Stuff happens... and sometimes good stuff happens.

In my last post, I shared what was going on with my father.I've received many kind and wise and gentle responses, but here's one that touched my heart especially. And as I read it, it occurs to me that these words express something I'd hope and pray would come true for you, too:

Will be thinking about you and praying for you and your father.


May God send you continued strength and knowledge of his presence with you. May he send good memories of good moments spent together. May he remind you how dearly you are loved--by God, by your father, by your family, by your friends. May he give you the strength to allow help when you need it. May he give you tears to cry, and smiles to wipe them away. May you know that he knows exactly how you are feeling. May you rest in his peace. The peace that doesn't come from knowing no sorrow or fear, but comes instead from having lived life, seen the occasional injustice in life, and yet embraced the amazing love of God through those hard moments. God is good. You are loved. and there is peace for both you and your father. Not sure what that will look like yet---as you said there are so many possibilities of outcomes. But God knows and his plans are greater and better than those we make on our own.

And now for the good news:

Dad's surgery went well. "Stuff" can still happen, but there is reason to be hopeful. And for this, I am thankful.

And for your prayers, I am thankful.

May God grant each of you a happy - and healthy - new year.

Stuff happens...

Early last week, my father fell and broke his hip. At his age, this isn't an inconsiderable event, but his hospitalization was complicated by pneumonia, which led to respiratory failure. He has been in intensive care, and although he is doing better, things can still go either way. Once he stabilizes, he will still need to undergo surgery to repair his hip. Assuming that this procedure goes smoothly, he will face a period of rehabilitation. And his recovery is complicated by one additional factor: my father's beloved wife died just over a year ago. He has told me repeatedly that every day has been painful to him, and that it is his greatest desire to be with her. 

For much of the past week, my father has been sedated on a ventilator. I've been wide awake, and as with so many other situations in my life, I've found myself fully aware that I don't have the first idea what to pray for. Do I pray for him to recover, knowing that it will tax reserves of mental and physical energy he may not have? Do I pray for him to pull through this, knowing that he will still mourn daily for the loss of the woman he loved so much? Do I pray for a peaceful death for him, knowing that life may well hold moments of joy for him as well? Or do I "pray smart"... asking only that God take charge of this situation and do what He thinks is best?

I've chosen to "pray smart", knowing that His plans are always - always - more perfect than mine.

Sometimes in situation like this, it's difficult to see the blessings. But we are blessed. Dad and I had time to talk about whether or not he would agree to try a short course on the ventilator to see if he can pull through this. I don't have to wonder if I made the right choice for him, because he made this choice. I've got the freedom to be here with him, some 8 hours from my home, while my husband continues to "keep the home fires burning". And although it's been years since I've lived in this area and most of my connections here have been broken for years, people have come out of the woodwork to support us. Kind people. Good people.

So in the midst of confusion, there is comfort. And for this, I am thankful.

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Be sure to visit Conversion Diary each Friday for 7 Quick Takes!

The 12 Days of Christmas continue...

Are there weather woes where you are?

A few years ago, I received the following email from someone I know. I've saved it to remind myself not to complain overmuch about the weather. I have no idea if the weather in Manitoba is, or ever has been, this miserable... but still. I find it reassuring to remember that whatever the weather is where I am, it could always be worse.

Fortunately, even where I am, the weather is supposed to be nice today, even nicer by New Years Day. It's funny to think that there was nearly a foot of snow on the ground a few days ago - especially when temperatures in the 50's are predicted for Saturday!

A friend of ours from church is a dog breeder, and she corresponds via email with some breeders in Manitoba, Canada. She asked them how the weather was the other day. Here is the reply she received:

It is raining today. It rained overnight last night, and most of yesterday, and the day before that. And before that. And before that. It will rain this evening. And through the night. And tomorrow, and
probably Wednesday. The rain is incessant. Unstoppable. Never ending. Copious. Unrelenting. And wet.

Apart from the rain...it is cold. A damp cold (due to the rain.) A chilly, into your bones, cannot ever feel warm cold. Joints ache. Feet ache. Toes ache. Knees ache. Head aches. Fingers ache (oops - redundant - it is the finger JOINTS which ache).

Apart from the rain and the cold, and the aches, it is dark. Grey. Gloomy. Overcast. An unending sheet of pewter foil covers the sky from horizon to horizon to horizon to horizon, and all points between. One continuous, unending, unstoppable, humungous CLOUD fills one's eyes no matter where one casts a glance.

Apart from the rain, and the cold, and the aches, and the grey...the dogs are wet. Smelly wet.  Dripping wet. Shake all over and flail me with smelly droplets of dirty water wet. Wet to the belly and beyond. Wet to the eyeballs. And dirty. Running through puddles in the gravel dirty. Digging in puddles and rooting in puddles dirty. To the eyeballs dirty (from the rooting part).

Apart from the rain, and the cold, and the aches, and the grey, and the dirty wet smelly dogs... It is windy. Not a gentle lift the hair on your brow breezy, but a roaring, whistle through the cracks in the garage doors and moan for entrance windy. Windy enough to whip your wet hair into your eyes,
should it be that long. Windy enough to make the flagpole drop down a notch. Windy enough to cause last week's laundry (still on the line as it has not yet DRIED) to whip over and around the clothesline to such an extent that it is now impossible to remove, as no one knows where the clothes pegs are in the tangled-up, sodden mess...

Apart from the rain, and the cold, and the aches, and the grey and the wet dogs and the wind... We are fine.

How’s the weather out your way???

The Feast of the Holy Innocents

In Matthew 2:16-18, we read, When Herod realized that he had been outwitted by the Magi, he was furious, and he gave orders to kill all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity who were two years old and under, in accordance with the time he had learned from the Magi. Then what was said through the prophet Jeremiah was fulfilled: A voice is heard in Ramah, weeping and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, because they are no more.

We remember this slaughter today in the Feast of the Holy Innocents. But let us never forget that innocent lives continue to be sacrificed through abortion. Join me in praying for an end to the slaughter.

The Christmas truce

This is a "rerun" from last year, but it's a story worth retelling. I was reminded of it when an elderly priest spoke at Christmas Mass. When he was a child growing up in Europe, he met some of the soldiers who were part of this story. As he recounted his memories, he asked a question that continues to echo in my mind:


If the Child born in Bethlehem 2000 years ago could cause enemy soldiers to stop a war for even a few nights, shouldn't we who believe in Him be willing to forgive each other for the hurts - both little and large - that we've experienced in our lives?


In John 14, Jesus said, "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.". May we not refuse His gift.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m reading the most peculiar book, called Silent Night: The Story of the Christmas Truce, by Stanley Weintraub. To be more accurate, I suppose, it is the story behind the book is so odd. In it, the author recounts the history of the 1914 “Christmas Truce”.

