Bunnies and Bulbs

April 23, 2024/0 Comments/in Beauty, Catholic Writing and Publishing, Easter, Faith, Resurrection/by Sarah Pedrozo

Bunnies and Bulbs

My parish recently hosted a Day of Reflection for parents and catechists. We had a good turnout of a couple hundred folks, with a keynote speaker in the morning and breakout workshops in the afternoon. I led one of the afternoon workshops, and I started off by posting a big picture on the screen of a cute, furry bunny sitting in emerald green grass, surrounded by a bunch of beautifully decorated Easter eggs.

Turning to the audience, I asked, “Why do we see bunnies at Easter? Turn and talk to each other at your tables for a few minutes.”

There was a hum of conversation as everyone discussed this pretty simple question. When the chatter started to taper off, I asked if anyone wanted to share what they had come up with. A few people raised their hands.

“Bunnies are signs of new life,” one person said.

“Yes, new life,” agreed the next person.

“Bunnies remind us of Jesus’ new life at the resurrection,” another added.

I moved on to the next photo, posting a photo of a beautiful cluster of lilies and daffodils.

“How about this photo?” I asked again. “Why do we see lilies and spring flowers at Easter?”

Once again, I gave everyone an opportunity to chat with their neighbors, before drawing some responses from the group.

“Lilies are signs of new life.”

“They’re like the bunnies. They’re signs of new life.”

And herein lies a problem that I’ve spent a lot of energy trying to address. The answers everyone gave weren’t “wrong;” they are just only halfway there.

Now, to be clear, I found no fault in the people who were there that day. Everyone who attended had been willing to spend their free time, an entire Saturday, up at church in order to hopefully learn a little, grow a bit in their faith and be part of a community. In many cases, they were also catechists at their parishes, leading the Faith Formation classes and trying to inspire and develop the next generation of Catholics. I greatly appreciated their generosity of spirit. In fact, I would even say I found their presence there enormously commendable.

The problem that remains, though, is that we no longer know how to speak what Pope St. John Paul II called “our original language,” or read what St. Thérèse of Lisieux referred to as the “Book of Nature.” What was once as easy and natural as breathing now involves labor and thought. We, the inheritors of original sin, not to mention the Enlightenment, now routinely think in terms of physical and spiritual. What we can see, touch, hear, taste and smell is in one camp and what we cannot see, touch, hear, taste, or smell, but nevertheless believe in, is in another camp. So, bunnies and chicks and flowers that bloom in spring act as pointers towards new life, because, well, they didn’t exist before and now they do. They are new life. But that’s only such a very small part of their story.

We can call these bits of matter Easter symbols, not just Easter pointers, signs or reminders, because that is what they really are. A symbol not only points to something else, but it also incorporates that something else within itself. It makes present what it points to, in its own way. You probably already knew that.

So, if we revisit the earlier question, “Why do we use bunnies at Easter?” we might answer it by saying something like “Because they show us something true and real about what happened at Jesus’ resurrection. They teach us something deep and profound about this ‘new life.’” What might that be?

Bunnies are attracting. They invite us to come in closer. We want to pick them up and snuggle them, maybe put them in a pocket and carry them around. They breathe softly. We love their little noses and long ears. They are simply delightful, in and of themselves, and if they also happen to be on some beautiful, emerald green grass, under a cornflower blue sky, we suddenly feel that the world itself is full of color and inspiration and possibility; that there just might very well exist a place, somewhere, where bunnies can live without fear of being attacked by something big with sharp teeth. And if that might be the case for bunnies, might it not also be the case for people? The idea that there might be a place or a way where we can live in peace, free from fear, in the midst of creation, is at the very heart of Jesus’ resurrection. Our faith tells us that not only is that possible in the next life, but that Jesus’ physically resurrected (not just reanimated or ghostly) human body, assures us that the beginning of this place has begun here, now, on this earth.

Just like bunnies are delightful, in and of themselves, so, too, is the new life Jesus offers us, because the new life IS Jesus, who is, in and of himself, attracting and inviting.

Closeup of some lovely white Easter lilies.

