tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43081313526554831222024-03-13T21:16:33.970+01:00Ad majorem Dei gloriamAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.comBlogger78125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-40003776820273369842014-01-04T00:00:00.000+01:002014-01-04T00:00:02.751+01:00A New Year, and an End<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Happy New Year to anybody reading this. I hope 2014 brings you God's peace and joy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">This post will be my last on this blog. I thought long and hard about starting this post back in 2012. I felt like I had things I wanted to say and I needed a format in which to do that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Writing these weekly posts has allowed me to work out in a (hopefully) coherent form the ideas on my mind. Looking back at 18 months of posts I can see my writing has become more focused. I've learned to self-edit. I have a habit of "getting lost in the weeds" as they say, both when I write and speak. I think I've learned to weed better over the months.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">But I think I've said just about everything I could on this blog. Now I'm going to focus my attention on writing stories for my kids and poetry.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">May God bless you and may you always remember our Lord from Whom all blessings flow.</span><br />
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<em>The Face of Jesus</em>, Rembrandt</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-51330687262751222102013-12-28T00:00:00.000+01:002013-12-28T00:00:00.536+01:00Twelve Months in Verse<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It started in January when I wrote a poem about the cherry tree in the front of the house. I had built a simple bird feeder that we hung in that tree. The feeder mainly attracted chickadees. Our daughter and son liked to push a chair up to the kitchen window and watch them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Then I wrote another poem in February about an Amaryllis that blossomed in the kitchen window. I think it was after that poem that I set myself the task of writing a poem for each month of the year throughout 2013. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">I managed it and here they are. I like some better than others, but I can say I'm pleased with each of them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">The poem for March, <em>Crocuses</em>, isn't an accurate reflection of what March was this past year. Normally crocuses do blossom here in March but this year we lots of snow through the first week of April (including a snow fall on Easter Sunday that had it looking more like Christmas!). The crocuses had to wait until April.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">All poems are written by me except where otherwise noted. I include Wanda Chotomska's poem <em>Łabędzie </em>(<em>Swans</em>) in Polish that I translated for the month of December.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">I hope you enjoy them.</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Cherry Tree in January</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Black against a lime green wall,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">bare branches</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">with black-capped chickadees</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"> quickly</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"> flashing</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"> from branch </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"> to branch,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">black against a lime green wall.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"><strong>Amaryllis in February</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Dull are the days in late winter.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Trees tug the skies like a blanket.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Freezing rain spatters the window.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">In the sleeping kitchen darkness</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">A fire star erupts in the night:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Amaryllis in the morning light.</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Crocuses</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Up from the March mud</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">and melting ice of Winter's hems</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">retreating,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">come sky blue, blood</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">red and sun fire gems:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Spring's greeting.</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">April Orchard</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">In clouds of blossom</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Billowing pink and white</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Bees thrum and birds sing bright</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">And clear - Listen</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Fallen man</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Listen and you will hear</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Creation exult</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">He is risen!</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">For Our Lady</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Come, crown the Queen of May</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">With lilacs, tulips and apple broth.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">The chestnut trees will light the way,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">A thousand torches held aloft.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Bring spotted lilies, peonies;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">The dandy-lions will guard the way.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">With flags of flowers such as these,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Come, crown the Queen the May.</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">June</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">There on my left the moon hangs white as wax.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">On my right, the western horizon glows.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Some late birds twitter unseen in their roosts.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Incessant crickets pulse and pulse and pulse.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Overhead the stars slowly salt the night</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">As on we're hurled through frigid space. Yet still</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">I stand in this orchard of swelling fruit.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">A brief half-night and then the cocks will crow.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Now's the soft unfolding of the season.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">The air is cool. As it is in summer's</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Beginning, so shall it be at the end.</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Summer</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">In the cooling air of an evening in July,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Beneath a space of blue, magenta clouds sail high.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Swallows, sharp as arrows, swoop, turn, then rise again</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">In arabesques as swift as light, sweet as rain.</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Harvest</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">August comes a fiery king</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"> In robes of radiant gold;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Embroidered figures thereupon</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"> With stories to be told:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Rolling fields of grain new shorn</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"> Reflect an amber light;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Squared and ribbed and crossed by roads</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"> Of blinding dusty white</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">That run away to wooded hills</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"> Of green burnt at the edges,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Where thrushes rustle furtively</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"> In thorny black cap hedges.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">A hamlet's nestled on a stream.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"> Great chestnuts and a steeple</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Lift a cloudless sky above</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"> A bronzed and honest people.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">There walks within an orchard cool</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"> A girl with golden hair,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">'Neath russet apples, purple plums</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"> Suspended in the air.</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Potato Season</span></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">A haze hangs low in fields</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Where families stoop in staggered rows</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Gathering potatoes into buckets.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">A tractor and wagon stand nearby.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Hours turn, the wagon's slowly filled.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">An autumn sun burns bright as now</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">One figure stands and stretches,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">September light reflected in each eye.</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Early Fire</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Is that the smoke of war</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">this early morning,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">punctuated with bursts of orange fire,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">bursts of yellow, blasts of magenta,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">a mute artillery fight?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">The morning sun reveals</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">October fog</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">pierced by radiant oaks and maples</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">afire with day's new light.</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Novemberland</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Gray watery sky</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">On damp brown weeds;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">No sun, no song, no breath.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">No sparrows fly</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">To gather summer seeds;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">A day of quiet death.</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Swans</span></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Great swans are flying.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Their white feathers fall</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">on the quiet earth below.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Careful swans a'flying,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">you're losing feathers all!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">But no -</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">'Tis only winter's first snow.</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Łabędzie</span></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Wanda Chotomska</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Odleciały</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">łabędzie o świcie.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Białe pióra</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">spadły na brzeg.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">- Uważajcie,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">pióra gubicie!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">- To nie pióra,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">to pierwszy</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">śnieg.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-50777512112551392412013-12-21T00:00:00.000+01:002014-02-25T12:08:45.400+01:00Maranatha!<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">There's a Hindu legend that tells of Yashoda, the foster mother of the god Krishna, looking into Krishna's mouth and seeing the entire universe there.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">This paradoxical story happened <em>long, long ago . . .</em> That is, in the mists of legend. It's merely a fable, however interesting.</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.orthodoximages.com/images/icons/feasts/feasts_lding/creation_right_lg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.orthodoximages.com/images/icons/feasts/feasts_lding/creation_right_lg.jpg" height="400" width="310" /></a></div>
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Icon of the Creation by Fr. Luke Dingman</div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">In the 42nd year of the reign of Caesar Octavian Augustus, year 752 since the foundation of the City of Rome, the whole world being at peace, in Judea, a provincial outpost of the Roman Empire, a young Jewish woman carried the Creator of the entire universe in her womb. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Such is the astounding paradox that in a specific place and at a specific time in human history, a woman gave birth to her Creator.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">The King of the Universe entered human history not with the blare of trumpets and pomp and splendor. He came as a vulnerable baby, born in a stable to parents of no great social standing. Splendid angels from heaven did announce his birth, but apparently only to some simple shepherds in a nearby field. As C. S. Lewis wrote somewhere, Jesus the Christ entered the world rather quietly, as if behind enemy lines.</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.eastgatedev.com/images/Chagall_Nativity.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div>
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<a href="http://25.media.tumblr.com/f9d8ad345e364449d6bf70b04c47ba70/tumblr_myc8mvYa7j1spsmf7o1_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://25.media.tumblr.com/f9d8ad345e364449d6bf70b04c47ba70/tumblr_myc8mvYa7j1spsmf7o1_1280.jpg" height="220" width="320" /></a></div>
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<em>Nativity</em> by Marc Chagall</div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">With that, I'd like to wish everyone a very Merry Christmas, and peace and joy in the New Year. May our Lord find a home in our hearts. </span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Midwinter Light</span></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">by Randall Peaslee</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">In bleak December days of snow</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">And fog, mud and gloom,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">A fire blazes, candles glow</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">And friends are gathered in a room</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Of carols, wine and mirth;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">And the dying twelvemonth ends</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"> with a Birth.</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-31348971159927703192013-12-14T00:00:00.000+01:002013-12-14T00:00:02.035+01:00Lambs<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A few years ago my wife was with our two small children in a shopping mall. This particular mall had a children's play area located where four of the mall alleys meet. There was no restraining barrier around this play area; it was open in all directions.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My wife was watching our kids but turned her attention away for a moment. When she looked back to see where our kids were, she saw our daughter Emilia but didn't see Adam.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Emilka, where's Adam?" my wife asked.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Emilia didn't know and my wife couldn't see Adam anywhere. She stood up to look for him. The mall was crowded with people and, as I've mentioned, the play area was open to four different alleys. She looked in all directions, wondering which way he might have gone - or been taken. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The worst fear a parent can experience chilled my wife's heart<em>. Oh God, where can he be</em>?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And then, she saw him. Adam was wearing a shirt the exact same color as the children's play equipment. The little chameleon was playing happily the whole time, just a few feet away!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I once dreamt of losing Adam in similar circumstances and woke up from that dream with my heart racing.</span><br />