The events described took place in the midst of World War I, the so-called “war to end all wars”. For a time, weapons were laid down on both sides of the battlefield, and enemies walked across the front lines, sharing holiday greetings and contents of their Christmas packages from home.

There had been strange “outbreaks of peace” even before the Christmas Truce. Quoting from the book, “A week before Christmas near Armentieres, a Daily Express correspondent wrote later, the Germans slipped a ‘splendid’ chocolate cake into the British lines with a message explaining, ‘We propose having a concert tonight as it is our Captain’s birthday, and we cordially invite you to attend – provided you will give us your word of honour as guests that you agree to cease all hostilities between 7:30 and 8:30. When you see us light the candles and footlight at the edge of our trench at 7:30 sharp you can safely put your heads above your trenches, and we shall do the same, and begin the concert.”

Later, a German soldier shouts over to the Allies and “announces that a gift from his side is coming. The British dive for cover, shouting for a sandbag to cover it, but the container, a boot, explodes only with sausage and chocolates… On Christmas Eve the Royal Flying Corps dropped a padded, brandy-steeped plum pudding on the German airfield at Lille. The next day the Germans responded with a careful airdrop of a bottle of rum”.

I’ve been wondering why, if it was possible to have cordial intervals such as these during a time of war, we see so much venomous infighting among people of faith.

I’m not suggesting that we should relax our standards or disregard those things we have come to believe in and to treasure about our churches or compromise on key elements of our faiths. But I see no value in refusing to acknowledge our common ground. And I see no advantage to be gained by sneering at other people who love Christ, yet who express their love for Him in a manner different from our own.

During the Christmas truce of 1914, for at least a little while, enemy soldiers laid down their weapons and united around the Son of God, the One who had come to save all mankind. As Christians, we all profess a belief in Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior. I believe it is possible to treat those who choose a different path to Him with respect, even when we disagree with the particular path they have chosen. I believe it is possible to state our beliefs clearly and unwaveringly without being rude in the process. As St. Vincent de Paul said, “I have never succeeded when I have spoken with the faintest suspicion of hardness. One must be ever on one’s guard not to embitter the heart, if one wishes to move the mind.”

And He gave some as apostles, and some as prophets, and some as evangelists, and some as pastors and teachers, for the equipping of the saints for the work of service, to the building up of the body of Christ; until we all attain to the unity of the faith, and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to a mature man, to the measure of the stature which belongs to the fullness of Christ. As a result, we are no longer to be children, tossed here and there by waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine, by the trickery of men, by craftiness in deceitful scheming; but speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in all aspects into Him who is the head, even Christ, from whom the whole body, being fitted and held together by what every joint supplies, according to the proper working of each individual part, causes the growth of the body for the building up of itself in love.

- Ephesians 4:1-16

Don't you just love winter?

In light of the recent snowstorm that has socked in much of the east coast, I thought I would use this video to demonstrate one excellent reason for staying home with a cup of hot cocoa:

Snow, as seen by Simon's cat...

Some thoughts on Christmas

The crowning glory of the church year is, by many, said to be the great feast of Easter. But Christmas is the feast that seems most miraculous to me.

I truly intend no disrespect by saying this, but it's not surprising to me to think that God would be able to perform the miracle of rising from the dead. It seems entirely logical to assume that the God who created the entire cosmos would be able to do that.

But here is the miracle: the Mighty God, the King of Glory, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace... he who created the Pleiades and Orion... the one who who created the atom and the sun... he was willing to lay down all of that splendor and magnificence to take on the form of an embryo, to grow within the womb of one of his creatures and be born in a dirty barn.

There are times when I "get on my high horse" and think rather highly of myself... much more highly than I ought. But Jesus climbed off the throne of glory to show me what true humility is. And that, to me, is the greatest miracle of all.

Breath of Heaven

Merry Christmas!

An Intimate Moment With Mary and Joseph, author unknown

 

To register with the government, the royal family had to travel 85 miles. Joseph walked, while Mary, nine months pregnant, rode side-saddle on a donkey feeling every jolt, rut, and rock in the road. By the time they arrived in Bethlehem, the village was swollen with the influx of travelers. The inn was packed. People felt lucky just to negotiate floor-space.

Fortunately the innkeeper was not counting every shekel. Even though his stable was crowded with his guests' animals, he allowed Mary and Joseph to squeeze in for a little privacy. Joseph glanced at Mary. What would she think? Her face drawn with anticipation of pain, she was conscious only of an upcoming contraction. "We'll take it," he told the innkeeper without hesitation.

As Joseph swung open the stable door, a chorus of bellows and bleats greets him in discordant harmony A rush of warm, barn air rife with odor, assaulted his nostrils. The small oil lamp the innkeeper had lent them flickered, and shadows danced on the wall as they made their way past stalls, piles of straw and inquisitive wet noses. A disquieting place for a woman in the throes of childbirth, thought Joseph – far from home, from family and from what she had expected for her firstborn. But Mary made no complaint. Her back ached from the journey, and it was such a relief to be off the donkey.

She leaned against the wall rubbing a swollen foot, but only for a moment. The contractions were gaining in strength and frequency. Joseph knew there wasn't time to spare. Quickly he assessed the stable. The feeding trough could do for a crib. Fresh hay, his robe and the rags hung out to dry could serve as a mattress. A contraction doubled Mary over and sent Joseph racing for a bucket of water.

Mary's scream pierced the silence as Joseph burst into the stable, breathless, water sloshing from a wooden bucket. Perspiration trickled from Mary's brow as she strained, and Joseph, the most unlikely midwife in all of Judea, rushed to her side. But the involuntary contractions weren't enough. Mary had to push with all her strength, almost as if God were refusing to come into the world without her help. Evidently the baby's royal heritage didn't guarantee that His birth would be easy. His special privileges had ended at conception.

Joseph tucked a garment beneath Mary. With a final push and a sigh, her labor ended. The Messiah had arrived. Head elongated from the restricted journey, mucus in His ears and nostrils, light skinned because pigment would take time to surface, wet and slippery from the amniotic fluid, the Son of the most High God was still umbilically attached to a Jewish girl.

The baby sputtered and gasped. As Joseph instinctively turned Him over to clear His throat, a warbling cry escaped His lips. His chin trembled. Mary reached for the shivering little body and drew it close. His helpless cries subsided. Mouth open, His tiny head bobbed against the new terrain. Mary could feel His heart racing as He groped to nurse. This would be the first thing God, in human form, would learn. Deity nursing at a maiden's breast - could anything be more puzzling or profound, Joseph sat exhausted, wondering.

