterest has really lit up our lives.  Foodies, crafters, clothes horses, gardeners, DIY'ers, just to name a few, have found a target rich environment for finding and sharing the things that really light up our lives. 

It also has really lit things up with quote sharing.  It's a non-stop resource for signage and quotes.  One that has been making the rounds is "What is love?  Love is the absence of judgment" from the Dalai Lama.

On the surface, these words evoke an immediate positive response.  But after that first moment?  No, not so much.  If this was really true, love would have no trouble conquering the world and keeping it.  But after the first flush of human love, the first embrace of the idea of God's or Christ's love for humankind, of the recognition of philia or love as affection that could denote friendship, brotherhood or generally non-sexual affection, what are we left with?

Agape, philia, eros - Greek for the great and all encompassing world of love - and based on our human history, subject to change based on judgments that we can't help but collect and respond to as we experience these loves.  And where does judgment come from?  Our moral conscience.

Moral conscience urges a person to do good and avoid evil. It even judges his particular choices (past, present, and future) and shows God's authority. The prudent man hears God speaking in his commandments.

By conscience, the person's reason judges the morality of his actions (past, present, or future). In this judgment, man sees God's law. "Conscience is a messenger of him who speaks to us behind a veil and teaches us by his representatives. Conscience is the aboriginal Vicar of Christ" (John Cardinal Newman).

The Catechism of the Catholic Church  - Judge of Individual Acts (1777-1779)

If we love without judgment, then we deny our moral conscience and we become prone to error.  If we avoid listening to our inner voice, our choices of  good over evil, right versus wrong, direction and lack of direction, or recognition of real love and what is not love becomes flawed.

So, yes, in a perfect world, love without judgment can exist.  But, we don't live in a perfect world.  We lost that a long time ago.  The voice of our moral conscience is there for a reason.  It is our guiding light, our north star, the whisper in our dreams that shows us the way.  Love shouldn't be easy.  Love is our greatest challenge and its the source of our greatest rewards. So go after love, fight for love, discern the path to real love and you will have conquered the world.

Rural Mission - Haiku My Heart

Over the years, I have had the privilege of organizing book drives  for the establishment of a Cook Islands library and a winter clothing drive for the children of Afghanistan in the province of Ghor. Each time I did this, I was more successful than I could have hoped and all because of the generosity of people like you. But as much as I loved doing this work, a little voice whispered to find something closer to home. It took a while but finally, I have found that place.

I was successful

Voice whispered, find something more

Assist. Serve God. Be love

for Haiku My Heart

Dr. Darlene is a religious of the Glenmary Sisters - Home Mission Sisters of America. Don and I adopted her several years ago and support her mission work in one of the poorest counties in the state of Missouri, Pemiscott County. Our original attraction, when we learned of Sister Darlene, was based on the fact that the work was centered out of Caruthersville, MO where Don grew up.

As time went by, we were continually impressed with how much Sr. Darlene accomplished with so little at hand. She works with food banks, assistance to the needy for utility payments, after school programs for children, and teaching youngster who are studying for their GEDs.  

Every summer she also supervises groups of young people who come from various urban area high schools to offer their services for two weeks of mission work.  While there, these young people clean homes, yards, repair buildings and residences and work with young children. 

Sr. Darlene truly is charity and love in action and it is her most recent work that has caught my attention.  Here, in her own words is the newest ministry she has undertaken.

I am so excited to share with you about a new ministry we will be beginning here in the county.  As you know, we have a high teenage pregnancy rate and many single mothers.  I have been praying about a way to reach out to these expectant moms and their children.  I have found a place in nearby Hayti, MO and plan to open an outreach center/thrift store that will offer maternity clothes, toddler clothing up to size 6, and baby supplies.  It will provide a way to get to know these young moms and many opportunities to minister to them  I cannot wait to see how God unfolds this new adventure!

My purpose and what I am asking of you is assistance in starting up the stocking of the store.  One of the things they really need are maternity clothes.

For children who are in school, there is a dress code as the schools have the students in uniforms - the need is:  Khaki or black pants and Red, White, or Blue polo shirts.

For babies we need  Bibs, Diapers, T-Shirts, Onesies, Plastic Pants, Booties, Socks, Blankets, Sleepers, Rattle, Baby Wipes, Baby Lotion, Baby Shampoo, Baby Powder.

For this first step in my contact process, I would like to hear back from each you. Donations can be made in several ways however I'm still gathering up the mailing information for direct donations so for the time being, as I have done in the past, I am happy to receive donations of clothing or gift cards (there is a Walmart in the area).  I will box up the donations and send them to Sr. Darlene. 

In the next couple of days, though, I will have a physical address for USPS and UPS mail service so that you can mail items directly to Sr. Darlene if you like.

I look forward to hearing from you.  God is good and through His servants, we can serve Him.

God Bless you,
Annie

Challenging My Writing Self - Day Seven.

Einstein once said:  “The woman who follows the crowd will usually go no further then the crowd. The woman who walks alone is likely to find herself in places no one has been before.”

Who am I to argue with Einstein?

In point of fact, I related to the Einstein quote so strongly when I first read it that I posted it to my Facebook page.  Being brave is always a challenge for me and speaking up for myself, though now coming more easily, is still not easy and probably never will be.

Jacqueline Berl's  quest for creative expression and the valid direction (of the moment, perhaps?) is another question I follow.  I used to think that I was scatterbrained because I never settled on any one thing.  It took me too long to accept that I'm not scatterbrained; I'm interested in everything and each thing I try is like a new adventure.  The length of time it lasts isn't as important as  the fact that I do it.  My challenge is to settle down and tackle these interests. 