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<a href="http://taylormarshall.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/Guardian-Angel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://taylormarshall.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/Guardian-Angel.jpg" height="320" width="257" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">That's as close as my wife and I have come to losing one of our children, real or dreamt. (How ever many times they have been saved unawares from harm by their guardian angels, we'll probably only know in heaven.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">December 14th marks the one year anniversary of the Sandy Hook massacre at the primary school in Newtown CT. My wife and I can only imagine the pain and grief of those parents who lost children that day. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I'll now turn the rest of this posting over to some text from this month's<em> Magnificat.</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">From the Editorial, by Father Peter John Cameron, O.P., Editor-in-Chief:</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">There is something that many Magnificat readers may not know. Since my main apostolate is Magnificat, I am not assigned like other priests to a parish. But each Sunday I help out in a parish. And the parish where I have been celebrating Mass on Sundays for the past four years is Saint Rose of Lima Church in Newtown, Connecticut.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">On the evening of the massacre, Mass was held at Saint Rose. I got there early, and was overwhelmed at the turnout. Easily a thousand people packed the church too small for such a crowd. And another thousand massed outside.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">I kept wondering: <em>Why are they here? What are they looking for?</em> Not all of them were parishioners . . . or even Catholic, for that matter. And although they could not get inside the church, people did not opt to leave. They stayed because they <em>had</em> to be there. The atrocity had incited an instant Advent: the urgent need for God amidst the pain of human powerlessness. Together we had become expectation.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">What was the only thing adequate to meet the agony people were suffering in that desperate moment? The answer appears on the lips of one of the bereaved young mothers. Jenny Hubbard's beautiful, redheaded, six-year-old daughter Catherine had been slain in the rampage. Barely a month later, Saint Rose Church held a gathering of grade school parents. And Jenny volunteered to speak to them. I asked her where she found the strength to do what most people would consider impossible. Jenny replied, "There is a Presence that is so much better than ourselves, and we have to acknowledge it."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><strong>Lamb of God</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Jenny Hubbard</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">It is the time during Mass where my tears flow steadily:</span><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world, have mercy on us.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world, have mercy on us.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world, grant us peace.</span></em><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">It is then that the pain becomes overwhelmingly raw. The wound that I think has started to heal is suddenly ripped open.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Lambs are innocent, exposed, and vulnerable, and yet they are always protected. My lamb is my Catherine. I knew her cry before it came from her lungs. I knew it was Catherine calling "Mama" even though she was in a room full of children calling out. I knew where she was, even when I couldn't see her. She is the lamb I knew had been called home before I truly understood what had happened. Just knowing - it is a gift God gave me when he placed her next to my heart for nine months. A gift he gave me when he allowed the quiet beating of our hearts to find rhythm next to each other's.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">It is always a lamb I see when I think of Catherine. She is the lamb that she would nuzzle right beside Mary in the Nativity. She is the lamb that greets us from the pasture as we walk on a foggy spring morning. She is the lamb I had carved into the footstone at her resting place. And now, as I tuck it into the pages when I close my Bible, it is Catherine that I see walking confidently beside Jesus on her prayer card.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">"The Lord is my Shepherd there is nothing I shall want" (Ps 23:1). It is Jesus who was waiting for her as he welcomed his flock. He led her to still waters, and she fears no evil. She is his lamb, innocent and vulnerable - naïve to what the world is capable of. She is sheltered under his vigilant watch; she is whole and is resting peacefully at his feet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">And I too am his lamb. It is myself he has cradled across his shoulders. He knows my heart aches to feel the beating of hers against mine. He acknowledges my cry, even when it hasn't yet left my lungs. He hears my quiet calling through all the voices and comes to me. I know that he will guide me as I seek his guidance, and that he will answer my voice when I call out. He continues to scoop me up and carry me when the days seem too much. He shows his unending love in the simplest things that are so undeniably Catherine. In doing so he reminds me that his promise has not been broken. He reminds me that one day he will gently lift me from his shoulders and place me beside her. When that day comes, I will close my eyes and relish the quiet rhythm of our beating hearts.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-84156813613078003772013-12-07T00:00:00.000+01:002013-12-07T00:00:06.228+01:00I Love You<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I've recently re-discovered a band called The Blue Nile. They were a trio out of Glasgow, Scotland. I used to have the CD of probably their best album, <em>Hats</em>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Somehow in my many moves to and fro, I misplaced that CD. I found the complete album on youtube a week ago and have listened to it nearly every day since. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">It's a 7-song, 39-minute album that begins with the yearning song "Over the Hillside." The horns on that track slowly and majestically unfold to a heart-lifting crescendo. Another of my favorites is the rhythmic and stirring "Headlights on the Parade." The album ends with the gentle "Saturday Night." However, all of the tracks are lovely. When I'm not listening to the album on youtube, the songs keep playing in my head wherever I go.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Paul Buchanan was the singer and main song-writer in the band (that's him front and center in the picture below). His singing style is passionate yet restrained. There's a delicious tension in most of his songs.</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.electricity-club.co.uk/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/TheBlueNile2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="312" src="http://www.electricity-club.co.uk/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/TheBlueNile2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The Blue Nile</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I saw in an interview one of the other band members commenting on Buchanan's songs and saying, "Really, every song could be titled 'I Love You'." I've listened to numerous other songs of theirs from other albums this past week and yes, I think "I Love You" just about sums it up. </span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">The Choice Food of Advent</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I read this meditation earlier this week in <em>Magnificat:</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">How busily employed you must be during this holy season in preparing a lodging for the Guest who is coming to you! I fancy I can see you, as solicitous as Martha, and yet as peaceful as Magdalen, preparing to give to your coming Savior the service both of soul and body; and he is worthy of both, for he is your God. O blessed time, which brings before our minds the truth that God came in the flesh to dwell amongst us, to enlighten our darkness and to direct our feet in the way of peace, so that being made his brethren, we might share in his inheritance!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">Earnestly indeed may you long for Christ's Advent, and prepare your heart to be his dwelling-place, for men wished for his coming ages before his birth, so that the prophet styles him "the Desired of all nations." Jesus gives himself to none but those who anxiously look for him. Choice food is thrown away on such as cannot taste it, and so those who long not after God's presence cannot value him as they ought. Our Lord hears "the desire of the poor" (Ps 10:17) and bends his ear to listen to the sighing of their hearts after him, for that is all he cares for in the children of men. When their sighs reach him, he comes into their souls; nor can he refuse himself, for, as he tells us in the Canticle (4:9), "Thou hast wounded my heart, my sister, my spouse, thou hast wounded my heart with one of thy eyes and with one hair of thy neck." What can be more tender than that which is wounded by a glance of the eye, or more weak than what is bound by a single hair?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS;">by Saint John of Avila</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-18769087601519800512013-11-30T00:00:00.000+01:002013-11-30T00:00:00.861+01:00Expectation<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><em>Behold, the days are coming, says the Lord, when I shall raise up a righteous shoot to David; As king he shall reign and govern wisely, he shall do what is just and right in the land. In his days Judah shall be saved, Israel shall dwell in security. This is the name they give him: "The Lord our justice." </em>Jeremiah 23:5-6</span><br />
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<em>Madonna del Parto,</em> unknown painter</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">December 1st is the beginning of the Advent season this year. Every year I gripe about how early the holiday commercials and tinsel appear. There's too much rush and clamor and not enough quiet preparation. Some of my facebook friends have been posting Christmas pictures since October!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">It's occurred to me lately, however, that maybe I'm being a little unfair. For all of the hype and chintzy-ness of the <em>holiday season</em>, the true magic of Christmas still shines through. Beneath all of the fool's gold is the real gold of Jesus Christ's coming. Each of our hearts yearns for the coming of the King. We can't wait to celebrate his birth. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">I heard some people sniping about how stupid it was for people to get so excited over the birth of Prince William and Kate Middleton's baby last summer. "What a lot of nonsense!" they grumbled.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">I don't agree. There's something deep within us that anticipates with joy a royal birth. Multiply that to the nth degree and you have so many people chomping at the bit<em> </em>to begin celebrating Christmas.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Advent, in my opinion, is a more beautiful and fulfilling way to prepare for the celebration of the greatest royal birth in human history, the birth of God.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">"Advent means a presence begun, the presence of God. To celebrate Advent means to bring to life within ourselves the hidden Presence of God," writes Pope Benedict XVI.</span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Magnificat</span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">The first image on this post, <em>Madonna del Parto</em>, showing the Virgin Mary heavy with child, is on the cover of the December issue of the magazine <em>Magnificat. </em>For an interesting commentary on this particular image (starting December 1st), go to <a href="http://www.magnificat.net/">www.magnificat.net</a>, click on 'Discover Magnificat' in the English Language section, then find 'The commentary of the cover' at the top of the right column. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">I often include texts from <em>Magnificat</em> on this blog. It's a fantastic monthly magazine that includes the Scripture readings for each day's mass, with a daily meditation on the theme of that day's readings. Plus, there are daily morning and evening prayers and Scripture readings and a handful of thought-provoking essays scattered throughout the magazine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">I highly recommend you go to any Catholic book store and for $5.95 buy yourself a copy. Read it daily throughout the month and you may decide to subscribe to it. </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-61853227488655554372013-11-23T00:00:00.000+01:002013-11-23T00:00:05.399+01:00Thanks-Giving<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">How does an atheist celebrate Thanksgiving? To whom or to what does he give thanks? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">Both 'to thank' and 'to give' are transitive verbs; they require an object. We can't just say <em>I thank</em> or <em>I give</em>. We can say <em>I thank you</em> or <em>I give you thanks.</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">And so, who do we give thanks to?</span><br />
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<em>Parable of the Lost Drachma</em> by Domenico Fetti</div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">O felix culpa!</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">That's Latin for <em>O</em> <em>happy fault! </em>I'll get back to that in a moment. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">At this time of year we often say how thankful we are for our health, our families and friends, our jobs, etc. It is only right to give thanks to God for all of those things.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">But what about the bad things? Should we give thanks for those, too? Our trials and troubles can make us stronger, improve our character, teach us patience and humility, and if nothing else make us appreciate the good things.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">After all, if there was no <em>bad</em> then <em>good</em> would have no meaning.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">"Oh happy fault that merited such and so great a Redeemer." So goes a line in a song traditionally sung during the Easter Vigil mass. If not for the Fall in the Garden of Eden, then there's no need for Jesus Christ to redeem us. Put another way, there's no reason for God to demonstrate the astounding love and mercy he shows us in his Son, Jesus. There's no reason for the Father to search for his wayward children; the house doesn't need to be swept in search of a lost coin.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">It's a peculiar theological concept and is worth much reflection.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">The following is a reflection by Ann Voskamp on Luke 17:11-19. This Gospel passage recounts Jesus' healing of ten lepers, one of which returns to give thanks to Jesus. Jesus tells this leper, "Stand up and go; your faith has saved you."</span><br />
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<em>Ten Lepers Healed</em> by Brian Kershisnik</div>
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<em><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I look back to the text. That is what it says: "Thy faith has saved thee." And the leper's faith was a faith that said thank you. Is that it? Jesus counts thanksgiving as integral in a faith that saves.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We only enter into the full life if our faith gives thanks.</span></em><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em>Because how else do we accept his free gift of salvation if not with thanksgiving? Thanksgiving is the evidence of our acceptance of whatever he gives. Thanksgiving is the manifestation of our</em> Yes!<em> to his grace.</em></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em>Thanksgiving is inherent to a true salvation experience; thanksgiving is necessary to live the well, whole, </em>fullest<em> life.</em></span></span><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"If the Church is in Christ, its initial act is always an act of thanksgiving, of returning the world to God," writes Orthodox theologian Alexander Schmemann. If I am truly in Christ, mustn't my initial act, too, always be an act of thanksgiving, returning to Jesus with thanks on the lips?</span></em><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em>I would read it much later in the pages of the Psalms, at the close of a Communion service as the bread and the wine were returned to the table, the Farmer handing his Bible over to me, his finger holding the verse for me to see because he had just read it there, what I had been saying, living, believing, and the chin would quiver before I'd brim at the way God shows his salvation: "He who sacrifices thank offerings honors me, and he prepares the way so that I may show him the salvation of God"</em> (Ps 50:23)</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thanksgiving<em> - giving thanks in everything - prepares the way that God might show us his fullest </em>salvation<em> in Christ.</em></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">from <em>One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are</em></span><br />
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<em>The First Thanksgiving at Plymouth</em> </div>
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by Jennie A. Brownscombe</div>