The infant King, and God Himself, finished, sighed, and emitted a few unintelligible sounds. Then, for the first time, His eyes glanced across His mother's face. Deity strained to focus. The light of the world squinted. Through tears she observed the tiny form and touched the miniature fingers that had sculpted mountain ranges. He clung to her. Her eyes found Joseph's and their hearts met. He pressed in closer to his betrothed. Cheek to cheek, overwhelmed with awe, they gazed at the one whom prophets had longed to see. His eyelids closed. It had been a long journey, and the King was tired.

And so, unremarkably, God stepped into the heart of humanity. Except for Joseph, no one shared Mary's pain and joy. You might have expected angels, but there were only flies. You might have expected heads of state, but there were only donkeys, some sheep, a tethered camel, and a trio of curious barn mice. In the night, one star shone brightly and in a field, a group of shepherds heard rejoicing in heaven. God's only Son came in the darkness while the whole world slept.

First wrapping gifts with the help of the cat...

... and now, wrapping the cat!

Thanks for sharing this one, Anita!

God's gentle call

I'm sure I'm not the only person who has at some point wished I could "make" someone do such-and-so. I'm able to look at their situation and am absolutely convinced that I know the best course of action for them. This doesn't always result in harmony, to say the least. I've tried (often unsuccessfully) to avoid telling others what to do. And over time - at least in my more rational moments - I've recognized that it's enough of a job controlling my own behavior.

I'm not all-knowing, and I'm not all-powerful, but God is. And God doesn't force his children to respond to his call or to obey his will. He gives us freedom to choose. Though he has the power to compel us, he loves and respects us enough to allow us to form our own opinions and to decide on our own course of action. Louis Comte puts it this way:

He has never constrained anyone to serve him and he will never do so. Yet, he will certainly prick and try to open our consciences, wandering around in our hearts, begging us to convert and give oneself completely to him, but never will he take us by force. He does not want that!

He doesn't lay on a guilt trip; he tries to open our consciences. He doesn't run us over with a cosmic Mack truck; he wanders around in our hearts. He doesn't lecture and scold; he begs us to convert.
He doesn't use pyrotechnics to dazzle us, but comes to us as a baby born in a stable.

Wrapping Presents With the Help of Your Cat

1. Clear large space on table for wrapping present.
2. Go to closet and collect bag in which present is contained, and close door.
3. Open door and remove cat from closet.
4. Go to cupboard and retrieve rolls of wrapping paper.
5. Go back and remove cat from cupboard.
6. Go to drawer, and collect transparent sticky tape, ribbons, scissors, labels etc.
7. Lay out presents and wrapping materials on table, to enable wrapping strategy to be formed.
8. Go back to drawer to get string, remove cat that has been in the drawer since last visit and collect string.
9. Reopen drawer and re-remove cat.
10. Remove present from bag.
11. Remove cat from bag.
12. Open box to check present, remove cat from box, replace present.
13. Lay out paper to enable cutting to size.
14. Try and smooth out paper, realize cat is underneath and remove cat.
15. Cut the paper to size, keeping the cutting line straight.
16. Throw away first sheet as cat chased the scissors, and tore the paper.
17. Cut second sheet of paper to size - by putting cat in the bag the present came in.
18. Place present on paper.

19. Lift up edges of paper to seal in present. Wonder why edges don't reach. Realize cat is between present and paper. Remove cat and retry.
20. Place object on paper, to hold in place, while cutting transparent sticky tape.
21. Spend 20 minutes carefully trying to remove transparent sticky tape from cat with pair of nail scissors.
22. Seal paper with transparent sticky tape, making corners as neat as possible.
23. Look for roll of ribbon. Chase cat down hall in order to retrieve ribbon.
24. Try to wrap present with ribbon in a two-directional turn.
25. Re-roll ribbon and remove paper, which is now torn due to cat's enthusiastic ribbon chase.
26. Repeat steps 13-20 until you reach last sheet of paper.
27. Decide to skip steps 13-17, in order to save time and reduce risk of losing last sheet of paper. Retrieve old cardboard box, that is the right size for sheet of paper.
28. Put present in box, and tie down with string.
29. Remove string, open box and remove cat.
30. Put all packing materials in bag with present and head for lockable room.
31. Once inside lockable room, lock door and start to re-lay out packing materials.
32. Remove cat from box, unlock door, put cat outside door, close door and re-lock.
33. Repeat previous step as often as is necessary (until you can hear cries from cat outside door.)
34. Lay out last sheet of paper. (This will be difficult in the small area of the toilet, but do your best.)
35. Discover cat has already torn paper. Unlock door go out and hunt through various cupboards, looking for sheet of last year's paper. Remember that you haven't got any left because cat helped with wrapping last year.
36. Return to lockable room, lock door, and sit on toilet and try to make torn sheet of paper look presentable.
37. Seal box, wrap with paper and repair by very carefully sealing tears with transparent sticky tape. Tie up with ribbon and decorate with bows to hide worst areas.
38. Label. Sit back and admire your handiwork, congratulate yourself on completing a difficult job.
39. Unlock door, and go to kitchen to make drink and feed cat.
40. Spend 15 minutes looking for cat, before coming to obvious conclusion.
41. Unwrap present, untie box and remove cat.
42. Retrieve all discarded sheets of wrapping paper. Feed cat. Return to lockable room for last attempt, making certain you are alone and the door is locked.

43. Find least torn and wrinkled sheets of paper. Attempt to use sheets of same pattern.
44. Vainly try and wrap present in patchwork of paper. Tie with now tattered ribbon and decorate with the now limp bows. Label and put present in bag, for fear of anyone seeing this disaster.
45. When giving the gift, smile sweetly at receiver's face, as they try and hide their contempt at being handed such a badly wrapped present.
46. Swear to yourself that next year, you will get the store to wrap the damn thing for you.
47. Smile smugly, knowing that the recipient could have received a cat!

Blessed In Aging

Blessed are they who understand
My faltering step and shaking hand.
Blessed, who know my ears today
Must strain to hear the things they say.

Blessed are those who seem to know
My eyes are dim and my mind is slow
Blessed are those who look away
When I spilled tea that weary day.

Blessed are they who, with cheery smile
Stopped to chat for a little while
Blessed are they who know the way
To bring back memories of yesterday.

Blessed are those who never say
“You’ve told that story twice today”
Blessed are they who make it known
That I am loved, respected and not alone.

And blessed are they who will ease the days
Of my journey home, in loving ways.

~Esther Mary Walker

Piano lessons

I received this is beautiful story in my email today. Thank you, Lorraine, for passing it on.

At the prodding of my friends I am writing this story. My name is Mildred Honor and I am a former elementary school music teacher from DesMoines , Iowa .

I have always supplemented my income by teaching piano lessons - something I have done for over 30 years.

During those years I found that children have many levels of musical ability, and even though I have never had the pleasure of having a prodigy, I have taught some very talented students.

However, I have also had my share of what I call 'musically challenged' pupils - one such pupil being Robby..