We can try the same exercise with lilies. What do they teach us about Jesus’ resurrection? If we think of the life cycle of a lily, we know that it spends most of its life in a very unimpressive state, as a funny looking ovalish, brownish bulb, stuck down in the earth, out of sight. For most of its life, a bulb doesn’t look like anything is going on at all. But then, suddenly, something happens. It starts to put out feelers and sends out small shoots. Those shoots eventually break through the surface and keep on growing. Finally, each bulb erupts into a truly spectacular flower, a blossom so magnificent that we have to stop and stare at it. We have to drink it in, memorize it and photograph it. Bulbs teach us that just because we can’t see the inner life of grace working doesn’t mean that it is not there. It just hasn’t matured yet. Bulbs remind us of our true end, as persons with resurrected bodies, of blossoming into those fantastic flowers from a simple little brown bulb. Again, not only do we anticipate this in the next life, but we know that some of the saints have moved into this type of state while they were on earth. Jesus’ bursting forth from his tomb, trampling over death, is like the remarkable flower that bursts forth from the tomb of the bulb. Like the flowers from bulbs, the resurrection is not a small, meager, easily overlooked thing. Instead, it is huge and unbelievably magnificent.

All of the symbols we use throughout Easter, as well as through the year, point to a deeper meaning especially when they are connected to a liturgical season. This, ultimately, is what Scripture is proclaiming when it says “The heavens declare the glory of God; the firmament proclaims the works of his hands. Day unto day pours forth speech, night unto night whispers knowledge,” (Psalm 19:2-3) all without speech, words or voices.

So let me ask you the same question: What do bunnies, eggs, chicks and lilies teach you about the new life we celebrate at Easter? And more importantly, how will the new life of the resurrection burst forth in your own life, here, now, in this season of Easter 2024?

Images from iStock

Saint Joseph: A Man for All Women

March 13, 2024/0 Comments/in Catholic Writing and Publishing, Faith, Family Life, Saints, Spiritual Life/by Mary McWilliams

Saint Joseph: A Man for All Women

Forget all your impressions and expectations of the “leading man” or “action hero.” Only one man can truly be described as the “strong, silent type.” For all the winning generals in history, it was a humble carpenter who outwitted the evil King Herod, putting an end to the plan to disrupt salvation history. For all the outstanding preachers and theologians who so deftly interpret the word of God, just one groom waiting for his betrothed to enter his home understood so clearly and personally God’s messages to him and the world. For all the loving husbands past and present, one cherished his wife’s purpose and mission so much he made it his own. Out of all the devoted fathers who ever lived, only one was chosen to successfully raise and protect the Savior of the World.

That’s why St. Joseph, spouse of the Blessed Virgin Mary, foster father to the Son of God, and head, provider, and protector of the Holy Family is not just a man’s man, but a woman’s man―at every stage, difficulty, and season of her life.

Scripture presents St. Joseph as a man of faith and action. In Meet Your Spiritual Father, author Mark Miravalle lists 13 “major New Testament references” to his life (pp 25-26). St. Joseph’s success in all these life and death missions can be boiled down to a knowledge of Scripture and love of God, which gave him the willingness and confidence to act. Unlike the young Samuel who did not know the Lord and therefore, did not recognize His voice when He repeatedly called him (cf. 1 Samuel 3:7), God’s word through His messenger angels provided clarity to St. Joseph to respond immediately (cf. Mt 1:20-25, Mt 2:13-15).

St. Joseph, therefore, is a great intercessor, leading women to clarity for action and to delve into the Word of God. He brings devotees ultimately to know and hear God’s voice. The Litany of St. Joseph provides no fewer than 24 roles and wonders this great and underappreciated man is known for, all of which are beautifully and comprehensively detailed in Fr. Donald Calloway’s book, Consecration to St. Joseph.

St. Joseph was the strength center of his family. Women―single and married, with children and without, who are providers, protectors, and caretakers―are also often expected to be the strength center of their lives. In the most supportive of environments, parenting takes wisdom, patience and many other virtues that few of us have even on a good day. Many mothers are the head of the family. St. Joseph, ever the provider and protector of the Holy Family, listened for and heeded the Divine messages he received. He knew that the Father would lead him; he just needed to listen. It could only be Joseph’s unyielding devotion to the Lord and study of scripture that led him without hesitation to listen to the angel who spoke to him in a dream, understanding its significance to mankind (cf. Matthew 1:21-23).