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<em></em><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-7375378506658639772013-11-16T00:00:00.000+01:002013-11-16T11:24:03.211+01:00The Gospel According to C. S. Lewis<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">November 22nd this year marks the 50th anniversary of the assassination of President Kennedy. I saw recently that according to one survey, Americans consider Kennedy to be America's greatest president.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I think Americans (and not only Americans) often confuse popularity with greatness. A certain pop singer recently grabbed plenty of attention by her disgusting antics at a 'music' awards show. For a while her video was the most viewed on youtube. Popular, maybe, but there isn't a shred of greatness there.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">But getting back to Kennedy, I think President Kennedy's fortune was that he was young and handsome, he had a wife with film-star good looks, and he died young. I mean, how many films was James Dean in? You can count them on the fingers of one hand. And yet, he's a legend. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">President Kennedy's greatest accomplishment (other than dying in the glow of eternal youth) was staring down the Russians over the Cuban missiles. But on the negative side of the ledger come the disastrous 'Bay of Pigs' Cuban invasion attempt and American involvement in Vietnam.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">His 'man-on-the-moon' speech, you say? OK, he was a good cheerleader for that mission but it was Congress which funded the program - with American taxpayers' money - and the numerous scientists and astronauts who put in countless hours to make it happen.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">On the same day Kennedy was killed in 1963, occurred the deaths of two of the twentieth century's most influential writers. Naturally they received scant coverage by the media because of the Kennedy assassination.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Aldous Huxley died at age 69 in Los Angeles and C. S. Lewis died at age 64 in Oxford, England.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Aldous Huxley is best known for his novel <em>Brave New World</em>, a dystopian novel published in 1932 about a future world of scientifically controlled human reproduction and psychological manipulation of human behavior. It's a superficial world of pain avoidance and lack of deep and lasting human relationships.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">When I was a kid and the year 1984 was approaching, many people saw George Orwell's dystopian vision in his novel <em>1984</em> as a likely future scenario. I read that book but as I grew older I began to doubt if human beings would ever acquiesce to such a grimly spartan, emotionally suppressed world. Then I read Huxley's <em>Brave New World</em> and I thought, <em>Here is a likelier possibility!</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I recently ran across this from a letter Huxley wrote to Orwell after the publication of Orwell's novel in 1949, congratulating him on his 'profoundly important book' but going on to state, 'Within the next generation I believe that the world's leaders will discover that infant conditioning and narco-hypnosis are more efficient, as instruments of government, than clubs and prisons, and that the lust for power can be just as completely satisfied by suggesting people into loving their servitude as by flogging them and kicking them into obedience.' </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">(Does anyone recall that 'Life of Julia' video from Obama's 2012 campaign? It wouldn't have surprised Huxley.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Against all of this is the voice of C. S. Lewis. If Huxley's is a voice of warning, Lewis' is a voice bringing good news. Through the medium of print, Lewis may have brought the good news of Jesus Christ to as many people as Billy Graham and Pope John Paul II have done through public speaking.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I think I've read most of Lewis' books and there isn't a dull one in the entire lot. As far as I can tell, all of his books remain in print - decades after he wrote them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">The world as C. S. Lewis sees it in his books is full of drama and wonder and excitement. The Incarnation of God in Jesus Christ is the greatest story ever; it is in fact THE story of all stories. Everything else in human hi<em>story</em>, both before and after the Incarnation, only matters in relation to that central event in history.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">This applies as well to fairy tales. What are fairytales after all but the working out of the dramas of reality through the prism of human imagination. I think most all of us have been enchanted by Lewis' <em>The Chronicles of Narnia</em> at some point in our lives. My own two children love the recent Narnia films, though the books are still a little bit beyond them. As an adult I've been astounded by his books <em>The Screwtape Letters</em> and the 'Space Trilogy' novels (<em>Out of the Silent Planet, Perelandra, That Hideous Strength</em>).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Add to those his works of straightforward apologetics and literary criticism like <em>Mere Christianity, The Problem of Pain, The Four Loves, The Discarded Image, </em>etc., and you have a powerful body of writing. He never won the Nobel Prize for Literature, but he didn't need to. Look at the list of Nobel winners and most of them you've never heard of and are little read nowadays. Lewis' books are like perennial flowers - they just keep coming back year after year.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">The following comes from Lewis' <em>The Weight of Glory and Other Addresses</em> as reprinted in this month's <em>Magnificat</em>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">What more, you may ask, do we want? Ah, but we want so much more - something the books on aesthetics take little notice of. But the poets and the mythologies know all about it. We do not want merely to see beauty, though, God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else which can hardly be put into words - to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">That is why we have peopled air and earth and water with gods and goddesses and nymphs and elves - that, though we cannot, yet these projections can, enjoy in themselves that beauty, grace, and power of which Nature is the image. That is why the poets tell us such lovely falsehoods. They talk as if the west wind could really sweep into a human soul; but it can't. They tell us that "beauty born of murmuring sound" will pass into a human face; but it won't. Or not yet. For if we take the imagery of Scripture seriously, if we believe that God will one day <em>give</em> us the Morning Star and cause us to <em>put on</em> the splendor of the sun, then we may surmise that both the ancient myths and the modern poetry, so false as history, may be very near the truth as prophecy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">At present we are on the outside of the world, the wrong side of the door. We discern the freshness and purity of morning, but they do not make us fresh and pure. We cannot mingle with the splendors we see. But all the leaves of the New Testament are rustling with the rumor that it will not always be so. Some day, God willing, we shall get <em>in</em>. When human souls have become as perfect in voluntary obedience as the inanimate creation is in its lifeless obedience, then they will put on its glory, or rather a greater glory of which nature is only the first sketch. For you must not think that I am putting forward any heathen fancy of being absorbed into Nature. Nature is mortal; we shall outlive her. When all the suns and nebulae have passed away, each one of you will still be alive. Nature is only the image, the symbol; but it is the symbol Scripture invites me to use. We are summoned to pass in through Nature, beyond her, into that splendor which she fitfully reflects.</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-42667533012941917972013-11-09T00:00:00.000+01:002013-11-09T00:00:00.666+01:00The Great War<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">November 11th is Veterans' Day. This day of course commemorates the end of World War I in 1918. I read recently that the BBC plans to air 2,500 hours of First World War programming from 2014 to 2018 to coincide with the 100 year anniversary dates of that war.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I'm sure there'll be a lot of interesting programs included, though I can't imagine anybody having time to watch it all. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Lately I've been thinking of something else in connection to that war. George Weigel and others have remarked that the 20th century - politically and culturally - began in 1914 and ended in 1989. In other words, the essence of that century began with the First World War and ended with the fall of communism in Eastern Europe.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">This blog isn't the place for an in depth consideration of that argument, but to me it holds a lot of truth. The general attitude prevailing in western civilization before WWI was one of optimism about human progress. That 'war to end all wars' shattered this rosy optimism and ushered in an era of decadence in morals and art (the two go hand in hand). Furthermore, the idea of human or societal progress was taken up in a brutal fashion by communism and fascism. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">So what ended in 1989? I think that's the more interesting question. The general line goes that the western idea of individual freedom won and collectivist-statist authoritarianism lost. </span><br />
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The smiling face of Statism, then . . .</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I suppose so, to a degree. However, Western Europe and Canada have been - and America is increasingly becoming - very statist. Those in government know better and more and more decide what's best for the individual. The sphere of government power grows as individual liberty and responsibility shrink. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">And I don't think I need to differentiate here between <em>liberty</em> and <em>libertinism</em>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">André Malraux once wrote that "the next century (the 21st) will be religious, or it won't be at all." </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Whenever it was that the 20th century ended, I think what marks the 21st century is the confrontation between a vibrant, militant Islam and a morally confused and weak west (Europe, North America, Australia).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Those who continually say that religion has been the cause of all wars are either willfully stupid or just ignorantly parroting what they hear from the stupid. However, at a deeper level it really is all about religion<em>. Cult</em> is the root word in <em>culture</em>. I mean of course <em>cult</em> in its primary sense, not the Jim-Jones-following-freak sense.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Islam is an incomplete religion but it's a much stronger force than the wishy-washy 'whatever' relativism which currently has a vise grip on the western mind.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">The west has already lost the battle, I'm afraid, though we still retain the superior technology and military hardware. That won't save us ultimately.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Here's what will:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Love has made you a Christian</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">and you are a Christian for Love.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Nothing else made you a Christian</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">and you were made a Christian for no other reason.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">If you forget Love you make yourself absurd;</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">if you betray Love you become monstrous.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">No justice can ever dispense you</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">from the law of Love.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">If you turn away from Love</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">to receive something greater</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">you are preferring riches to Life.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">If you turn away from Love</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">so as to give something greater than Love,</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">you deprive the world of the one treasure </span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">that you were destined to give it.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">If Love is more or less an optional extra for you,</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">don't bother setting out for Abidjan</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">or anywhere else for you are good for nothing.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">We are free of every obligation</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">but totally dependent</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">on the one thing necessary: Love.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Love is our life becoming eternal life.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">When we give up Love, we give up our own life.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">One act of Love is one immediate resurrection.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">You win Love by desiring it, asking for it,</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">receiving it, and passing it on.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">We don't learn Love, we get to know it little by little</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">as we get to know Christ.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Faith in Christ makes us capable of Love;</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">the life of Christ reveals to us what Love is;</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">the life of Christ shows us how to desire Love</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">and how to receive Love.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">The Spirit of Christ makes us alive with Love,</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">active with Love,</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">fruitful with Love.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Everything can be of service to Love</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">but without it everything is barren -</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">first and foremost ourselves.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></em><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">by Madeleine Delbrêl</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">(pictured below)</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-45991958879245064852013-11-02T00:00:00.000+01:002013-11-02T00:00:06.316+01:00Homesickness<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I've got it bad. Just about every night I dream of the U.S. My wife often dreams about it too. 'Home' often comes up in conversation as well - "Remember in Texas when . . .?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">We gave up a lot to move here and I don't just mean financially. In a lot of ways our life was freer there while here it's more pinched. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">There are serious reasons why the migration of people is nearly 100% in the direction of the U.S. and not in this direction. I clearly remember the many raised eyebrows of Polish bureaucrats when I went through the process of applying for my residence card allowing me to work here. Their looks said, <em>You're an American and you're moving <strong>here</strong>?</em> So many people here would dearly love to move in the opposite direction.</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.artexpertswebsite.com/pages/artists/artists_l-z/magritte/Magritte_Homesickness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.artexpertswebsite.com/pages/artists/artists_l-z/magritte/Magritte_Homesickness.jpg" width="245" /></a></div>
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<em>Homesickness</em> by Rene Magritte</div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they say. I have to remind myself that I was pretty discontented with many aspects of my life in the U.S. My job was a nearly daily stress-bomb. Suburban America hardly makes a charming postcard picture.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">I watch NFL games on the internet and the American TV commercials and TV show promotions remind me of the ugly underside of American culture. One of my students here has discovered <em>Honey Boo Boo</em> on youtube and she likes to talk about it. I've had a look at this show on the internet. Yikes!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">I guess most of us are always looking for perfection. My Dad was afflicted with this search for perfection which caused us to move from place to place. Call it <em>wanderlust</em>. I have it too and so does my sister Ren<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">é</span>e.</span><br />
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<em>Homesickness</em> by Marcin Kesek</div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">As a kid, even when we weren't physically moving house, we changed churches a lot. My Dad was never satisfied. And that brings me to a couple of points I want to make in all of this.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">When I discovered the Catholic Church, it was like coming home. There isn't space to go into all of the details here, but the Church answered so many of my deepest desires. The Church is truly the physical manifestation of Christ's Body on earth.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">My second point is that even in this Church, Christ's visible Body on earth, we see things darkly (1 Corinthians 13:9-12). We are pilgrims on earth; our true home is heaven. It is for heaven - true perfection - that we long. Because of that, nothing on this earth will ever completely satisfy us.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"><strong>from <em>A Shropshire Lad</em></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">A. E. Housman</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Into my heart an air that kills</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"> From yon far country blows:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">What are those blue remembered hills,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"> What spires, what farms are those?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">That is the land of lost content,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"> I see it shining plain,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">The happy highways where I went</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"> And cannot come again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-90365894136497404322013-10-26T00:00:00.000+02:002013-10-26T11:01:44.228+02:00Who is a Saint?<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Beloved: See what love the Father has bestowed on us that we may be called the children of God. Yet so we are. The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him. Beloved, we are God's children now; what we shall be has not yet been revealed. We do know that when it is revealed we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is. Everyone who has this hope based on him makes himself pure, as he is pure.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></em><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">First Letter of St. John 3:1-3</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">November 1st is All Saints Day on the Church calendar. It's a day for celebrating and contemplating the lives of the Saints.</span><br />
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<a href="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSUFMvoT8wmE61TLqtkmf65uzp9CgiKoMmrE9BEAy8Cd0gZfmFb" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSUFMvoT8wmE61TLqtkmf65uzp9CgiKoMmrE9BEAy8Cd0gZfmFb" width="400" /></a></div>
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The Denial of St. Peter, by Caravaggio</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Who is a saint? I've read many descriptions, some rather long and complicated and some short. Here are some good (short) ones:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"><em>A saint is always someone through whose life we learn what God is like - and what we are called to be. Only God 'makes' saints. The Church merely identifies from time to time a few of these for imitation.</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"><em></em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"><em>Anyone who is in Heaven, whether recognized here on earth, or not.</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"><em></em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"><em>A person who kept on trying when everybody else gave up.</em></span><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span></em><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">I'm not sure how theologically correct that last one is, but I like it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">There are two things I want to stress about saints. First of all, the Church (Catholic or Orthodox) doesn't 'make' saints. She merely recognizes, after much discernment and guidance by the Holy Spirit, certain individuals who led lives of 'heroic virtue'; that is, individuals who dedicated their lives to loving and serving God and who now live eternally in heaven with God. It's kind of like the Church's 'Hall of Fame.'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">This leads me to my second point. The saints aren't those who walked the earth in a dreamy rapture all the time, carrying a prayer book or rosary beads, and who never lost their temper or said a bad word. The heroic virtue these individuals practiced meant they struggled with and overcame their own personal shortcomings through God's grace. They surrendered their lives - warts and all - to God. They understood that they could do nothing, absolutely NOTHING, without God's grace and strength.</span><br />