Robby was 11 years old when his mother (a single mom) dropped him off for his first piano lesson. I prefer that students (especially boys) begin at an earlier age, which I explained to Robby. But Robby said that it had always been his mother's dream to hear him play the piano, so I took him as a student.

Well, Robby began his piano lessons and from the beginning I thought it was a hopeless endeavor. As much as Robby tried, he lacked the sense of tone and basic rhythm needed to excel. But he dutifully reviewed his scales and some elementary piano pieces that I require all my students to learn. Over the months he tried and tried while I listened and cringed and tried to encourage him.

At the end of each weekly lesson he would always say 'My mom's going to hear me play someday'. But to me, it seemed hopeless, he just did not have any inborn ability.

I only knew his mother from a distance as she dropped Robby off or waited in her aged car to pick him up. She always waved and smiled, but never dropped in.

Then one day Robby stopped coming for his lessons. I thought about calling him, but assumed that because of his lack of ability he had decided to pursue something else. I was also glad that he had stopped coming - he was a bad advertisement for my teaching!

Several weeks later I mailed a flyer recital to the students' homes. To my surprise, Robby (who had received a flyer) asked me if he could be in the recital. I told him that the recital was for current pupils and that because he had dropped out, he really did not qualify.

He told me that his mother had been sick and unable to take him to his piano lessons, but that he had been practicing. 'Please Miss Honor, I've just got to play' he insisted. I don't know what led me to allow him to play in the recital - perhaps it was his insistence or maybe something inside of me saying that it would be all right.

The night of the recital came and the high school gymnasium was packed with parents, relatives and friends. I put Robby last in the program, just before I was to come up and thank all the students and play a finishing piece. I thought that any damage he might do would come at the end of the program and I could always salvage his poor performance through my 'curtain closer'.

Well, the recital went off without a hitch, the students had been practicing and it showed. Then Robby came up on the stage. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair looked as though he had run an egg beater through it. 'Why wasn't he dressed up like the other students?' I thought. 'Why didn't his mother at least make him comb his hair for this special night?'

Robby pulled out the piano bench, and I was surprised when he announced that he had chosen to play Mozart's Concerto No. 21 in C Major. I was not prepared for what I heard next. His fingers were light on the keys, they even danced nimbly on the ivories. He went from pianissimo to fortissimo, from allegro to virtuoso; his suspended chords that Mozart demands were magnificent! Never had I heard Mozart played so well by anyone his age.

After six and a half minutes he ended in a grand crescendo, and everyone was on their feet in wild applause! Overcome and in tears, I ran up on stage and put my arms around Robby in joy. “I have never heard you play like that Robby, how did you do it?”

Through the microphone Robby explained: “Well, Miss Honor .... remember I told you that my mom was sick? Well, she actually had cancer and passed away this morning. And well ...... she was born deaf, so tonight was the first time she had ever heard me play, and I wanted to make it special.”

There wasn't a dry eye in the house that evening. As the people from Social Services led Robby from the stage to be placed in to foster care, I noticed that even their eyes were red and puffy. I thought to myself then how much richer my life had been for taking Robby as my pupil..

No, I have never had a prodigy, but that night I became a prodigy ....... of Robby. He was the teacher and I was the pupil, for he had taught me the meaning of perseverance and love and believing in yourself, and may be even taking a chance on someone and you didn't know why.

Robby was killed years later in the senseless bombing of the Alfred P. Murray Federal Building in Oklahoma City in April, 1995.

Live simply.
Love generously.
Care deeply.
Speak kindly.
Leave the rest to God.

The founder of our community

I enjoy poking around to see what other bloggers are doing, and recently found the blog of the Poor Clares of Perpetual Adoration of Our Lady of Solitude Monastery in Phoenix, Arizona. (Whew... that's a mouthful!) On their sidebar, they have a quote that apparently comes from some writings to be found in their monastery. It says:

A religious community which refuses to conform to the requirements of the times becomes unfaithful to its founder, for it will no longer be able to do the work confided to it...A community keeps its youth if it is faithful to the spirit of its founder by striving to do things, not as they were done in the lifetime of the founder, but as the founder would do them if he were alive in our day.

Most of us aren't called to be contemplative nuns, but I think we can still apply the spirit of that quote to our daily lives in the world. Do we keep ourselves to the spirit of our founder?

We're not called to conform to the norms of today's world... or of Jesus' world. We have to deal with things that weren't in existence during Jesus' time. We can't pattern our behavior precisely after those of Jesus or of his disciples. We don't live in their day, and they don't live in ours. Not that some people haven't tried. Take this, for example:

After reading A.J. Jacobs’ book, "The Year of Living Biblically," Rev. Ed Dobson decided to live like Jesus for a full year. He celebrated the Jewish holidays. He dressed and behaved as a Jew of Jesus’ day would. He followed a kosher diet. He observed the Jewish Sabbath, which meant that he largely refrained from work and travel. He allowed his beard to grow untrimmed. He re-read all four Gospels each week (!!) and tried as much as possible to follow Jesus’ teachings. He prayed daily, including repeatedly echoing the words of the blind man healed by Jesus: "Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me." I admire Rev. Dobson's attempts to "live biblically", but I suspect that the untrimmed beard and kosher diet didn't contribute much to enabling him to live like Jesus.

I don't think we're really asked to "live biblically" as much as we're called to "live like Jesus". We need to get to know Jesus so intimately that we can be more and more transformed into his image and respond as he would if he were in our shoes. Our lives need to be firmly rooted in Jesus, the founder of our "order":

By the grace God has given me, I laid a foundation as a wise builder, and someone else is building on it. But each one should build with care. For no one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ. If anyone builds on this foundation using gold, silver, costly stones, wood, hay or straw, their work will be shown for what it is, because the Day will bring it to light. It will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test the quality of each person’s work. If what has been built survives, the builder will receive a reward. If it is burned up, the builder will suffer loss but yet will be saved—even though only as one escaping through the flames.

- 1 Corinthians 3:10-15

As we proceed through this Advent, let us make room for Jesus to be born into our hearts and to grow and mature there. May he come alive within us and shape us more and more into his image.

"Eve" by Madeleine L’Engle

When we left the garden we knew that it would be forever.
The new world we entered was dark and strange.
Nights were cold.
We lay together for warmth, and because we were afraid
of the unnamed animals, and of the others;
we had never known about the giants, and angels gone wild.
We had not been told of dwarves and elves; they teased us; we hid
whenever they played.

Adam held me.
When my belly grew taut and began to swell
I didn’t know what was happening.
I thought it was the beginning of death, the very first death.
I clung to Adam and cried.
As I grew bigger something within me moved.
One day I fell and the pains started.
A true angel came and pushed the grinning creatures back.
Adam helped.
There was a tearing.
I thought I’d died.