Single women who desire to be married can ask for St. Joseph’s intercession to find a good man. God chose Joseph specifically for Mary. He wants to choose a good man for each woman, but He wants to be asked. Single women can ask St. Joseph to pray on their behalf to the Holy Spirit to reveal and discern when the right man comes along. St. Joseph saw Mary’s grace-filled and sinless soul, and his prayerful intercession can help women see themselves as the beautiful and pure souls that God created.

Women who are without fathers, either through abandonment or death, can find comfort in St. Joseph. God entrusted him to care for the Blessed Virgin and the Son of God. If he can take care of them, he can take care of every girl feeling the loss of her father. Any girl or woman who misses her father can ask St. Joseph to be her foster father and help lead her to the Father of us all.

Aging raises uncomfortable issues―added dependence on family and strangers, financial strain, and health difficulties. Thoughts, not just of dying, but how we will die become more prominent. These are frightening thoughts as we relinquish more control over our daily lives. St. Joseph lived his life with chastity and dignity. Pray for his guidance entering later years, to look upon a life with humility and benevolence, seek the peace of Jesus Christ with the assistance of a strong confessor, and to prepare for a happy death.

St. Joseph, pray for us women.

Photo: Stained glass window of Mary & Joseph by Valentine D’Ogries. Photo by Mary McWilliams

References:
Consecration to Saint Joseph. Donald H. Calloway, MIC. 2020, Marian Press. Stockbridge, MA.
Meet Your Spiritual Father: A Brief Introduction to St. Joseph. Mark Miravalle. 2015, Lighthouse Media, Sycamore, IL & Marian Press, Stockbridge, MA.

The Power of a Smile

March 8, 2024/0 Comments/in Catholic Theme, Devotionals, Faith, Family Life, Hope, Spiritual Life/by Maria Riley

The Power of a Smile

When my kiddos were young, the local YMCA was a saving grace. My four daughters, ages four and under, loved playing in the childcare area almost as much as I loved a chance to pee uninterrupted. My mom-friends also belonged to the Y, so it was as much a playdate for me as it was for the kids.

At the YMCA, I learned that I do actually enjoy working out when it’s not a mandatory school class. I took various group classes that met my social needs and allowed me to try new exercises with no pressure or obligation. I remember especially fondly that if it weren’t for the YMCA, I may not have showered at all when my husband traveled for work. My twins are cute, but I couldn’t take my eyes off them for a minute!

Naturally, when I learned that my husband’s job was moving us to a new state, one of the first things I searched for was if our new town had a YMCA. To my great relief, it did. I’m fairly sure the girls and I trekked over there to become members on our second day there.

But everything was wrong with the new Y. My kids were scared of the new childcare area because they didn’t know the staff yet. They didn’t offer my favorite exercise classes. The cardio room was separate from the weights room, and both felt cramped: the building was regularly crowded, and my preferred machines weren’t available; I had to sign up for a turn on the cardio equipment and could only do thirty minutes at a time.

The worst part was how unfriendly everyone was, from the staff to my fellow patrons. I didn’t know anyone, and no one talked to me. Aside from a quick greeting as I dropped off my kids in the childcare area, I wouldn’t speak to a single person. I distinctly remember feeling profoundly alone while surrounded by people. They just weren’t my people.

One day, while I moped around the YMCA, bemoaning how I didn’t have any friends or even get a friendly smile, I realized the fault was mine. I recognized that from the moment I put the car in park, I hung my head and only looked at the ground. It was no wonder no one ever smiled at me. I didn’t give a single person I passed the opportunity.

At that moment, something changed in me. I decided to not be the reason for my own misery. I decided to lift my head, look everyone I passed in the eye, and smile. The most amazing thing happened: people smiled back.

I felt less alone from that day forward, not because I immediately made friends (which, I’m sad to report, didn’t happen overnight) but because I was connecting with other human beings. God created us in His image and likeness, and He created us for relationships. We aren’t meant to go through this life alone.

I learned some valuable lessons from that experience, the most notable being that I am responsible for my behavior. I can’t begrudge the unfriendliness of others when I don’t make the effort myself; something as small and simple as a smile can make a huge difference.

When I walk around looking people in the eyes and smiling, my soul is transformed. Even if I’m struggling and my life isn’t as simple and easy as I’d like, when I smile, I allow the joy that Christ offers to penetrate into my heart. What’s more, my smile is returned more often than not with a smile from a stranger’s face, further filling my soul with happiness.