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The Temptation of Saint Anthony, by Jacques Antoine Vallin</div>
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<a href="http://www.1st-art-gallery.com/thumbnail/185025/1/The-Temptation-Of-St.-Anthony.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">The saints had their share of human weaknesses while they lived on earth. We should all know about <strong>Saint Peter</strong>'s shortcomings as a man from the New Testament. He appeared to have a short temper and he denied our Lord three times the night before his crucifixion. <strong>Saint Ambrose</strong> (4th century) had a quick and sharp tongue. <strong>Saint Therese of Lisieux</strong> (19th century) admitted to being tempted by blasphemous thoughts. <strong>Saint Padre Pio</strong> (20th century) struggled with a short temper. Those are just a few that come immediately to my mind.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">God's will is that all be saved (1 Timothy 2:4; 2 Peter 3:9). We are all meant to spend eternity with God. Whatever our personal shortcomings, we are all called to be saints. We must choose every single day to love God and give him our entire selves, body and soul, thoughts, words and actions. Only then can God make us saints.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-81105435494684225062013-10-19T00:00:00.000+02:002013-10-19T00:00:01.568+02:00Eternity<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The big news here in Poland lately is the announced canonization of Pope John Paul II next spring, April 27th to be exact. John Paul II was Polish, born Karol Wojtyła, and the Poles are very proud of him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Regarding sainthood and canonization, that's a topic I'll deal with next week as we approach All Saints' Day on November 1st.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Blessed John Paul II's feast day is October 22nd and that and the announcement of his canonization has led me to read some of the things he said and wrote.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">I came across the following in this month's <em>Magnificat:</em></span><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">We are now standing in the face of the greatest historical confrontation humanity has ever experienced. I do not think the wide circle of the American society, or the wide circle of the Christian community realize this fully. We are now facing the final confrontation between the Church and the anti-church, between the Gospel and the anti-gospel, between Christ and the antichrist. This confrontation lies within the plans of Divine Providence. It is, therefore, in God's Plan, and it must be a trial which the Church must take up, and face courageously.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span></em><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Then Cardinal Karol Wojtyła spoke those words in an address at the Eucharistic Congress in Philadelphia in 1976. If some people thought he was exaggerating then, I think subsequent events should clarify the truth of his words. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">When Cardinal Wojtyła was elected pope two years later, he would begin his pontificat with the words of Christ, <em>Be not afraid!</em> He would repeat those words often over the following quarter century.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">What is it that we are not to be afraid of? Death? Satan and the powers of darkness? Illness, failure and pain?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">The Gospel reading for mass last Friday, October 11th, was from Luke 11:15-26. I'll cite the first few verses:</span><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">When Jesus had driven out a demon, some of the crowd said: "By the power of Beelzebul, the prince of demons, he drives out demons." Others, to test him, asked him for a sign from heaven. But he knew their thoughts and said to them, "Every kingdom divided against itself will be laid waste and house will fall against house. And if Satan is divided against himself, how will his kingdom stand? For you say that it is by Beelzebul that I drive out demons. If I, then, drive out demons by Beelzebul, by whom do your own people drive them out? Therefore they will be your judges. <strong>But if it is by the finger of God that I drive out demons, then the Kingdom of God has come upon you . . ."</strong></span></em><br />
<strong><em><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span></em></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">We often hear the line that Satan's greatest accomplishment in this later age is to have convinced people that he doesn't exist. Those who dabble in the occult or Satanism are fools to the nth degree. But I think that those who have comfortably come to the conclusion that the devil is just silly old superstition are the bigger fools. </span><br />
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Jesus said, "I have observed Satan fall </div>
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like lightning from the sky." Luke 10:18</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Those who grope through the dark forest of Satan's kingdom are at least aware of the realities of the supernatural. They play a fool's game by adoring That which hates them passionately and wishes to deface the image of God in which they were created and works tirelessly to snatch them eternally from the love of God. But I think that those aware of the existence of Satan are also very aware of the existence of God. And therein lies hope for them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">It's those who sleepily deny the existence of Satan and evil who tend to have a dim awareness of God. If they think about God at all, he's simply a vague 'goodness' who is <em>OK with whatever I do since I'm just following my conscience anyway and I'm basically a good person who never hurt anybody, and well cutting corners at work or taking home office supplies isn't so bad since my company's rich and I hate my freak'n boss, and ogling that hot woman in the next cubicle isn't so bad, it's not like my wife knows about it, and though I would never agree to an abortion myself it's no problem to vote for a politician who supports a woman's right to choose, so we don't need to trouble ourselves too much with God. It's all cool . . .</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Eternity is now. The Kingdom of God upon us. And so is Satan's kingdom. Our biological death, whether it's in the distant future or today, is but a transition from this time on earth with it's constant hardships and fleeting moments of joy, to the beatific vision of God, or to the full realization of our eternal separation from God. That is Heaven and Hell.</span><br />
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The Marriage Feast at Cana, by Bartolomé Esteban Murillo</div>
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An anticipation of Heaven</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">But it begins here and now in our hearts. Either God reigns there, or Satan does, whether we believe in either of them or not. And whether we have heaven or hell in our hearts, we bring heaven or hell into our immediate surroundings, into our daily lives. Cheating and theft, lust and adultery, anger and murder are all signs of the kingdom of Satan. Love, peace, joy, respect for life and good humor are signs of the Kingdom of God. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">In which kingdom do we live? Who do we serve?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-35787545990303085592013-10-12T00:00:00.000+02:002013-10-12T00:00:01.824+02:00Classics<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.imagemme.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/bigcoke.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.imagemme.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/bigcoke.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The definition of <em>classic</em> varies depending on what you're talking about. For the purposes of this posting, I'll define it as something that you can partake of - watching, reading, listening to, or even drinking - again and again without getting tired of it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Coke is a good item to start with. I don't drink soft drinks very often as a rule, but when I do I drink Coca-Cola. There I sound like that guy on the Dos Equis commercials! I suppose that series of commercials could be described as classic by some people.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">In the realm of music there's classical music, the genre, and classic music, with of course a lot of overlap between them. I enjoy pretty much anything by Mozart. His music is always fresh and full of life and light. Fortunately for us, the man wrote a whole lot of it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">There are a lot of songs and albums I can listen to over and over again. I could fill this entire posting with the titles. But one album in particular I never get tired of hearing is Dire Straits' untitled debut album issued in 1978. Their album <em>Brothers in Arms</em> is their best seller and I love that album too, but I have a soft spot especially for that first one. With songs like <em>Down to the Waterline, Water of Love, Sultans of Swing, </em>and <em>Wild West End</em> this album is a classic for me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Regarding books, again there are many for me. But if I had to choose one, well, it'd actually be three. I'd choose the three <em>Jesus of Nazareth</em> books by Joseph Ratzinger (Pope Benedict XVI). The first in the series logically (though published last of the three) is subtitled <em>The Infancy Narratives</em> and deals with the birth of Jesus. The second book in the series (published first) deals with Jesus' life from his baptism in the Jordan to his Transfiguration. The third book is subtitled <em>Holy Week: From the Entrance into Jerusalem to the Resurrection.</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Ratzinger is a born teacher and he lays out a lifetime of reading, studying, thinking about and - most importantly - personally encountering Jesus in an engaging and thought-provoking way for the lay reader. Ratzinger's deep love and respect for our Lord are evident on every page.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">As with music, I could cram this posting full with titles of novels, stories and poems that I consider classics.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Every year around Christmas time I watch the film <em>It's a Wonderful Life</em>. It is surely my all time favorite movie. A lesser known movie that I have also watched countless times is <em>Return to Me</em>, starring David Duchovny and Minnie Driver with supporting roles played by Carroll O'Connor and Jim Belushi. In this film, Duchovny's character's wife dies in a car accident. She's an organ donor and her heart goes to a young woman in need of a new heart - Driver's character. These two main characters eventually meet, not aware of the connection they have, and . . . well, you need to watch the film.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">My idea of a classic film star is Audrey Hepburn. I never get tired of her face in all its expressions. I wouldn't say that each of her films is a great work of art, but she brings a spark to the screen that few other actors can.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Other classics for me are the Peanuts comic strip and some of the TV specials, the Vince Guaraldi soundtracks on those Peanuts TV specials, the Green Bay Packer and New York Yankee uniforms and logos, certain steam locomotives and many other things. Such things as I've mentioned in this post add beauty and grace to our lives. These are the things that separate high civilization from barbarism.</span><br />
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Jan Vermeer's <em>Girl with a Pearl Earring</em></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-66272122410698150852013-10-05T00:00:00.000+02:002013-10-05T00:00:05.200+02:00Renovation<em><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Everyone who listens to these words of mine and acts on them will like a wise man who built his house on rock. The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and buffeted the house. But it did not collapse; it had been set solidly on rock. And everyone who listens to these words of mine but does not act on them will be like a fool who built his house on sand. The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and buffeted the house. And it collapsed and was completely ruined.</span></em><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Jesus Christ, Matthew 7:24-27</span><br />
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<a href="http://worshippingchristian.org/images/blog/first_temple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Two of my brothers-in-law have been at our house this week completely replacing our central heating system - furnace, pipes and radiators. My wife and I have been helping them a little, trying to keep the house reasonably clean, getting our two kids ready for school in the mornings and feeding and entertaining them, and preparing lessons for our teaching jobs. It's been dusty and noisy and a little bit stressful. OK, a <strong>lot</strong> stressful.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">By the time this post goes live Friday night, all should be finished save for some repainting where they had to knock out some wall for the new pipes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Renovation can be painful (emotionally AND physically - those furnaces are heavy!) but the final result is worth it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Confession of our sins can be likened to a renovation of our souls. I've also heard it described as like a house cleaning for the soul. It can be uncomfortable, even painful, but the sweet relief afterwards is beyond words. Our sins are forgiven and our right relationship with God is renewed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Catholics and Orthodox go to a priest for confession. We believe that after we make a full confession of our grievous sins to a priest, Jesus grants us absolution through that priest. The priest is a vessel for God's graces. Even if he's a terrible scoundrel, as an ordained priest he is a channel for Jesus' absolution.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Another good thing about auricular confession to a priest is just that - it's <em>auricular</em>. We have to physically speak our sins to another person. That can be really uncomfortable, believe me. But speaking our sins aloud can bring home to us just how ugly our sins are. Also, a good priest can counsel us to help us deal with our weaknesses that lead us to sin.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Catholics are encouraged to examine their consciences before confession. One effective way to do this is to reflect on the Ten Commandments and ask ourselves how we have sinned against God and our fellow man by breaking any of these commandments. I think Protestant Christians will find this useful too when examining their consciences before Christ. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">It's been a long while since I've been to confession and I really need to go. It's difficult for me to confess in Polish, which is the reason it's been so long. However, I recently learned through one of my students that there's a priest in Jędrzejów who speaks English. I dropped by that church the other day and discovered that he hears confessions on Saturday evenings. I intend to go to him soon. My soul needs some serious renovation.</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">A useful guide to examination of conscience</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">I am the Lord your God. You shall not have strange gods before me. <em>Did I willfully or seriously doubt my faith? Did I worship idols in my life by putting false gods over my duties to God and other people - idols such as my own free time, money, sports, music, etc.?</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain. <em>Did I curse using our Lord's name?</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Remember to keep holy the Sabbath day. <em>Did I miss church on any Sunday? Did I keep the Lord in mind on Sundays? Did I keep that day in His honor? </em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Honor your father and your mother. <em>Did I disobey my parents or lawful superiors in important matters? Did I respect and honor my parents as I ought to?</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">You shall not kill. <em>Did I hatefully quarrel with anybody, or desire revenge? Did I consent to, advise, encourage, or actively take part in an abortion?</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">You shall not commit adultery. <em>Did I willfully look at indecent pictures or watch immoral movies? Did I engage in impure jokes or conversations? Did I commit impure acts? </em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">You shall not steal. <em>Did I steal or damage another person's property? Have I been honest at work or in my business relations?</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor. <em>Did I tell lies. Did I slander anyone? Did I judge others rashly in serious matters?</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">You shall not covet your neighbor's wife (or husband). <em>Did I lust after another's wife or husband. Did I dishonor my wife or husband by comparing them negatively with another's wife or husband?</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">You shall not covet your neighbor's goods. <em>Was I envious of other people's possessions? Was I dissatisfied with the things that God has blessed me with?</em></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-22624023866054796972013-09-28T00:00:00.000+02:002013-09-28T00:00:03.398+02:00Courage - Be Not Afraid!<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Catherine de Hueck Doherty had an interesting life, to say the least. She was born Ekaterina Fyodorovna Kolyschkine in Nizhny Novgorod, Russia in 1896. Her parents belonged to the minor nobility and were Russian Orthodox. Her father was posted to Egypt as a diplomat by the Russian government and Catherine went to a Catholic school in Alexandria, Egypt.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Her family eventually returned to Russia and in 1912, at age 15, Catherine married her cousin Baron Boris de Hueck. It wasn't a happy marriage.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">At the outbreak of World War I, Catherine became a Red Cross nurse at the front where she witnessed the bloody horrors of war firsthand. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">When the Russian Revolution broke out in 1917, she and her husband, as members of the nobility, were under threat of imprisonment, or worse. They barely managed to escape to Finland where they nearly starved. They eventually made it to England. There Catherine was received into the Catholic Church in 1919.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Catherine and Boris emigrated to Canada where she bore their only child, a son, George. Catherine took on various jobs and finally became a travelling lecturer throughout North America. Since they were cousins and their marriage was unlawful according to the Catholic Church, their marriage was annulled. (Catherine later married Eddie Doherty, a reporter, in 1943.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">In Canada, the de Huecks were prosperous again but Catherine felt dissatisfied with her life. She was moved by the Scripture passage from Saint Mark's Gospel, "Arise, go sell all you possess, take up your cross and follow Me."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">In 1932 she did give up all her possessions and for the rest of her life she worked with the poor, initially with a soup kitchen in Toronto, but eventually throughout the world with her apostolate 'Madonna House.'</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Catherine died in 1985, aged 89, in Combermere, Canada. Her cause for canonization has been taken up in the Catholic Church.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">I recommend visiting the website <a href="http://www.madonnahouse.org/">www.madonnahouse.org</a>.</span><br />