Instead, from within me came a tiny thing, a new creature,
red-faced, bellowing, mouth groping for my breast.
This was not death, but birth, and joy came to my heart again.
This was the first-born child. How I did laugh and sing!
But from this birth came death. He never gave me any rest.
And then he killed his brother. Oh, my child. Oh, my son Cain.

I watched from then on over every birth,
seeing in each babe cruelty ready to kill compassion.
For centuries the pattern did not change.
Birth always meant death.
Each manchild who was born upon the longing earth
in gratefulness and joy brought me only a fresh ration of tears.
I had let hate into the world with that first breath.

Yet something made me hope.
Each baby born brought me hurrying,
bringing, as in the old tales,
a gift looking – for what?
I went to every slum and cave and palace
seeking the mothers, thinking that at least I could warn their hearts.
Thus perhaps the balance might shift and kindness and concern
replace self-will and malice.

So I was waiting at that extraordinary intersection of Eternity and Time
when David’s son (Adam’s, too) was born.
I watched the Incarnate at his mother’s breast
making, by his humble, holy birth
the one possible correction of all that I by disobedience had done.
I knelt and saw new Adam, and I cried,
“My son!” and came at last to rest.

The 12 Cats of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas When I brought home my tree
My 12 cats were laughing at me.

On the second day of Christmas I saw beneath my tree
2 mangled garlands and my 12 cats laughing at me

On the third day of Christmas I saw beneath my tree
3 missing Wise Men
2 mangled garlands and my 12 cats laughing at me

On the fourth day of Christmas I saw beneath my tree
4 males a-spraying
3 missing Wise Men
2 mangled garlands and my 12 cats laughing at me

On the fifth day of Christmas I saw beneath my tree
5 shredded gifts
4 males a-spraying
3 missing Wise Men
2 mangled garlands and my 12 cats laughing at me

On the sixth day of Christmas I saw beneath my tree
6 fallen angels
5 shredded gifts
4 males a-spraying
3 missing Wise Men
2 mangled garlands and my 12 cats laughing at me

On the seventh day of Christmas I saw beneath my tree
7 half-dead rodents
6 fallen angels
5 shredded gifts
4 males a-spraying
3 missing Wise Men
2 mangled garlands and my 12 cats laughing at me

On the eighth day of Christmas I saw beneath my tree
8 shattered ornaments
7 half-dead rodents
6 fallen angels
5 shredded gifts
4 males a-spraying
3 missing Wise Men
2 mangled garlands and my 12 cats laughing at me

On the ninth day of Christmas I saw beneath my tree
9 chewed-through light strings
8 shattered ornaments
7 half-dead rodents
6 fallen angels
5 shredded gifts
4 males a-spraying
3 missing Wise Men
2 mangled garlands and my 12 cats laughing at me

On the tenth day of Christmas I saw beneath my tree
10 tinsel hairballs
9 chewed-through light strings
8 shattered ornaments
7 half-dead rodents
6 fallen angels
5 shredded gifts
4 males a-spraying
3 missing Wise Men
2 mangled garlands and my 12 cats laughing at me

On the eleventh day of Christmas I saw beneath my tree
11 broken branches
10 tinsel hairballs
9 chewed-through light strings 7 half-dead rodents
6 fallen angels
5 shredded gifts
4 males a-spraying
3 missing Wise Men
2 mangled garlands and my 12 cats laughing at me

On the twelfth day of Christmas I saw beneath my tree
12 cats a-climbing
11 broken branches
10 tinsel hairballs
9 chewed-through light strings
8 shattered ornaments
7 half-dead rodents
6 fallen angels
5 shredded gifts
4 males a-spraying
3 missing Wise Men
2 mangled garlands and my 12 cats laughing at me

Only 155 days to go - Better Get Ready!

Before I tell you about the current prediction, let me give you a bit of background.

For centuries, there have been folks who've claimed to know when Jesus would come again. In one of the first of these, it was predicted that he would return in 500 A.D; the prophet's prediction was based on the dimensions of Noah's ark. More predictions ensued, but the one predicting the end of the world on January 1, 1000 was one of the most popular. According to this source, "During December 999 AD, everyone was on their best behavior; worldly goods were sold and given to the poor, swarms of pilgrims headed east to meet the Lord at Jerusalem, buildings went unrepaired, crops were left unplanted, and criminals were set free from jails". When those hopes were dashed, the anticipated date of the Second Coming was moved forward to 1033 A.D., 1000 years after Christ's crucifixion. A mass pilgrimage to Jerusalem took place, but once again the prophecies didn't come true.

The next major scare was predicted in the Letter of Toledo, written in 1184 by some astronomers in Toledo. They said that a rare astrological phenomenon (the conjunction of the planets in the sign of the Scales and in the tail of the Dragon) would lead to the end of the world in September 1186. There would be wind, storms, drought,famine, pestilence and earthquake. The sky would darken and the hearts of men would be destroyed when hearing a dreadful voice. People sought safety in caves and mountains... but September1186 came and went without incident.

In the early 1500's, a German named Muntzer announced that the Lord would return after Muntzer and his band of peasants destroyed the high and mighty. Muntzer had been promised in a vision that God would catch the enemy's cannonballs in his (God's) sleeve. Apparently Muntzer and the peasants caught the cannonballs, however, and those in the uprising were destroyed. A few years later, Jan Matthys took over the city of Munster after being "informed" that Munster would be the only city spared at the Second Coming, which was soon to come. Matthys' men ejected the inhabitants of Munster, who laid siege to the city in order to reclaim their homes. A year later, all of Matthys' men were dead.

In the early 1800's, a fortune teller named Mary Bateman later predicted the end of the world. She based her prediction on messages found in eggs laid by a magic chicken. Quite a stir resulted... until an unannounced visitor caught Mary trying to stuff an egg into the oviduct of an unfortunate chicken. Ms. Bateman was ultimately executed after poisoning a wealthy client.

A few years after Mary's predictions, a woman named Joanna Southcot announced that she would produce the second Christ by means of virgin birth. Her abdomen began to swell, but before carrying through with her promise, she died. The cause of death was determined to be a false pregnancy.

The Jehovah's Witnesses issued a series of predictions in the early 1900's that the world would end. 1914, 1918, 1920, 1925, 1941, 1975 and 1994 went by, however, without fulfillment of their prophecies.

Retired NASA engineer and author Edgar C. Whisenant wrote a book titled "88 Reasons Why The Rapture Is In 1988". 30,000 copies of the book were mailed to ministers at no charge, and 4.5 million copies were sold. (I'm embarrassed to say that I was one of the 4.5 million, but I claim youth as an excuse.) When 1988 became a thing of the past, he revised his prediction a number of times, claiming 1989, 1993, 1994, and 1997 would be the years, but he'd lost credibility by that time and book sales were off. A number of other people predicted the end would come in 1994, but they, too, were proven wrong.