These days, I don’t have to think about it: I’m always smiling. I love looking at other people and greeting them warmly. Each person I pass is a fellow creation of God, and I am blessed to be in her or his company. My kids often comment on how friendly I am—I get a chance to remind them that every person we pass has dignity and worth, regardless of her or his outward appearance. In this small, simple way, I get to share Christ’s joy with others.

If you’re feeling down or isolated, the most powerful tool you have requires only a few muscles in your face. It’s guaranteed to make you feel better, and chances are, your joy will spill into the strangers you pass. All you have to do is smile.

©Maria Riley 2024

Stumble onto a Forgotten Priest’s Homilies, and Wind Up in a Successfully Reflective Lent

February 14, 2024/2 Comments/in Blessed Mother, Book Review, Catholic Writing and Publishing, Devotionals, Faith, Inspirational, Lent, Lenten Devotion/by Mary McWilliams

Ever feel like you’ve failed Lent? You enter the season ambitiously on Ash Wednesday, receiving the smudged cross on your forehead, determined to read through the New Testament or Exodus at a measured pace, only to get stuck on a confusing passage and give up … for now.

A local parish offers an evening Bible study, but when the day comes, you’re too exhausted from work. Maybe next week, you think, but then the six weeks go by and you’ve missed the whole thing. You try online reflections, but you just breeze through them over morning coffee. You chastise yourself for being undisciplined or for refusing to take your spiritual life seriously. But maybe you’re putting too much pressure on yourself. A more relaxed approach, such as leisurely readings by a forgotten, but once beloved priest could deepen your faith, self-reflection, and ultimately your relationship with God.

Fr. Ronald Knox is little known to 21^st Century Americans in favor of other popular English converts such as St. John Henry Newman and GK Chesterton, but in his time, Fr. Knox was regarded as one of the most influential and prolific Catholics of the past century. He is a contemporary of Chesterton and an Oxford neighbor of CS Lewis, and February 17 marks the 136^th anniversary of his birth. Raised in the Anglican tradition, even becoming an Anglican minister, the good father followed in his country’s stead, not because he believed it was the perfect way, but because he wanted to bring the Church of England back to Rome. When he realized his ambition was futile, he converted to Catholicism at the still tender age of 29.

Fr. Knox was much sought after as a speaker, preacher, and retreat facilitator for his way of bringing depth to simple concepts and simplicity to the profound. His self-deprecating humor, orthodox theology, and insight into the human condition found its way into countless published homilies, broadcasts on the BBC, and even detective novels. He is also highly respected for his English translation of the Bible, known as the Knox Bible.

One collection of his homilies that might elude a mainstream audience is his title, The Priestly Life. Originally published in 1958 and re-released in 2023 by Cluny Media, this compilation of 16 retreat talks addressed to priests could just as easily be called The Saintly Life because it speaks to the saintliness we are all called to live. With the wisdom of a compassionate confessor, Fr. Knox, who seems to know what’s inside the flawed heart that yearns to be whole, begins with the Alpha and Omega framed in Biblical history, then gently leads the reader (or listener, originally) to realize his sinful nature, bringing him to humility and repentance. Catholic theologian and author John Janaro quotes Evelyn Waugh’s in a 2021 essay, calling the priest and his ministry an “apostolate of laughter and the love of friends” (Janaro).

His chapters in The Priestly Life address so many of the “No, not me” sins: sloth, apathy, grumbling and complaining, blaming. In “Murmuring,” he engages the reader with a compelling story of the Israelites venting and complaining about Moses and God. You read along, nodding and chuckling, amazed how much they sound like your co-workers. He goes on to explain why the grumbling, a “very difficult sin to avoid,” is a three-fold sin against God, neighbor, and self and realize, “That’s me!” and feel an urgency to go to Confession.

“Part of the reason why God put you into the world was to exercise the patience of others by your defects; think of that sometimes when you are going to bed” (pg. 81).