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<em><span style="font-size: large;">When you have an inferiority complex - and who of us hasn't - you say things like, "I just don't believe that what God made is good. Look at me, I'm a louse." Don't dare to challenge God like this. Everything he made is good, including yourself. Don't listen to that serpent who is giving you apples that look red on the outside and are full of inferiority complexes on the inside. Don't eat that apple, or else you are going to go down into a pit prepared by Satan for you for your whole life.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-size: large;">How can you have a wrong image of something or someone that God touched? God touched you and he created you. You passed through his mind and you were begotten. Anyone of us that passes through God's mind, anyone of us that God touched, cannot be this horrible person we think we are. No! Each one of us is beautiful - we're beautiful because he touched us.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-size: large;">Sometimes this is very difficult for us to accept. We look at ourselves and say, "He made us in his image, equal to himself in a manner of speaking, heir to his Son? This just can't be. He hasn't looked into my heart. He doesn't know what I'm made of!" We say those silly things because our evaluation of ourselves is very poor. We haven't looked at ourselves with the merciful, tender, compassionate eyes of God. So we walk in despair half the time. As a result, the ability to realize that God is both in our midst and in us - a realization that is the fruit of faith - fades and disappears.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-size: large;">This is the main reason, it seems to me, why the Father sent his Son to us, why the Word was made flesh and dwelt amongst us as one of us. The Father, having given us the fantastic gift of faith, wanted to help us accept this awesome gift. He sent his Son Jesus Christ so that we, unbelieving, might believe. We are like children; we need to touch.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-size: large;">Every human being is a mystery. The mystery of man enters into the mystery of God, and bursting forth with great joy, comes faith and understanding. When faith is there, all is clear, and a love relation with God enters into your heart. When you have faith, it is such a simple thing to accept his love, even if you do not understand why he loves you.</span></em><br />
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extract from <em>Re-Entry Into Faith: "Courage - be not afraid!" </em>by Catherine de Hueck Doherty.<br />
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<a href="http://www.poverellomedia.com/catherinedoherty.org/wp-content/uploads/2002/06/Pope_and_Catherine_Doherty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.poverellomedia.com/catherinedoherty.org/wp-content/uploads/2002/06/Pope_and_Catherine_Doherty.jpg" /></a></div>
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Catherine with Pope John Paul II</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-35819735503187039442013-09-21T00:00:00.000+02:002013-09-21T00:00:04.229+02:00Autumn<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1elKf25YHTfm2BjUFWkWgigYGLeMj9qpRbx55MoMHfghDSKPIYaRoJjCU_wjAEOmUJqlI5GQVlGXLwM0WI4Ce0_a1nDVNWCZbkB4IaopgDO6mPw0k6pBsU4duHG52UY4GC-oXWtWW/s1600/autumn+005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1elKf25YHTfm2BjUFWkWgigYGLeMj9qpRbx55MoMHfghDSKPIYaRoJjCU_wjAEOmUJqlI5GQVlGXLwM0WI4Ce0_a1nDVNWCZbkB4IaopgDO6mPw0k6pBsU4duHG52UY4GC-oXWtWW/s400/autumn+005.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">bracken ferns</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Autumn can be a melancholy time of year. As I begin typing this post on a Tuesday morning, it's dreary and pouring down rain outside. Summer is over and life seems to be slowly dying.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">When I was a kid I didn't like school and so fall made me sad. If summer meant freedom, fall meant the return to the dull routine of school.</span><br />
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chrysanthemums</div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Yet, for all that autumn has its rewards. Nature puts on a final, dazzling display of colored leaves before the dark and bare days of November. It's also the time of ripened apples and nuts and here in Poland it's the time for finding mushrooms in the forest.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">I took the first 5 photos on this post. The mums are in our garden and the other shots are from the forest nearby.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">For sports fans fall brings the excitement of pennant races, playoffs and the World Series in baseball. (There's also that twinge of sadness for teams simply playing out the schedule with no chance at post-season play.) It's also the beginning of the football season. For me, one of the most beautiful and thrilling sights is the Green Bay Packers wearing those green and gold uniforms on a sunny Lambeau Field on an autumn Sunday afternoon.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">The picture below is scanned from my book, <em>The Packer Legend: An Inside Look</em> by John B. Torinus. The caption doesn't mention it but I think that's Forest Gregg, number 75, on the turf in the background. He was a great player and later coached the Packers in the mid-80s. This book was given to me for Christmas in 1985 by my parents. I've managed to hold on to this book all these years. This fall I'm re-reading it for the umpteenth time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">I love the Peanuts comic strips and TV specials and autumn often reminds me of them. Maybe it's because two of the three best Charlie Brown TV specials are fall-themed. Those of course would be <em>It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown </em>and <em>A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving </em>(with the other one of the three best being <em>A Charlie Brown Christmas.</em>) Who doesn't think of Lucy van Pelt holding the football for Charlie Brown to kick, then snatching it away at the last moment, when they think of autumn?</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In Autumn when the woods are red</span></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">by Robert Louis Stevenson</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">In Autumn when the woods are red</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">And skies are grey and clear,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">The sportsmen seek the wild fowls' bed</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Or follow down the deer;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">And Cupid hunts by haugh and head,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">By riverside and mere,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">I walk, not seeing where I tread</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">And keep my heart with fear,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Sir, have an eye, on where you tread,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">And keep your heart with fear,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">For something lingers here;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">A touch of April not yet dead,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">In Autumn when the woods are red</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">And skies are grey and clear.</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Consummation</span></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">by Randall Peaslee</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Fall's fires softly glow,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"> Burning bush and tree;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Bedraggled ships go sailing slow</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"> Across a concave sea.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Liquid air will flush and tear</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"> Flickering flames aloft,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Until the color-fevered year</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"> Extinguishes itself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-82473987034395646282013-09-14T00:00:00.000+02:002013-09-14T00:00:06.204+02:00Elementary, my dear Watson<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Everyone connects that expression with Sherlock Homes. But, did you know that this expression never appears in any of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes stories? This line was first used in connection with Sherlock Holmes in a 1929 film <em>The Return of Sherlock Holmes</em> and then was used extensively in a Sherlock Holmes radio series that ran from 1939-1947.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">About 9 years ago at a flea market in Fort Worth I bought a book titled <em>A Treasury of Sherlock Holmes</em>, selected and with an introduction by Doyle's son Adrian. I don't remember what I paid for it, probably just a couple of dollars. Until recently I only dipped into it a few times and maybe read 3 or 4 stories. Detective fiction didn't appeal to me, or so I thought. G. K. Chesterton wrote that there's a widespread bias against detective fiction in the sense that it's not generally considered serious literary fiction. That was probably more true in Chesterton's day than now, but I have admit that same notion colored my own thinking about the genre.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Well, if necessity is the mother of invention, invention's got a sibling named 'discovery.' As I've written previously I don't have easy access to new books in English. Recently I pulled down my Sherlock Holmes book from the shelf and started reading it. Wow - to discover what I've been missing all these years! <em>The Hound of the Baskervilles</em> is just fantastic.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">It's interesting reading these stories and finding casual mention of things considered normal at the end of the 19th century and beginning of the 20th, when these works were written. Holmes is a private detective and not part of any official police force. After he's nabbed a villain and the villain is about to confess his crimes, a Scotland Yard detective present will quickly remind the criminal that he has the right to remain silent and anything he says can be used against him in court. This right was firmly established in British common law by the 17th century. I think Americans today don't realize how much of our legal traditions are British; for example, trial by jury, which doesn't exist in most other European countries outside Britain.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Another interesting thing to me is Dr. Watson's possession of his old army revolver. Watson had been a doctor in the British Army (he served in Afghanistan -<em> plus ça change . . .)</em> and upon discharge he retained this firearm. Holmes also possesses a revolver (and remember, he's not a police officer). The right for individuals to bear arms goes far back in British and European history.</span><br />
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Dr. John Watson</div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">I recently read that after Oliver Cromwell invaded Ireland in the 17th century, Catholics in Ireland were denied the right to arm themselves, among other rights. This was regarded as a denigration of their full rights. I would add, it was a denigration of their full responsibilities, too. It used to be assumed that the primary responsibility for policing belonged to the people of a community. New York City didn't have an official police force until the middle of the 19th century (and the city is much older than that). This is important to remember in the ongoing debates over gun laws. It's fundamentally a moral issue.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Getting back to detective fiction, I've downloaded a book of G. K. Chesterton's 'Father Brown' detective stories as well as Agatha Christie's <em>The Mysterious Affair at Styles</em> in which she introduced her Hercule Poirot character, both from Dodo Press on The Book Depository website. I went on a travel reading binge last summer and so I guess the autumn will belong to detective fiction.</span><br />
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Hercule Poirot</div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-21366795771140264772013-09-07T00:00:00.000+02:002013-09-07T00:00:02.099+02:00Honor & Shame<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">September 1, 1939 is one of those major dates in world history. It was, as most everyone knows, the date Germany invaded Poland and the start of World War II.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">When looking at historic dates it's easy to see each as another in a series of dates: September 1939 the war starts; May 1945 the war ends . . . But what about the nearly 6 years in between? And for Poland, 1945 was the beginning of more than four decades of national humiliation under Soviet communist dominance.</span><br />
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<a href="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSKLeEkgv9Q8Vgby0CCZ41uiwCvansNjyW8ZK1dQPBC7yZF3zPe" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>A Polish girl mourns over her sister who was killed by machine </div>
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gun fire while gathering potatoes in a field, September 1939</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">But the future was unknown in the autumn of 1939 and in the summer of 1945. I try to imagine myself as a Pole at the end of 1939. What's it like when your country is invaded by a people who view your race as human trash? What's it like when your town mayor, chief of police, university professors, lawyers, journalists and others of the professional class are rounded up and taken away who-knows-where? Or, are shot in the street as an example? And the town's Jewish population is rounded up and rumors about their ultimate fate aren't pleasant? And later on many of the priests and other clergy are likewise rounded up and sent away?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Many individuals either acted honorably or shamefully during WWII. The human heart is a complicated landscape and despite boasts to the contrary, neuroscientists will never succeed in fully comprehending the human brain: its thoughts and emotions and desires.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Pre-war Poland was a mosaic of Catholics, Jews, Lutherans, Orthodox, nationalists, socialists, democrats, etc. Some Poles hid Jews at the risk of their own lives. Some Poles assisted the Germans in locating Jews in hiding. A few Poles even took the opportunity to slaughter their Jewish neighbors.</span><br />
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Polish civilians taken prisoner</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">There quickly formed an active Polish underground army. They carried out sabotage, espionage, assassinations, and attacks on the German military. The Germans typically retaliated by killing Polish civilians. In cities such as Warsaw and Cracow the Germans would suddenly close off a street, select 100 of the Poles they found there (or just take all of them), line them up against a wall and shoot them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">This happened frequently enough that if you left home to go to work or go shopping, you couldn't be sure you'd ever return home. If you were on a bus or walking down the street and the Germans suddenly blocked off the street, you knew what was in store. You probably thought of your family at home who would begin to grow nervous when you didn't return home, who would think the worst as the hours passed and you still hadn't come home. Eventually they'd make the grim journey to the place where the Germans collected the bodies (your body) for the next of kin to claim.</span><br />
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The symbol of the <em>Armia Krajowa</em>,</div>