One of the more recent prophecies about the end of the world places the date of the Second Coming at May 21, 2011, leaving us only 155 days before the end. There's even a web site with lots of information substantiating this claim; you can go to WeCanKnow.com to read all about it. Free bumper stickers can be obtained through this site as well, so that tailgaters can be forewarned. But be prepared to scrape them off on May 22nd, because the track record for Second Coming predictions isn't all that good. You might prefer to request the free business cards, post cards, and pocket calendars; these won't damage the chrome on your bumpers. (Hmm... it would be interesting to know if the pocket calendar goes to the end of the year, or stops with the end of time, i.e. May 21, 2011.)

But if that ones falls through, Galaxy Seven from Taiwan has a new prediction: December 12, 2012. The Hopi Indians apparently agree with this date, which is also the last day of the Mayan calendar, so be on the lookout for 12/12/12.


Many of these predictions seem to be derived from interpretation of the book of Revelation which, I confess, is WAY over my head. In my opinion, the most understandable Biblical reference to the end times comes in Matthew 24. Jesus discusses his coming at length, and he concludes with these words:

But about that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. - Mt. 24:36

So I'm not giving away all my possessions and climbing a mountain wearing a white robe waiting to be transported to heaven 155 days from now. But I am called to be ready in other ways, every day:

Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come. But understand this: If the owner of the house had known at what time of night the thief was coming, he would have kept watch and would not have let his house be broken into. So you also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him. - Mt. 24:42-44

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Don't forget to head over to Conversion Diary for 7 Quick Takes!

The true story of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer

A man named Bob May, depressed and brokenhearted, stared out his drafty apartment window into the chilling December night.

His 4-year-old daughter Barbara sat on his lap quietly sobbing. Bob's wife, Evelyn, was dying of cancer Little Barbara couldn't understand why her mommy could never come home. Barbara looked up into her dad's eyes and asked, "Why isn't Mommy just like everybody else's Mommy?" Bob's jaw tightened and his eyes welled with tears. Her question brought waves of grief, but also of anger. It had been the story of Bob's life. Life always had to be different for Bob.

Small when he was a kid, Bob was often bullied by other boys. He was too little at the time to compete in sports. He was often called names he'd rather not remember. From childhood, Bob was different and never seemed to fit in. Bob did complete college, married his loving wife and was grateful to get his job as a copywriter at Montgomery Ward during the Great Depression. Then he was blessed with his little girl. But it was all short-lived. Evelyn's bout with cancer stripped them of all their savings and now Bob and his daughter were forced to live in a two-room apartment in the Chicago slums. Evelyn died just days before Christmas in 1938.

Bob struggled to give hope to his child, for whom he couldn't even afford to buy a Christmas gift. But if he couldn't buy a gift, he was determined to make one - a storybook! Bob had created an animal character in his own mind and told the animal's story to little Barbara to give her comfort and hope. Again and again Bob told the story, embellishing it more with each telling. Who was the character? What was the story all about? The story Bob May created was his own autobiography in fable form. The character he created was a misfit outcast like he was. The name of the character? A little reindeer named Rudolph, with a big shiny nose. Bob finished the book just in time to give it to his little girl on Christmas Day. But the story doesn't end there.

The general manager of Montgomery Ward caught wind of the little storybook and offered Bob May a nominal fee to purchase the rights to print the book. Wards went on to print,_ Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer_ and distribute it to children visiting Santa Claus in their stores. By 1946 Wards had printed and distributed more than six million copies of Rudolph. That same year, a major publisher wanted to purchase the rights from Wards to print an updated version of the book.

In an unprecedented gesture of kindness, the CEO of Wards returned all rights back to Bob May. The book became a best seller. Many toy and marketing deals followed and Bob May, now remarried with a growing family, became wealthy from the story he created to comfort his grieving daughter. But the story doesn't end there either.

Bob's brother-in-law, Johnny Marks, made a song adaptation to Rudolph. Though the song was turned down by such popular vocalists as Bing Crosby and Dinah Shore , it was recorded by the singing cowboy, Gene Autry. "Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer" was released in 1949 and became a phenomenal success, selling more records than any other Christmas song, with the exception of "White Christmas."

The gift of love that Bob May created for his daughter so long ago kept on returning back to bless him again and again. And Bob May learned the lesson, just like his dear friend Rudolph, that being different isn't so bad. In fact, being different can be a blessing.

H/T to Rich for sharing this.

Sometimes science scares me.

According to an article published in the August 2010 issue of the Journal of Assisted Reproduction and Genetics scientists were able to manufacture an artificial ovary which then produced a viable human egg. Human ovarian tissue (described in the article as "self-assembled human theca and granulosa cell micro tissues") was obtained as the “starter” for the artificial ovary, which was grown in the laboratory. Furthermore, the article speculated that "in vitro maturation of primordial [eggs] promises to yield the greatest number of fertilizable [eggs] for future reproduction." There is speculation that this will be a stepping stone towards successful human cloning.

Each time we attain a scientific “advance” like this one, we tread into dangerous territory. What happens to unused embryos? What of people who want a child who has (or doesn’t have) a certain genetic trait, ranging from the sex of the child to the presence or absence of disease? Do they have the right to simply discard embryos that don’t measure up? What of parents who already have a child suffering from an illness that stem cells from a healthy compatible donor might help to save? Should they be allowed to select embryos simply on the basis of possible benefit to an existing child? And again, should they be allowed to simply discard the embryos that don’t fit their criteria?

If we develop technology which allows us to harvest some cells from a life in its earliest stages for growth in the lab, should we be allowed to harvest these cells, then sacrifice that life? If fetal anomalies are detected, should the mother me allowed to “terminate the pregnancy”, regardless of how far along her pregnancy has progressed? Who has parental rights when a surrogate mother decides she wants to keep the baby? What if the wrong embryo is implanted? (For a horrifying example of this, read this post.) Should an anonymous sperm donor later be able to demand to take an active role in decisions affecting his biological child?

Questions like these merely scratch the surface.

The technological progress we make carries with it responsibilities. To date, it seems we take little time to consider the ramifications of progress in terms of these responsibilities until we’ve got the tiger by the tail. From outward appearances, it appears that the scientists making these “advances” are so bent on being first to achieve them that they give no thought to the ethical dilemmas which will result. It would be well worth considering this in advance, though, lest this “progress” lead us straight to hell.

The digital story of the Nativity

This comes thanks to the wonderful Sisters of the Georgetown Visitation Monastery. Pretty neat, huh?

Only one thing is needed.