He speaks to his brother priests in “Accidie” about a “tepidity” of spiritual life. “What I mind about is not so much that I seem to get so little out of my religion, but that I seem to put so little into it. Or perhaps I should put it this way: what I mind about is that I should mind so little” (pg. 90). He also addresses a type of malaise, of going through the motions. The scenarios sound much like ruts that most everyone, at some point and in honest moments, experiences in marriage, work, and life in general. “All of the savour has gone out of his priesthood; he sometimes thinks, even out of his religion. Was he, perhaps, not meant to be a priest … is it possible that he has made a mistake?” (pg. 89).

Fr. Knox, in other chapters, addresses perseverance, death and obedience. In his piece on the Blessed Mother, he eschews “Mariology” and sounds more like a loyal knight honoring his heroine queen. While each chapter serves as retreat on its own, they also impart an appreciation into a priest’s very human life by which we might gain more compassion and understanding of a demanding and sacrificial choice, Wouldn’t that help make a successful Lent?

Knox, Ronald. The Priestly Life. 2023. Cluny Media. Providence, Rhode Island.
Janaro, John. Monsignor Ronald Knox. 2021. Magnificat. Catholic Education Resource Center.
Photo Credits: Keegan Houser and Eduardo Braga

Roses and Ashes

February 3, 2024/0 Comments/in Catholic Writing and Publishing, Faith, Inspirational, Lent, Poetry, Praise, romance, Saints/by Margaret Zacharias

Gather ye Rose-buds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying.

Robert Herrick, “To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time” 1648

In a rare, but not unprecedented, synchronicity this month, St. Valentine’s Day and Ash Wednesday will fall on the same day. These two dates last came together in 2018, and they will do it again in 2029. According to the Fayetteville Observer, this convergence seems to happen approximately three times in every one-hundred-years. The Twentieth Century also recorded three occurrences, in 1923, 1934, and 1945. (1)

The origins of our contemporary St. Valentine’s Day celebration are hidden in history. Even Roman Catholic sources record an astounding variety, of what can perhaps best be regarded as legends. He may have been a priest, a bishop, and/or a physician. It’s unclear whether the stories that have been combined under this saint’s name include the life one man, or the lives of two.

There is some evidence that, on an actual occasion, a prisoner named Valentine left a letter for his jailer’s daughter signed, “from your Valentine.” He’s said to have healed the child of her blindness; we all prefer to believe he did. He may well have converted her to Christianity. He might have converted her father, too. Plausible evidence does exist that a man named Valentine was imprisoned and martyred for his Christian faith. Other tales suggest that the little girl, and possibly her father, died with him. (2)

One fact is clear, that the official liturgical calendar of the United States makes no reference to a saint’s feast on February 14. On the USCCB website, it’s marked only with a purple dot indicating a day of Lent. There is no alternate reading for a saint’s feast day. (3)

Another mystery is how a saint, whom most legends report died as a martyr for his Faith, came to be a symbol of chocolate, flowers, and every other sort of indulgent romantic concupiscence.

Ash Wednesday, on the other hand, is a reminder of the death we all will experience. The Latin counsel memento mori, “remember you will die,” dates back to the ancient Greek philosopher Socrates, from sometime before his death in 399 B.C. (4).

The use of ashes as a symbol of penance and anointing for death by the Hebrews is documented in the Old Testament books of Esther 4:1, 484-465 B.C.; Job 42:6, 700-500 B.C.; Daniel 9:3, circa 550 B.C.; and Jonah 3:5-6, circa 500 B.C. (5)

Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale, Illustration from The Book of Old English Songs and Ballads, Circa 1920; Public

domain, via Wikimedia Commons

A solemn recognition of Ash Wednesday has been practiced since the earliest days of Christianity. The words, “For you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” from Genesis 3:19 (6), have been spoken through millennia in both the Eastern and Roman Catholic churches. They are still used for Ash Wednesday services in many Protestant churches today, as well.

But the question remains. What meaning can we discern from this mysterious union of love with death, that seems to appear as a trinity in multiple centuries?

For one answer, we might turn again to scripture, and discover that Song of Songs is the only one of three writings classified by biblical scholars as ‘Wisdom books’ that appears in Protestant bibles. Our Catholic Bibles contain all three, with the Book of Wisdom and the Book of Sirach included (7). Here is another trinity.