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the Polish underground army</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">If you were with the underground army you knew what happened each time you struck a blow against the Germans. There had to be a whole lot of soul searching amongst the Polish fighters hiding in the forests.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">That was the reality. Nobody knew how long the war and the national nightmare would last. In countries like France, a person could accommodate himself to the German occupation and live a relatively comfortable life. Many Frenchmen chose that option, to France's everlasting shame. But because of Hitler's racial views of the Slavic people (Poles, Slovaks, Russians, etc.) there really wasn't a long-lasting option of comfortable accommodation with the German regime. Poles were to be used as slave labor with the fate of eventual liquidation. As that understanding dawned on the Poles, I think resistance in some form or other was the only honorable option, even if it meant shocking violence to a fellow Pole walking home from work.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"><strong>Seamus Heaney</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">The Irish poet and Nobel Prize for Literature winner Seamus Heaney died August 30th at the age of 74. The first poem I ever read of Heaney's was 'Mid-Term Break' in a Lit class at college and I was hooked. The poem deals with the death of his four-year-old brother Christopher, who was hit by a car, while Seamus was at school. The final four lines are especially arresting:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Wearing a poppy bruise on the left temple,</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">He lay in a four foot box as in a cot.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">A four foot box, a foot for every year.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span></em><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">My favorite Heaney poems are his early material. I think he tended to repeat himself later in his writing career. But all in all I really like his poetry. This is one of my favorites, from his first collection <em>Death of a Naturalist.</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">Digging</span></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">Between my finger and my thumb</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">Under my window, a clean rasping sound</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">My father, digging. I look down</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">Bends low, comes up twenty years away</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">Stooping in rhythm through potato drills</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">Where he was digging.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">The course boot nestled on the lug, the shaft</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">Against the inside knee was levered firmly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">To scatter new potatoes that we picked,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">Loving their cool hardness in our hands.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">By God, the old man could handle a spade.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">Just like his old man.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">My grandfather cut more turf in a day</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">Than any other man on Toner's bog.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">Once I carried him milk in a bottle</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">To drink it, then fell to right away</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">Over his shoulder, going down and down</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">For the good turf. Digging.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">Through living roots awaken in my head.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">But I've no spade to follow men like them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">Between my finger and my thumb</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">The squat pen rests.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">I'll dig with it.</span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-1239276895172152862013-08-31T00:00:00.000+02:002013-08-31T00:00:01.647+02:00Skool Daze<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: large;">Sometimes I like to make my students smile or chuckle by telling them that I hated school and I especially hated learning English grammar. And there I stand before them, teaching English grammar.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">I always liked reading in school and had a good vocabulary, but diagramming sentences was a torture invented in hell as far as I was concerned. However, I actually kind of enjoy English grammar now. (I hear my 14-year-old self wail, "The old man's joined the Dark Side!") </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">I know in America the kids have been back to school for a few weeks now. In Poland the school year begins on September 1st (September 2nd this year since the first falls on a Sunday). I've always taught at private language schools here and those schools typically begin the school year in late September.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">In total I've taught English as a foreign language in Poland seven and a half years. There have been many more good days than bad in those years and witnessing students' success with learning the language is a pleasure that will never grow old.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">My first year teaching was the 1997-98 academic year in Łódź. Since it was my first year, I have many vivid memories of that time, such as obsessing over lesson planning until midnight the first month of that year, or dreaming about lessons going wrong. Those dreams continued for years. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">But some of my happiest memories are of my class of 11 to 12-year-old intermediate students.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">There were 3 boys and 3 girls. Starting with the boys, there was Bogumił (pronounced <em>bo-GOO-meeu)</em>, by far the strongest student in that class. He was tall with light hair. His father was pretty old - when I first met him I thought he was Bogumił's grandpa. He was a very demanding man and expected only top grades from his son. Then there was Maciek (MA-check), short and slim and cheerfully mischievous. Next was Oskar, short and a little chubby. Oskar usually threw himself completely into whatever role playing activities we did. Both Maciek and Oskar had dark brown hair. The students sat in a semi-circle facing me and the boys always sat on my right.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">Next, the girls on my left. First from the center was Justyna (yoo-STIN-ah), a very strong student, interested in literature and drama. She had brown hair, shoulder-length like the other two girls. Then there was Magda, with light brown hair and very extrovert. She loved to doodle pictures of her beloved cat and loved even more to talk about it. Teachers aren't supposed to have favorites, of course, but I'll admit Magda was my favorite. And at the end of the row was Marta, quiet and well-behaved with blonde hair.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">As to be expected from kids their age, they could be awfully squirrely sometimes. I recall one lesson when they just wouldn't, or couldn't, stay focused. They weren't listening to my instructions and were just generally being little pains. I finally had enough, gave them a good chewing out and asked them to sit quietly for the final 15 minutes of the lesson. They were abashed and I didn't hear a peep from them while I sat at my desk filling in the register. At the end of the lesson I gave them their homework assignment and dismissed them. As I cleaned the white board I saw them from the corner of my eye putting on their coats to go home. Justyna and Magda were the final two to leave and they hesitated at the door, whispering to each other. Then they said, "Sir, we're very sorry." That really touched my heart. I smiled, said it was OK and told them to have a good weekend.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">Once I gave that class a homework assignment to interview a relative and write a short biography of them. I was amazed by what they turned in. I think they'd all interviewed a grandparent and the biographies they wrote were extremely interesting. A couple of their grandparents were sent to Germany to work as forced laborers during World War II and they told their grandkids of the hardships and fear they experienced. I photocopied and kept those papers at that time, but I think I may have lost them in the years since.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">I also remember the final lesson before Christmas break. We always do a Christmas-themed lesson right before the break and I remember Justyna and Magda standing up and singing a few Polish Christmas carols in clear, beautiful voices.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">My ultimate memory of that class that year concerns Marta. Marta was the weakest student in the class. Her grade for the 1st semester was really low and so I decided to do what I could to help her do better the 2nd semester. I tried to discretely assist her more in lessons by making sure she understood what I was presenting or encouraging her more. I asked her during breaks if she had any questions about anything and offered her extra material to take home. She was rather shy about all this at first but eventually she started asking me to give her more material to do at home. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">I noticed that her grades on quizzes and tests were getting better and better. I could see her confidence growing. At the end of the year they had a final exam. I had my fingers crossed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">When I marked their exams I was astounded. Marta had the same grade as Bogumił! She didn't cheat off him because I had spaced all their desks far apart and anyway the two of them didn't have the same questions wrong. Marta had done it!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">On the very last day of the year we had meetings with the kids and their parents where we discussed the students' work, talked about the next year and gave them each certificates. The school was located on the top floor of a 3-storey building. I was standing at the top of the stairs when Marta and her grandmother came walking up. Marta's shoulders were scrunched up with tension and she had an apprehensive look in her eyes. I said, "Marta! You passed!" Immediately her shoulders relaxed and a big smile lit up her face.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">During the meeting with her and her grandmother I had the pleasure of telling Marta that she and Bogumił had the best grades on the final exam. Her bottom jaw about hit the desk. Then I got to brag on Marta to her grandmother about all the progress she had made in the 2nd semester. Both Marta and her grandmother walked out of that classroom with their faces beaming.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS; font-size: large;">Those kids would be in their late 20's now, finished with university and probably with families of their own. I wish them all happiness. I'll never forget Marta and her classmates as long as I live.</span><br />
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St John Baptist de la Salle</div>
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patron saint of teachers</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-5247194301229616122013-08-24T00:00:00.000+02:002013-08-24T00:00:05.914+02:00Armchair Traveling<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">I feel bad for
people who don't like to read. Seriously, I really do! In what
other way can you enter into another person's (the writer's) experiences or ideas,
travel to different times and places in the world, or even in other galaxies?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 18pt;"></span><br />
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<em>Robin Hood</em> by Joan Leininger - </div>
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vist her blog wwwjleininger.blogspot.com</div>
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 18pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">Summer is the
time when people get away for vacation and travel. I and my wife and
2 kids were fortunate to be able to spend a long weekend in the mountains of
southern Poland in July. The weather was fantastic and anyway I love
mountains in all weathers.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">I've also spent
many hours this summer traveling through reading. It was while I was
reading Marco Polo's <em><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">The
Travels</span></em> that I realized that the books I had read this summer, and
the books on my 'to read' list, were nearly all travel related. This was completely unintended.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 18pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">I started my
summer with Rebecca West's <em><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Black
Lamb and Grey Falcon: A Journey Through Yugoslavia</span></em>, which I wrote
about on my July 6th post. That was followed by Marco Polo and next up
was <em><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Gulliver's Travels</span></em>
by Jonathan Swift, <em><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">The Little
Prince</span></em> by Antoine de Saint-Exup<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">é</span>ry and <em>Robinson Crusoe</em> by Daniel Defoe.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 18pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">Yes, some of
those are works of fiction. I include <em>The
Little Prince</em> since much of that book is the Little Prince
recounting his journey from asteroid to asteroid through the universe, meeting
many characters, until he arrives on earth, where he travels
further and meets more creatures: human, animal and vegetable.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I think that most any boy who's ever read <em>Robinson Crusoe </em>feels an adventurous desire to be cast up on a deserted isle with all the helpful tools that Crusoe rescued from his ship. It's ironic that the character of Crusoe feels hateful toward his island prison for much of his confinement there. The unromantic reality of being alone on a distant island is probably something closer to what Tom Hanks' character experienced in the movie <em>Castaway.</em></span> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">As I write
this, I'm finishing up Robert Louis Stevenson's <em><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Travels with a Donkey in the Cevennes</span></em>.
This 80 page book is a small gem. Stevenson had an eye for detail and
human character - like any worthy writer, of course - and his tale of his
willful little donkey, the peculiar French peasants he encounters and the
dramatic scenery of the rugged, hilly Cevennes region of south-central France is
a delightful page turner. The book has been in constant print since it
was published in 1907. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">Next on my list
to read is Henry James' <em><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Italian
Hours</span></em>, recounting his various visits to Italy, which has also remained popular since it's publication in 1909. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">I want to
recommend again the fantastic website bookdepository.co.uk with their free books
catalogue by Dodo Press. The works of any author are free to the public
70 years after he or she kicks the bucket. Dodo Press offers over 11,000
free books (and you can buy the paperback versions from them if you
like). Thanks to Dodo Press and the Book Depository, I've been able to
download and read some of the books mentioned in this post. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">I've read other
non-travel related books this summer, too. I particularly enjoyed Thomas
Hardy's <em><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Far From the Madding
Crowd</span></em>, which I first read back in college. The character Bathsheba attracts the attentions and love (to a greater or lesser degree) of three men. She must suffer from her own missteps to mature and eventually give her heart to the one man most deserving of her love. What separates a Hardy love story from low-brow romance novels is the living depth of his characters and his poet's description of places and events. (Hardy was an architect before he turned to writing and also wrote first rate poetry.) His rendering of the scene where Gabriel and Bathsheba frantically work to save stacks of wheat from ruin by rain in a lightning storm is vivid. That's just one example from dozens I could cite.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 18pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">Anyone who's read
Hardy knows his novels are about as opposite to travel books as you can
get! They all take place in one little corner of England, but that little
corner of the world contains a large universe of characters and lives. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 18pt;">Come to think
of it, the same can be said for any avid reader's armchair.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 18pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 18pt;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The House was Quiet and the World was Calm</span></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">by Wallace Stevens</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The house was quiet and the world was calm.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The reader became the book; and summer night</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Was like the conscious being of the book.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The house was quiet and the world was calm.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The words were spoken as if there was no book,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Except the reader leaned above the page,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Wanted to lean, wanted much most to be</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The scholar to whom his book is true, to whom</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The summer night is like perfection of thought.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The house was quiet because it had to be.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The access of perfection to the page.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">And the world was calm. The truth in a calm world,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In which there is no other meaning, itself</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Is calm, itself is summer and night, itself</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Is the reader leaning late and reading there.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-89521624857345085132013-08-17T00:00:00.000+02:002013-08-24T21:04:20.269+02:00God loves his Mama<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A joke attributed to Saint Padre Pio:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><em>Up in heaven, Jesus gave a very special job to Peter to guard the beautiful pearly gates. When Jesus spoke to Saint Peter, he very carefully told him how important it is to make sure that the wrong people did not get past those gates. He said to him, "Now Peter, I am entrusting this job to you so please do not fail me. It is very important that you do not let those who overly sinned into heaven. Remember that I am counting on you." Peter took his job very seriously and told Our Savior that he would guard the gates of heaven with all his love for Him.</em></span><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Time passed by and Jesus started to see strange things around heaven. He would notice a soul walking here and there that he knew should NOT be there, at least not yet. So he approached Peter.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">He said, "Now Peter, I trusted you with this special job. What is this that I am seeing all over heaven?!"</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Peter bowed his head and said, "Please Lord, you know that I would never disobey you and I have certainly listened to everything you have instructed me to do."</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Jesus asked, "Then how could this be happening?"</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Peter replied, "My Lord, I have been very careful in guarding the gates of heaven but while I am keeping such a close watch on the gates, your Mother has been opening the windows!"</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"></span></em><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The joke is not theologically correct, of course - Mary would not sneak around behind Jesus' back and anyway Jesus, being God, would know what's going on. But the joke points to an important truth about Mary.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"><o:p><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span></span></span></span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"><o:p><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span></span></span></span></o:p></span><br />