When I was young, it seemed that most families had a series of traditional visits that were made during the Christmas season. In my case, we always went to my grandmother’s on Christmas Eve. A huge gathering of extended family would join us there. We’d have a feast, the adults would open their gifts, and we’d proceed to church for the midnight service. On Christmas morning, my grandparents would join us at our house, where the children would open gifts, followed by a special Christmas breakfast. We’d then make the rounds of other family members’ homes before joining together at the home of an aunt for a Christmas feast that still amazes me to remember: roast turkey, baked ham, scalloped potatoes, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, corn pudding, peas, cranberry sauce (at least two kinds), salad, mince pie, apple pie, pumpkin pie, and Lord knows what else would weight down the table… more than enough to feed a small village for a week, or so it seemed.

"Christmas Rush", by Norman Rockwell

Our families are more far-flung now, and the number of “traditional visits” has shrunk, but it is still so easy to get caught up in the Christmas rush. Writing and mailing cards, buying and wrapping presents, decorating the tree, preparing the menu… the list goes on and on. And in the midst of the frenetic activity, it’s all too easy to lose sight of what we’re preparing for. Preoccupied with preparation, we forget the Guest.

Not a new phenomenon at all. In fact, it happened during Jesus’ lifetime, as we see in Luke 10:38-42:

As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”

“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”

So let’s indeed “open our homes to him”. But remember Jesus’ words. Only one thing is truly needed. So in the midst of our Martha moments, let’s take time to emulate Mary, to sit at the Lord’s feet listening to him.

__________________________________

By the way - Belle - please let me know how to contact you. If you post a comment that includes your email address, I promise not to approve it... but will email you after getting your address. I hate to put emails out on the web indiscriminately.

Methinks they doth protest too much.

OK.

They're athiests.

I get that.

But if they were truly sure of their ground, why would American Atheists want to pay
good money in a bad economy to erect this sign outside of the Lincoln Tunnel in New York?

A bit of research led me to a listing of the achievements claimed by American Atheists over the past three decades. According to this site, they have:

* Fought fervently to defend the Separation of Religion from Government Appeared in all forms of media to defend our positions and criticisms of religion and mythology
* Held Atheist conventions and gatherings throughout the United States, including "Atheist Pride" Marches in state capitals.
* Demonstrated and picketed throughout the country on behalf of Atheist rights and state church separation. The organization has marched to defend the rights of intellectuals such as writer Salman Rushdie, protested the use of government funds to support public religious displays, and conducted the first picket of a Roman Catholic pope in history.
* Published over 120 books about Atheism, criticism of religion, and state/church separation.Published newsletters, magazines and member-alerts.
* Built a broad outreach in cyberspace with mailing lists, an ftp and web site, FaxNet and other projects to keep members and the general public informed.
* Fostered a growing network of Representatives throughout the nation who monitor important First Amendment issues, and work on behalf of the organization in their areas.
* Grown a network of volunteers who perform a variety of important tasks in their community, from placing American Atheist books in libraries to writing letters and publicizing the Atheist perspective.
* Preserved Atheist literature and history in the nation's largest archive of its kind. The library's holdings span over three hundred years of Atheist thought.Provided speakers for colleges, universities, clubs and the news media.
* Granted college scholarships to young atheist activists

I will be glad to acknowledge that atheists have a perfect right to disbelieve in whatever they want to. But why spend this much energy trying to convert people to their disbeliefs?

I don't get it.

A pause in the Christmas preparations to prepare ourselves for Christ.

What's your favorite holiday recipe?

One thing that seems to be a "given" during Advent / Christmas / New Years is FOOD! I'm inviting you to share one (or more???) of your favorite recipes as we begin to approach Christmas. Here's one of mine:




SWEET POTATO / CRANBERRY CASSEROLE
1/2 C flour
1/2 C packed brown sugar
1/2 C oats
1 tsp cinnamon
1/3 C butter

2 C cranberries (fresh or frozen... thaw the frozen ones, though)

2 16-oz cans yams, drained
1-1/2 C miniature marshmallows


Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Mix together flour, brown sugar, oats, & cinnamon. Cut in cold butter until mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Toss 1 cup of the flour mixture with yams & cranberries. Place in 1/2 quart casserole. Bake 35 minutes. Add reserved liquid as needed or desired. Sprinkle with marshmallows. Broil until lightly browned.

Serves 6-8

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Now... please... reciprocate!!!
Share one of YOUR favorite recipes!

This is KILLER GOOD.

I Hates Rabbits!

Enjoy an old Loony Toons classic!

Too darn cute not to share!

The Christmas Pageant, from today's email...

My husband and I had been happily married (most of the time) for five years but hadn't been blessed with a baby.
I decided to do some serious praying and promised God that if he would give us a child, I would be a perfect mother, love it with all my heart and raise it with His word as my guide.

God answered my prayers and blessed us with a son.

The next year God blessed us with another son.

The following year, He blessed us with yet another son.

The year after that we were blessed with a daughter.

My husband thought we'd been blessed right into poverty. We now had four children, and the oldest was only four years old.

I learned never to ask God for anything unless I meant it. As a minister once told me, "If you pray for rain, make sure you carry an umbrella."

I began reading a few verses of the Bible to the children each day as they lay in their cribs..

I was off to a good start. God had entrusted me with four children and I didn't want to disappoint Him.

I tried to be patient the day the children smashed two dozen eggs on the kitchen floor searching
for baby chicks.

I tried to be understanding when they started a hotel for homeless frogs in the spare bedroom, although it took me nearly two hours to catch all twenty-three frogs.

When my daughter poured ketchup all over herself and rolled up in a blanket to see how it felt to be a hot dog, I tried to see the humor rather than the mess..

In spite of changing over twenty-five thousand diapers, never eating a hot meal and never sleeping for more than thirty minutes at a time, I still thank God daily for my children.

While I couldn't keep my promise to be a perfect mother - I didn't even come close - I did keep my promise to raise them in the Word of God.

I knew I was missing the mark just a little when I told my daughter we were going to church to worship God, and she wanted to bring a bar of soap along to "wash up" Jesus, too.

Something was lost in the translation when I explained that God gave us everlasting life, and my son thought it was generous of God to give us his "last wife."

My proudest moment came during the children's Christmas pageant.

My daughter was playing Mary, two of my sons were shepherds, and my youngest son was a wise man. This was their moment to shine.

My five-year-old shepherd had practiced his line, "We found the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes."

But he was nervous and said, "The baby was wrapped in wrinkled clothes."

My four-year-old "Mary" said, "That's not 'wrinkled clothes,' silly. That's dirty, rotten clothes."

A wrestling match broke out between Mary and the shepherd and was stopped by an angel,
who bent her halo and lost her left wing.

I slouched a little lower in my seat when Mary dropped the doll representing Baby Jesus, and it bounced down the aisle crying, "Mama-mama."

Mary grabbed the doll, wrapped it back up and held it tightly as the wise men arrived.

My other son stepped forward wearing a bathrobe and a paper crown, knelt at the manger
and announced, "We are the three wise men, and we are bringing gifts of gold, common sense and fur."