The Song, also called Canticle of Canticles, is a romantic poem that evokes all the sensual joys of earthly lovers, as metaphors that describe God’s desirous love for us. In Christian churches it is read as allegory (8). The determination of the bride to reach her lover, and the strength of their bond, represent the Sacrament of Matrimony on earth and Christ’s love for His Bride, the Church, in eternity.

When the cross of ashes, death, and dust is marked on our foreheads again this year — and the day wavers from joy, to penance, and grief — may we remember the powerful lover who awaits us, and continue to sing the Canticle:

“… Set me as a seal upon your heart,

as a seal upon your arm;

For Love is strong as Death …

Deep waters cannot quench love,

nor rivers sweep it away …

… You who dwell in the gardens,

my companions are listening for your voice–

let me hear it!

Swiftly, my lover,

be like a gazelle or a young stag

upon the mountain of spices.”

Song (Cant.) 8:6-7, 13-14 (9)

John William Waterhouse, Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May; 1909, Public domain, via Wikimedia
Commons.

Featured Photo: John William Waterhouse, Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May,1908, Public domain, via
Wikimedia Commons.

Footnotes for Roses and Ashes and Sources for Further Reading

https://www.fayobserver.com/story/news/live-wire/2018/02/06/live-wire-when-was-last-time-ash-wednesday-and-valentines-day-were-same-date/15307391007/#

For a few different perspectives, see:

https://www.catholic.com/magazine/online-edition/will-the-real-st-valentine-please-stand-up

https://www.britannica.com/biography/Saint-Valentine

https://www.catholiceducation.org/en/culture/catholic-contributions/history-of-st-valentine.html

https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/021424.cfm
https://dailystoic.com/what-is-memento-mori/#:~:text=Memento%20Mori%20—%20(Latin%3A%20remember,but%20dying%20and%20being%20dead.”

https://www.britannica.com/biography/Socrates

https://catholicstraightanswers.com/what-are-the-origins-of-ash-wednesday-and-the-use-of-ashes/

https://bible.usccb.org/bible/genesis/3

https://www.artesianministries.org/bible-study/why-are-catholic-and-protestant-bibles-different/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Song_of_Songs

9. https://bible.usccb.org/bible/songofsongs/8

A Poem, an Ornament, and a Choice

January 23, 2024/0 Comments/in Animals, Beauty, Catholic Writing and Publishing, Faith, Humility, Poetry, Prayer, Retreat/by Sarah Pedrozo

A Poem, an Ornament, and a Choice

Even though it is now a few weeks since the official end of the Christmas season (with the exception of those who close out Christmas with the celebration of Candlemas), I still have one ornament up. This particular ornament, called “Snowy Woods,” is always the last one to be packed away, and every year it makes the short journey from the Christmas tree downstairs to the family prayer space, upstairs. It hangs in silence until the end of the month, inviting reflection, contemplation, and most importantly, it asks a single question as we begin the liturgical cycle again: Which path will we choose to follow this year?

The ornament is quite simple and is made of glass, surrounded by a metal frame. A snowy scene is etched on both sides of the glass; two deer walking apart yet aware of each other, in a wintery wood. Every time I look at it, Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Not Taken,” springs to mind.

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost (1915)

(1) Two roads diverged in a yellow woods

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

(2) To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

(3) And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black,

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

(4) I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

This “Snowy Woods” ornament is a snapshot of the meaning the poem is getting at – how our choices affect our lives. In the ornament, the adult deer is looking back, pausing in mid-step. Has he heard a noise that caused fear? Or is he just taking a breather before continuing the way? Is the fawn following or leading? It all has to do with perspective.

A snowy scene is etched on both sides of the glass; two deer walking apart yet aware of each other, in a wintery wood.

When the ornament is held with the adult deer facing you, it seems as if the deer is looking back, over his shoulder. The shadowy fawn in the background appears to be watching and waiting for the adult deer to make a decision. But turn the ornament around and the positions are reversed. The adult is no longer looking over his shoulder but is gazing into the shadowy world at the small fawn. His steps and his gaze are very much focused on the small deer. The fawn, on the other hand, is looking out, away towards something outside of our vision. Both positions are telling. The fawn waits for the adult deer to make his decision, to take the path “less traveled by,” even though the path that the deer will take is set out by the fawn. The paradox of Christianity.