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Saint Padre Pio of Pietrelcina</div>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"><o:p><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span></span></span></span></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">August 15th is the Feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary. This posting comes 2 days after the feast, but nobody thinks the event happened on this specific date and no one seems to know why this date was chosen. The event is relevant every day and for eternity. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Eileen Clare Grant puts it nicely in August's <em>Magnificat</em>:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The Dwelling Place of the Word</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">The Catholic Church teaches that "the most Blessed Virgin Mary, when the course of her earthly life was completed, was taken up body and soul into the glory of heaven, where she already shares in the glory of her Son's Resurrection, anticipating the resurrection of all members of his Body." This doctrine - the Assumption - was defined by Pope Pius XII in 1950 on the grounds that it had always been an intrinsic part of Catholic belief. But why?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">We owe a huge debt of gratitude to the humble girl who trusted God and said "Yes" to bearing the Redeemer of the world. Surely, the Father who had been generous enough to send his only Son to save us would reward Mary at the end of her earthly life. He would not let her rot in the tomb, but take her to heaven to be with her Son for eternity.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">"And who, I ask, could believe that the dwelling place of the Word of God, the temple of the Holy Spirit, could be reduced to ruin? My soul is filled with horror at the thought that this virginal flesh which had begotten God, had brought him into the world, had nourished and carried him, could have been turned into ashes or given over to be food for worms" (Saint Robert Bellarmine).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">"What son would not bring his mother back to life, and would not bring her into paradise after her death if he could?" (Saint Francis de Sales). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Such declarations bear witness to the love and veneration with which Mary has been regarded ever since her Son gave her to his newborn Church as Mother.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times;">Eileen Clare Grant is a Benedictine oblate and RCIA catechist at St Mary's Cathedral, Aberdeen, Scotland</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">August 15th is a national holiday in Poland. When I first came to Poland to do my 4-week teacher certification course in August 1997, in Cracow, this day fell on a Friday. We had the day off from our course and so had a long weekend.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">I had become friends with a couple of the other trainees on the course - Andrew from Vancouver, Canada and his girlfriend Becky, who was born in England but moved as a child to Vancouver. For the holiday on the 15th another American on the course, Tom, suggested going swimming in a lake near Cracow. He told us the lake was an old flooded quarry and that the quarry was where Karol Wojtyła (the future Pope John Paul II) was forced to work for a chemical company during the Second World War.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Andrew, Becky and I prepared a picnic lunch: sandwiches made of fresh rolls, fresh ham, cheese, cucumbers, lettuce (so delicious!), some fruit and bottles of beer. (The Poles aren't so puritan about public drinking and the vast majority of people behave themselves.) Then we caught up with Tom later at the lake.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">After lugging around so much heavy baggage while moving from base to base during my Air Force days, I had only packed one medium suitcase to take to Poland. Luckily I had included a pair of swimming trunks in that suitcase. The day at the lake was fantastic. The weather was sunny and warm, the water lovely and cool, the food and beer very satisfying and the time spent with my friends I'll never forget.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Andrew and Becky were cooking enthusiasts and they taught me to make tomato spaghetti sauce and creamy alfredo sauce during our time in Cracow. After we finished our course they both got jobs at a school in Wrocław and I got a job in Łódź. They came up once to visit me and I went there twice - my second visit to them over Christmas and New Year's included a week in Cologne, Germany. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Andrew and Becky split up the following February, Becky going back to Canada. Andrew and a friend of his stayed with me for a few days the following summer when I was teaching summer school in Cracow. Then Andrew went back to Canada and we lost touch. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">It was a brief and admittedly not a deep friendship, but they both did touch my life and I'll never forget them. I thank God for them and I ask Him to guide and protect them wherever they are now.</span><br />
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Cracow (Kraków) - St Mary's Church, main square</div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-38413024303465436512013-08-10T00:00:00.000+02:002013-08-10T00:00:04.419+02:00Gold<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The farmers around here have been bringing in the grain and hay lately. The weather's been hot and dry and it looks like they've had a good harvest so far this year. The stubble of the harvested grain looks golden, especially when the sunlight hits it at a certain angle. I can see where the idea of Rumpelstiltskin spinning straw into gold came from. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I took some photos from the fields next to our village, though my camera doesn't really capture the gold color so well.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The gold color of the straw also makes me think of Eastern Orthodox icons, which I love very much. I've read that the Orthodox monks who paint these icons use egg yolk to get that golden color used as background. The Russian film <em>The Island</em> depicts a monk iconographer keeping a hen in his studio in order to have a supply of egg yolks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">The gold background in icons represents paradise, which is interesting considering some passages of scripture. Per Revelations 21:27, nothing impure will enter heaven, while 1 Corinthians 3:12-15 speaks of each person's spiritual work being tried by fire. Whatever is like gold or silver will be refined, but the wood and straw will be burned up. We have here indications of Purgatory.</span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">The Sweetness of Mercy</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Anthony Esolen wrote a wonderful essay printed in the August <em>Magnificat. </em>It's called "The Sweetness of Mercy" and deals with how our Lady, the Virgin Mary, intercedes for us in heaven. I want to reprint just a small part of it here.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">He cites the <em>Memorare</em> prayer: <em><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that any one who fled to thy protection, implored thy help, and sought thy intercession, was left unaided. Inspired with this confidence, I fly unto thee, O Virgin of virgins, my Mother; to thee I come, before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful; O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions; but in thy clemency hear and answer me.</span></em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">He follows that with a section titled, 'One Little Tear'.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">'The prayer reminds me of a powerful moment in Dante's <em>Purgatory</em> (Canto 5), when the poet meets a young man named Bonconte, a player in the violent politics of his time, who died on the battlefield, and whose own kin do not trouble to pray for him, because they assume that his many heavy sins have weighed him down to hell. But he is among the saved! How can this be? Bonconte says that he fled the field with an arrow in his throat, spattering the plains with his blood. But in the moment before he died, he uttered a prayer - or rather a single name, "Maria," and folded his arms cross-wise upon his chest.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">'Mary - and that sufficed. Bonconte seizes the poet's attention. "It's the truth!" he cries. "Tell it to all alive!" At the moment of his death, a devil came to drag him to perdition, but an angel took him instead, <em>per una lagrimetta,</em> the devil protests, cheated of his prey, "for one little tear!" One little tear; one heartfelt appeal to the Mother of us all.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">'Surely God has provided us with a Mother; recall what Jesus said to the Beloved Disciple just before his death upon the cross. In that hour before the agonizing cry, and the final submission, "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit," he commended Mary to the earthly care of John, and commended John and all Christians everywhere to the heavenly care of Mary.'</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Anthony Esolen is a professor of English at Providence College and has translated Dante's <em>Divine Comedy</em> into English.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Ariel Castro, the man who kidnapped, raped, beat and imprisoned those 3 women for a decade in Cleveland; the man who caused the death of an unborn baby by savagely beating the woman he impregnated, was sentenced to life without parole plus a thousand years last week. One of his victims, Michelle Knight, told him in court on the day of his sentencing, "You will face hell for an eternity."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Her anger is completely understandable. Castro treated her as a beast, keeping her as a sex slave for 11 years. She lost those precious years of her life and I imagine the experience will haunt her to the end of her days.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">But let us remember that she is not God and not one of us deserves to enter heaven. Nothing impure will ever enter heaven (Revelations 21:27). My ugly "little" sins bar me from heaven as much as Ariel Castro's. Yes, God wills that all be saved. Jesus died on the cross, spent 3 days in the underworld and rose from the grave so that we could be free of death (sin). Mary and all the saints in heaven intercede on our behalf. Many monks and nuns in monasteries and convents around the world pray for the salvation of souls. What's required from us and Ariel Castro is genuine sorrow and repentance; even </span><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">one little tear.</span><br />
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<em>Virgin Mary</em>, by Giovanni Battista Salvi da Sassoferrato</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-323424639277093312013-08-03T00:00:00.000+02:002013-08-03T00:00:04.656+02:00Our Life in Poland - Year 2<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Well, August 2nd marked our second year here in Poland. What can I say about it? It's been bitter-sweet. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">I think for our kids it's better for them here, living in a small village and going to a small school. Had we stayed in suburban Texas they'd be swallowed up in some institutional school system where parents have restricted access to what happens in the school. The alternative would have been to move to a small town in the U.S. where there aren't jobs or send the kids to our parish's private school which we couldn't afford.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">(The unaffordability of Catholic schools for most parents is a burr in my britches - but that's for another time.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">For me, living in Poland is rather like self-imposed exile. I'm an alien here and I'll never be fully part of the community. My Polish has improved but there's still a great chasm between me and other people due to my deficiencies in the language.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">I like teaching English far more than working in transportation logistics. That was truly 'hamster-on-a-wheel' type of work and I don't miss it. However, I don't get a regular and consistent paycheck here like with my job in Texas and so there's more financial stress here.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">As I wrote about in my previous post, my mind here is freer and more open to work on my writing. Yet, I have limited access to books in English beyond what I already own because of financial restraints.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">I could go on, but I think I've given enough examples of the painful contradictions, the pluses and minuses, of living here. Pray and ask God to give us strength and wisdom.</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Mary, Undoer of Knots</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Pope Francis has been devoted to Saint Mary under her appellation of "Undoer of Knots" since seeing a painting of that name by Johann Georg Melchior Schmidtner while studying in Bavaria, Germany in the 1980s. The painting shows Mary surrounded by angels, with the Holy Spirit hovering over her head, as she rests her foot on the head of 'knotted' snake. The idea of Mary untying knots comes from Saint Irenaeus of Lyons: "The knot of Eve's disobedience was loosed by the obedience of Mary. For what the virgin Eve had bound fast through unbelief, this did the virgin Mary set free through faith."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">May our Lady assist me in untying the knots of contradictory desires in my own heart.</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Why Catholic?</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">When I converted to the Catholic faith 7 years ago, the reaction of my family and friends was mixed. I was raised in a Protestantism that was very anti-Catholic. There was some hostility from a few people (who I eventually lost contact with more or less as a result of my conversion), some concern from a few others, some genuine interest from one or two and silence (indifference?) from the rest.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">I've been tempted to write an explanation for my conversion (an 'apology' in the old sense of the word, which means 'explanation' and not 'saying sorry'). But as the Catholic convert John Henry Newman once said, "An explanation of one's conversion to the Faith is not something that can be fully given between the soup and the entrée." (I'm quoting from memory as I can't find the exact quote to save my life. Really, Google?)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">In other words, it can't be fully explained in 50 words or less. For me the road to the Church started very early in my life with many signposts pointing the way that I didn't recognize at the time. I saw this text recently that goes a long way in giving my own answer:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Q: What kind of Catholic are you . . . a dogmatic Catholic or an open-minded Catholic?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A: I don't know what that means. Do you mean do I believe the dogma that the Catholic Church proposes for belief?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Q: Yes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A: Yes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Q: How is such a belief possible in this day and age?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A: What else is there?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Q: What do you mean, what else is there? There is humanism, atheism, agnosticism, Marxism, behaviorism, materialism, Buddhism, Islam, Sufism, astrology, occultism, theosophy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A: That's what I mean . . .</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Q: I don't understand. Would you exclude, for example, scientific humanism as a rational and honorable alternative?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A: Yes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Q: Why?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A: It's not good enough.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Q: Why not?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A: This life is too much trouble, far too strange, to arrive at the end of it and then to be asked what you make of it and have to answer "Scientific humanism". That won't do. A poor show. Life is a mystery, love is a delight. Therefore I take it as axiomatic that one should settle for nothing less than the infinite mystery and the infinite delight, i.e., God. In fact I demand it. I refuse to settle for anything less. I don't see why anyone should settle for less than Jacob, who actually grabbed aholt of God and would not let him go until God identified himself and blessed him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Q: Grabbed aholt?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A: A Louisiana expression . . .</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Q: How do you account for your belief?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A: I can only account for it as a gift from God.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Q: Why would God make you such a gift when there are others who seem more deserving, that is, serve their fellow man?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A: I don't know. God does strange things . . .</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Q: But shouldn't one's faith bear some relation to the truth, facts?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A: Yes. That's what attracted me, Christianity's rather insolent claim to be true, with the implication that other religions are more or less false.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Q: You believe that?