The congregation dissolved into laughter, and the pageant got a standing ovation.

"I've never enjoyed a Christmas program as much as this one," laughed the pastor, wiping tears from his eyes

"For the rest of my life, I'll never hear the Christmas story without thinking of gold, common sense
and fur."

"My children are my pride and my joy and my greatest blessing," I said as I dug through my purse for an aspirin.

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15 days til Christmas!

Get ready - Jesus is coming!

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Jesus had no servants, yet they called Him Master.

Had no degree, yet they called Him Teacher .
Had no medicines, yet they called Him Healer.

Had no army, yet kings feared Him.

He won no military battles, yet He conquered the world.
He committed no crime, yet they crucified Him.

He was buried in a tomb, yet He lives today.

Feel honored to serve such a Leader who loves us.

God bless you all, & have a very Merry Christmas!

I have a right...

Have you noticed lately that the phrase "my right to..." has appeared with increasing frequency in our conversation, and that some of the "rights" people claim aren't really rights at all? I did a brief web search on the topic and found that people are claiming to have some rather interesting, sometimes ridiculous, and often conflicting "rights". Read through this list:

The right to free speech... The right to remain silent... The right to consult with an attorney... The right to stop answering questions at any time... The right to be heard... The right to life... The right to die with dignity... The right to health care... The right of health workers to refuse to provide care that conflicts with their personal beliefs... The right to abortion on demand... The fundamental right of children to be loved, guided, educated and nurtured equally by both fit and willing parents... Parental rights... A right to child-free spaces... The right to “have a kid”...

The right to be treated with care and understanding... My right to offend you... The right to be respected as a person... Human rights... Animal rights... The right to be happy... I have a right to be mad... Smokers’ rights... The right to a smoke-free environment... Civil rights... The right to be racist... The right to keep & bear arms... Property rights... The right to kill someone who intrudes upon my property and poses a clear threat... The right to be safe... The right to an education... The right to put apostrophes where they don’t belong and leave them out where they do...

The right to vote... The right to say no... The right to be called a nutritionist... Fat people have rights... The right to freedom of worship... The constitutionally-guaranteed right to express beliefs in the workplace... The right to work... The right to a religion-free workplace... The right to up to 12 weeks of unpaid, job-protected leave on the birth or adoption of a child, to care for seriously ill family members or to recover from your own illness... The right of employers to refuse paid vacation or sick leave to employees... The right to mash-up, remix, annotate, augment, and otherwise modify Web content for my purposes in my browser using any tool I choose...

Can anyone in their right mind truly believe that all of these are fundamental rights... rights that no one should be denied? And can anyone explain why the number of "rights" people claim seem to far outnumber the number of "responsibilities" they recognize (at least on the web)? Isn't it time to at least try to achieve some balance between the rights we claim and the responsibilities we take on?

I like what John Paul II had to say on the topic:

Every believer knows that liberty is a gift which must be properly understood, if it is not to be a stumbling block to human dignity. To think of liberty as moral permissiveness or the ability to infringe the law, is to twist its true nature. Liberty, in fact, consists in the ability of the human being to acknowledge he is responsible.

What do you think? Have we achieved the proper balance between our rights and our responsibilities?

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Don't forget to visit Conversion Diary each Friday for 7 Quick Takes!

A little levity, anyone?

A minister decided that a visual demonstration would Add emphasis to his Sunday sermon. Four worms were placed into four separate jars.


The first worm was put into a container of alcohol.

The second worm was put into a container of cigarette smoke.

The third worm was put into a container of chocolate syrup.

The fourth worm was put into a container of good clean soil.


At the conclusion of the sermon, the Minister reported the following results:


The first worm in alcohol - Dead.

The second worm in cigarette smoke -Dead

Third worm in chocolate syrup - Dead


Fourth worm in good clean soil - Alive.



So the Minister asked the congregation -What can you learn from this demonstration?


Maxine, sitting in the back, quickly raised her hand and said,



"As long as you drink, smoke and eat chocolate, you won't have worms!"

That pretty much ended the service.

No, Chicken Little - the sky is NOT falling.

Tired of listening to the news as the broadcaster drones on about the end of the world, the collapse of the economy, the dismal prospects of the future? The perspective this gent presents in 4 minutes presents a different way of looking at things.

Enjoy!

A lot to learn...

Yesterday I received an email from the Cardinal Newman Society which related some disturbing statistics:

• 27% of students at Catholic colleges view pornography.
• 59% say their friends regularly use drugs.
• Nearly 1-in-5 know a student who had or paid for an abortion.
• 61% disagree with the Church's infallible teaching on the male priesthood.
• 60% think that abortion should be legal (and even 50% of those who attend Mass weekly!).
• 60% think that premarital sex with someone you care about is not a sin.
• 78% disagree that using a condom is a serious sin.
• 58% support "gay marriage".

One additional statistic included in this email was this:

• Nearly 1-in-8 Catholics will leave the Faith while attending a Catholic college.

It seems to me that someone at such serious odds with the Church cannot rightly be called Catholic at all; IMHO, they've already left the Church if they can profess these beliefs. But to be fair to these students, we need to further back in time.

Did their parents teach them about the faith? Did the parents' actions match their words when it came to teaching their children about how to practice that faith? Did the family pray together? Were the kids taken to Mass regularly and taught to respect the Mass and the Eucharist?

Did their parish provide the children with ample opportunity to learn about our beliefs? Did the children participate in religious education and youth group? Were the children taught how to make faith in our Lord an important part of daily life?

Our world is awash with violence, profanity, promiscuity, abortion, and "alternative lifestyles". It is an iron-clad fact that our children will be exposed to this sort of thing regularly. As parents, godparents, and fellow parishioners, we have a responsibility to counterbalance that.

It is said that Francis of Assisi invited a young brother to go with him to preach. They walked through the streets of the town and returned to the monastery. The young man asked Francis when they would begin to preach. Francis replied, "My son, we have been preaching; we were preaching while we walked. We have been observed by our fellows, our behavior has been remarked and thus we have delivered a morning sermon. My child, it is of no use that we walk anywhere to preach unless we preach as we walk."

Let us walk in such a way that our children will learn by our example to walk in faith.

A different sort of Christmas story.

Jennifer at My Chocolate Heart posted this on her site. As she said... be sure to have your Kleenex handy.

Perhaps this video will "go viral" this Christmas. It's a story worth hearing.

A nice tale from today's email.

A Nativity Scene was erected in a church yard. During the night the folks came across this scene:

An abandoned dog was looking for a comfortable, protected place to sleep. He chose baby Jesus as his comfort. No one had the heart to send him away so he was there all night.

We should all have the good sense of this dog and curl up in Jesus' lap from time to time.

No one mentioned that the dog breed is a "shepherd!"

Deo Gratias