The hole I dig for myself is making a list of all the things I would like to try in my own personal creative quest.  The hole gets deeper as I fill it with more and more.  Lately, it's been all about writing, but there is so much beyond just the writing. 

Being true to my challenge to my writing self, I'll be here for at least three more weeks but along with that, I'm going to start getting that list out of my head and onto paper.  Then my next challenge will be 30 days of physical creativity and like this writing challenge, it will all land here.

Challenging My Writing Self - Day Six

Yearning for Fall

November arrives, welcome relief from heat, now cool,
Misty morning sunlight with its companion, smoke.
Stepping out onto the porch, lungs expand, air is crisp.
I inhale the tang of harvest burns.
Rocking in my chair, my thoughts recall annual visits to the hills
and friendships bound together with cornhusk rope and cider apples.

Twenty-six years past, trees planted, our children like young apples.
Now a time for jackets, gloves and socks to combat the autumn cool.
I smile as I recall and anticipate the annual trek to the hills.
Bright sunlight faintly shadowed with harvest smoke
Within - my soul burns
For banks of leaves - dry, brown, crisp.

"Peach cobbler time has ended", Barbara proclaims, preparing a sweet fruit crisp
made with love and filled with cinnamin, sugar, flour and apples.
Her backyard houses a growing debris pile for the yearly burn.
My porch to hers, I breathe in the morning cool
and the repeating tang of harvest burns.
I relax knowing that for a short time I am in the hills.

Our friendship has been a gently rolling hill,
A soft series of never-ending swells punctuated with moments of crispness
or the smothering pall of vampyric smoke
heavy with the loss of one of OUR apples.
Inner life sags and cools
but then slowly rebuilds and explodes in a life affirming burn.

Back on my porch, I lose myself in the burning
desire to run to the hills,
to surrender to the autumn coolness,
to splash through leafy mounds of golden brown crackle and crisp,
to learn the secret of squeezing cider from apples
and pumping bellows on sausage, making rings of smoke

Autumn is smoking.
Orchard caretakers fire up the burners.
Smells waft, roasting green apples.
Friends tramp through golden rainbow hills,
have fun in the kitchen baking a sweet crisp
and breathe in the evening coolness.

Rocking on my porch, I dream of days at Apple Hill
wrapped in memories of drifting smoke and tears that burned,
binding friendship over fruit-filled crisps and cool evenings.

Challenging My Writing Self - Day Five

Day Four of my challenge to myself came and went.  Except for this small haiku, inspired by Stephanie's rain soaked backyard

Rain's song splashes

Atonal symphony plays

And the world sweeps clean

there was nothing waiting to press out.  I cast about for impressions all day.  I met the bird lady and her gentleman at HOJ, ran into an acquaintance I had not seen for a couple of years and we had a nice talk, catching up on the kids and life.  Kris came and went with Tanner and flowers were picked up at Orchard Supply.  Faint drops of precipitation dampened the pavement just enough to leave a dusty, dirt-filled scent in the air.

Today I leave for my monthly meeting with Matthew's Ministry and then  desayuno para un (breakfast for one) at Hamilton's.  More studio moving from the resurrecting Krista room is on the schedule.  The room must be emptied by the 18th, her first of two move-back-in days.

I hope there will be more today, something more than a list of the what was's and what will be's as above reflects; something serious? humorous? inspirational? surprising?

We'll see.

Challenging My Writing Self - Day 3

Turning Off But Still Tuned In

Something happened on my way to the daily writing challenge

I saw something; I read something that just put me

OFF.

I won't reveal what it was but I'm going off on my own.

Following the inspiration site is

HISTORY

Yet I'm thankful for the inspiration I gained from that first visit.

I've simply learned once again that some things are best pursued

ALONE

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Random Olympic Thought

I'm exasperated with all the constant picking at women - questioning the validity of their gender classification (hurtful and humiliating), the upkeep of black hair (stupid), the whole general view of women not as accomplished athletes but objects lacking in meeting some artificial standard of womanliness. Yes, there is drug use but the range of feminine appearance is so huge. They should be honored, not critiqued. I'll never forget South Africa's Caster Semenya  four years ago being called a genetic man and being forced to endure genetic testing to prove her femaleness. Disgusting.  And in the end, all her chromosomes were just right.

********************************

Looking Down

Garages

I remember years ago living above a garage. I was newly separated and on my way to a divorce. It didn't mean anything to me at the time but the reality of living over a garage, when you feel your life crumbling around you, is fraught with symbolism. After all, what is a garage but a place for the storage of objects that are not useful, are unwanted but for whatever reason, cannot be discarded yet.

When I left that garage apartment I moved to another garage in another town. My single room apartment over a two car detached garage held all my worldly possessions on the garage level. The room above held what bit of furniture I had. A tiny studio kitchen was tucked into the corner. A Murphy bed came down at night.

The view from my bed was the canopy of majestic pine trees that sheltered the house. They were such a comfort during that confusing time of my life. At night they were black shadows against a blue/black night sky, the stars bright and hard, no city light drowning their brilliance.

But, whatever comfort I might have received from the night sky, my heart and mind were closed to its healing power.  After all, I was living above the wreckage and remains of the past three years of my life and still not quite understanding what had happened.

In time, I moved again. This time, not to a garage.