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">A: Of course.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Walker Percy, excerpt from <em>Conversations with Walker Percy</em>, printed in the July edition of <em>Magnificat</em></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times;">Walker Percy</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">If I were to add to what Walker Percy says above it's that the Church is Who she says she is - the Body and the Bride of Christ Jesus. (The Wedding Feast of the Lamb is happening in the eternal now and every mass is a participation in it.) No merely human institution could last 2,000 years. Not with such people like me in it!</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.culturalcatholic.com/NunsHavingFuncalendarwallcalendar2006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> <em>Sister says, "To Err Is Human, To Laugh Is Divine!"</em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Here's Hilaire Belloc:</span><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Wherever the Catholic sun doth shine,</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">There's always laughter and good red wine.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">At least I've always found it so.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Benedicamus Domino!</span></em><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times;">Benedicamus Domino - Latin for 'Let us bless the Lord'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-58365332716745304512013-07-27T00:00:00.000+02:002013-07-27T00:00:01.279+02:00Words, words, words<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Polonius: What do you read, my lord?</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Hamlet: Words, words, words.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></em><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"> <span style="font-size: small;">Hamlet, Act 2, Scene 2</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">I love the English language. I like the sounds of all languages, but I love English especially. Perhaps that's why I'm overly sensitive to bad language. I don't mean foul language, necessarily. Though I believe foul language should be mostly avoided, it can be effective in its proper time and place. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">The bad language I'm talking about is lazy, dumb or essentially meaningless language. One example in the United States is the use of the word 'like': <em>And I was like, wuz up? And he's like, nothing, just chill'n. So I'm like, well, ain't you gonna, like, clean the bathroom or something? I've like, so had it with his lazy butt, like, you know!</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">The same goes with the word 'go.' <em>She goes, 'I'm pregnant.' And I go, 'What?' And she's like, 'For real.'</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">And there are the overused or vague expressions like <em>Think outside the box, A game changer, I need closure / to move on, A win-win situation, Emotional intelligence, I need to find myself, A woman's right to choose, etc.</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Regarding the lines from <em>Hamlet</em> above, Polonius is a wind bag who spouts inane clichés end to end and he's one of the characters in the play trying to manipulate Hamlet. Hamlet knows what they're up to and throws it back in their faces, though they in turn don't catch on to what he's up to. Instead, they simply think he's mad (as in insane).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">The longer I live in Poland and the more I understand the language, I can hear that Polish speakers also have their irritating verbal tics. I estimate that with some Polish speakers, over half of their words are meaningless filler. I'm sure it's the same the world over.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"><strong>Gifts and responsibilities</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">I have a gift for writing. Before I go further I want to clarify what I mean. If writing were baseball and the likes of William Shakespeare, Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Thomas Hardy, Mark Twain, William Faulkner and John Steinbeck were in the big leagues (they'd be the 1927 Yankees, Murderers' Row), I'd be in the lower minor leagues. We're talking on a rookie league team in Nowhere, Idaho (and those players are at least paid).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">But I've been told by enough people over the years that I have a talent, or gift, for writing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Now such gifts come from God and we each possess some gift or other. We are responsible to God to use these gifts for his greater glory. In that regard I'm rather like the wicked and slothful servant in Jesus' Parable of the Talents who buries the money his master entrusted him with rather than work to increase it. I am obligated to improve my writing ability so that I can use if more effectively. God have mercy on my soul.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">I've discovered over the years that I've written my best poetry while living in Poland. Maybe it's because my ears are not awash in English daily. Maybe it's because as an English teacher I focus on the language more carefully. Whatever the reason, nearly all my best poetry (such as it is) has been written over here.</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Muse or swarm of gnats?</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">I think most writers will tell you that writing is often more of an affliction than anything. An idea or a line will come into my head and won't leave me alone. Then I'm distracted for hours or even over a period of days while I work out the poem, story or blog posting. I miss half of what people around me say or worse I have to get away and be alone. Many a poem has been worked out during long walks in the forest near here.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">An example of this happened on Sunday, June 16th. The Gospel reading for mass that day was Luke 7:36-8:3, where Jesus is visiting a Pharisee and a woman with a sinful reputation enters and washes Jesus' feet with tears and kisses, dries them with her hair and then anoints them with ointment from an alabaster jar. Jesus tells her that her sins are forgiven, though this is mainly for the benefit of the Pharisee and his other guests. The woman had clearly encountered Jesus previously and he had forgiven her on that occasion. Now, free of her sins her heart is full of joy. Glory to God! I love this story and it suggested a poem that wouldn't give me peace all afternoon of that day. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;">Here is the result.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong>The Woman with the Alabaster Jar</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em> Thou gavest me no kiss: but this woman </em></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>since the time </em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em> I came in hath not ceased to kiss my feet.</em> Luke 7:45</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Her dirty reputation was no concern</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">To her, nor the scandal she created</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">For the Pharisee and all his guests.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">She once was good as dead. Now elated,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Light as a feather, free as one reprieved,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">With the pure obsession of a lover,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">With costly oil and tears of adoration</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Kissed the precious feet of her Savior.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><em>A </em></span><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><em>note on the new photo behind the blog title - it shows the steeple of the Holy Trinity Church in Jędrzejów, Poland, about 10 miles from where I live.</em></span><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Jędrzejów - pronounced yend-JAY-oof</span></em><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04526178260959477777noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4308131352655483122.post-79537032865245468302013-07-20T00:00:00.000+02:002013-07-20T00:00:01.054+02:00French snapshots<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">My previous post about my week in Paris twenty years ago got me thinking more about France. I want to look at some individuals who are French or at least in some way connected to France that have particularly impressed me.</span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Julia Child</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">Julia Child (<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">née </span>McWilliams)</span> was an American born in Pasadena, California, but who did more to popularize French cooking in America than anybody else.</span> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Many people don't know that she worked for the Office of Strategic Services (OSS), the predecessor to the CIA, during World War II. She first worked in Washington D.C. but was later posted to Ceylon and then to China. Her main duties were the registering, cataloguing and channeling of great volumes of highly classified communications. For a time she assisted the developers of a shark repellant needed to ensure that sharks wouldn't accidentally detonate mines targeting German U-boats. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">In Ceylon, Julia met fellow OSS member Paul Child and they were later married. After the war, Paul worked for the United States Foreign Service and the couple were posted to Paris in 1948.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">It was in Paris that Julia fell in love with French cuisine. She attended Le Cordon Bleu cooking school in Paris and eventually collaborated with Simone Beck and Louisette Bertholle on writing a French cookbook that would appeal to Americans. The result was the best-selling <em>Mastering the Art of French Cooking</em> in 1961. She would of course go on to author more successful cookbooks as well as host popular TV cooking programs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">I have her book <em>From Julia Child's Kitchen</em> which I highly recommend. My wife and I have only attempted a handful of the recipes in this 677-page volume, but everything we've tried has been a delicious success. Child had a knack for simplifying the complexities of good cooking. I also recommend her book <em>My Life in France</em> which chronicles her love for France and its cuisine and, maybe most importantly, the love she and her husband Paul shared.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;"><strong>Hilaire Belloc</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Hilaire Belloc was born to a French father and English mother in France in 1870. He spent most of his boyhood in the county of West Sussex, England - a place he loved deeply for the rest of his life. He returned to France in 1891 to voluntarily serve a term of military service in the French army, in an artillery regiment. He become a naturalized British subject in 1902 but retained his French citizenship as well. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">He was a physically robust man and along with the great amount of marching done while serving in the army, he was an inveterate walker nearly his entire life. While courting his future wife Elodie, the financially strapped Hilaire walked most of the way from the Midwest of the U.S. to her home in northern California, paying for his lodging at farmhouses along the way by sketching the owners and reciting poetry.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Belloc was a prolific writer of poetry, travelogues, books and essays covering topics such as Catholic apologetics, history, politics, economics and biographies. His poetry alone ranges from deeply felt Christian faith to humorous poetry in the spirit of Edward Lear and Lewis Carroll (a couple of titles here should suffice to give you their tone: 'Jim, Who Ran Away from His Nurse, and Was Eaten by a Lion' or 'Rebecca, Who Slammed Doors for Fun and Perished Miserably.' Though, of course, I recommend you read the actual poems.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">Belloc had the penetrating clarity of thought typical of French writers (and, like a good Frenchman, preferred wine to beer) with the pungent humor and good sense of the best English writers (and, though he preferred wine, he did like beer, too).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: large;">I have his book <em>The Path To Rome</em> in which he relates a solo walking pilgrimage he undertook from Toul, in eastern France, across southeastern France, across the Alps and the Apennines mountains, and then southward across northern Italy to Rome. As well as describing the different places, people and adventures he encountered along the way, Hilaire reflects on politics, language, human nature and religion (the man had strong opinions!). The book contains 77 of his own line drawings that he made during his journey. I've read the book 3 times now and each time I didn't want the book to end.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Antoine de <span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Saint-Exupéry</span></span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Although he is best known for his children's book <em>The Little Prince</em>, I admire <span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Saint-Exupéry</span> more for his life as an aviator and the books he wrote about his flying experiences.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">While serving in the French Army in the early 1920's, he took private flying lessons and later was transferred to the French Air Force. After his military service he was a pioneer in international postal flight. Planes in those days had few instruments and pilots flew in bad weather or at night by a combination of sight, feel, experience and nerve. <span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Saint-Exupéry flew for the French postal service in Saharan Africa and in Argentina and survived a number of crashes.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">In his 40s, he flew again for the French Air Force during the Second World War, flying reconnaissance missions. On July 31st, 1944, while flying a reconnaissance mission from the island of Corsica in the Mediterranean Sea, his P-38 aircraft disappeared. A portion of his flying suit was discovered by a fisherman off the south coast of France in 1998, with the remains of his P-38 discovered two years later.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">My favorite books by <span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Saint-Exupéry are <em>Wind, Sand and Stars </em>(it's in this book where he describes spending a night in the Sahara Desert after crashing, and seeing the stars hanging as in three dimensions in the clear desert air - one of the most beautiful passages I've ever read), <em>Night Flight</em> (some very dramatic accounts of early night flying) and <em>Flight to Arras</em> (where he meditates on the collapse of France during the German invasion in May-June 1940 and the necessary spiritual rejuvenation of France).</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><strong>Saint Thérèse of Lisieux - The Little Flower</strong></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Born Marie-Françoise-Thérèse Martin in 1873 in <span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Alençon,</span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"> France to devoutly Catholic, middle-class parents, Saint Thérèse has become one of the most popular saints in the Catholic Church. <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Her mother </span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Zélie died of breast cancer when Thérèse was only 4 years old.</span> </span>All four of her surviving older sisters (her parents lost a total of 4 children) became nuns and little Thérèse eventually followed. </span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">They were a comfortably provincial family and though Thérèse was a lively and intelligent girl, there was no sign of any future greatness. And in fact, by earthly standards of greatness, Thérèse didn't accomplish much of anything.</span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Thérèse wanted to be a missionary in far off lands to win souls to Christ and more than anything she wanted to be a saint who, from heaven, would assist those on earth in getting into heaven too. Ill health meant she couldn't become a missionary, but she corresponded with various missionaries and prayed fervently for their success.</span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">While in the Carmelite monastery in Lisieux, Thérèse had to learn to deal with the everyday annoyances that come with living in close proximity to other women. She set about dealing with these annoyances and with the cold unfriendliness of a few of the other nuns by being loving and cheerful and accepting criticism from others in silence.</span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Her experiences in the monastery made her realize how small and insignificant she was, but she learned that it was this very littleness that required her to lean on God for help. She referred to herself as God's 'little flower.' She learned to live her daily life in what she called 'the little way,' the daily giving of herself to God through love and acts of kindness to those around her. </span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Thérèse became terminally ill with tuberculosis. It was at this time that she undertook writing her spiritual autobiography under the orders of Mother Agnes, the head of her monastery. She died at the age of 24 in 1897. </span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Her autobiography, <em>The Story of a Soul</em>, has been translated into many languages and has affected the lives of countless thousands of people, including mine. She couldn't become a missionary in the ordinary sense, but her writing has reached people all over the world, bringing the Good News of Jesus Christ and showing ordinary people that they can offer up their simple, everyday actions to God.</span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">After her death, miracles were attributed to her intercession and she was formally canonized as a saint on May 17th, 1925.</span></span></span></div>
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</span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><em>Love proves
itself by deeds, so how am I to show my love? Great deeds are forbidden me. The
only way I can prove my love is by scattering flowers and these flowers are
every little sacrifice, every glance and word, and the doing of the least
actions for love. </em><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
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<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> -Saint Thérèse of Lisieux</span></span></span></div>
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