The adult deer is a perfect example of a Christian. He is solid. He is not shadowy or vague, but entirely painted in. His hooves are firmly rooted on the ground, even being entirely covered by the heavy snow. He is part of the physical, visible world we all live in. He is concerned with the daily struggles of life, poised to flee or fight, while wrestling with the heavy snowfall, the daily crosses of his world. While he is engaged, he is being watched by a small, shadowy figure, a guiding spirit who assists and guides his steps. This spirit might be an angel or even a figure of Jesus himself, always just out of sight, but somehow his presence is felt. The fawn, not the adult, knows the way through the snowy woods. It’s eyes are on something else, something higher and distant, away out of time and space. Unlike the solid white adult deer, the fawn is almost transparent, pointing to a spiritual, unseen aspect.

The two deer in this ornament are in a profound relationship, despite the fact that they are on two different levels. They remind us that no matter what path is chosen, the traveler will not remain in the crossroads. A choice, consciously or not, is always made. St. Catherine of Siena talks about this in her book Dialogue. She writes that “as long as you are pilgrims in this life you are capable of growing and should grow. Those who are not growing are by that very fact going backward.”

Each year, this simple little ornament strikes a chord with me. After all the decorations are done and we are looking forward, preparing to set out again, it beckons and asks, “What path will you follow this year? And will you walk it with Me?”

Photos courtesy of Sarah Pedrozo.

*This ornament was designed by Hallmark artist Robert Hurlburt and is part of the Elegant Ornaments Collection, a group of ornaments often based on archived Hallmark greeting cards.

Hearing God’s Voice in Unexpected Ways

January 19, 2024/0 Comments/in Catholic Writing and Publishing, Faith, Inspirational, Prayer/by Kimberly Novak

Hearing God’s Voice in Unexpected Ways

I am savvy regarding computer programs, social media sites, and internet surfing. Recently, I found a new feature on my cell phone that allows me to create stickers from photographs. I found joy quickly when I made stickers of the dog and began to share them. I only recently realized this feature has been around for a long time. A little deflated that my discovery was old news, I didn’t let it steal my joy and continue to play with it today.

The other day, as I was digging through photographs for sticker making, I stumbled upon a short video I had captured a few days earlier. I had been sitting at my desk, and out the window, I saw one lonely leaf on the tree, literally wiggling side to side. As a butterfly lover, I thought it was a very large chrysalis. Jumping out of my chair, I reached for the binoculars, quickly discovering a rolled-up leaf had remained after the tree lost its leaves for fall.

I am obsessed with caterpillars and butterflies, so my perception is, in a sense, tainted. Anyone else looking at that tree would have seen a leaf blowing in the wind. I, however, had an inside scoop. Only a few months earlier, I had witnessed a considerable caterpillar making its way up the most extended branch. Still, it never dawned on me that it was winter and the butterflies had transformed many months ago. Since I am currently working on a project writing about bugs and caterpillars, I chalk up the vision I saw to divine inspiration! After all, my first book began with a caterpillar clutching a leaf as a storm erupted around it.

I should also note one other important aspect of my leaf video. In the moment I recorded, the sky was dark and gray. Yet, when I watched it back, a small area of light appeared, proof in my eyes this was a Holy Spirit-filled moment. Always in tune with how God communicates to me, I knew there was a reason I was so captivated by the leaf in the wind.

Because I am a woman of faith, open to the promptings of the Spirit, my perception is programmed to view the light in the video as God’s whisper. However, anyone else looking through the same lens and watching the same video could pick up the reflection of the ceiling light bouncing off the window.

Another example is how we perceive God’s fluffy clouds in the sky. There have been days when I’ve seen things like a bunny, a vintage feather pen, a replica of the Ark, etc. Someone else looking at those same puffy clouds probably wouldn’t see them as I do. That doesn’t mean my perception is wrong. It all depends on how God has conditioned my eyes to see what He has placed on my path.

The stirrings in my heart and the knowledge of God’s presence are all I needed to convince myself of an experience of a Spirit-filled moment. Circumstances have trained me to expect God to show up and do big and small things. The instance in the tree is one of those small things, but it may have a more significant impact someday.

Going to scripture, I reflect on Luke 24:13-15, when the disciples walked the road to Emmaus. Because they had witnessed the death of Jesus, they did not expect him to be on their path. God had closed their eyes at that moment, but their perception was also conditioned by what they had experienced earlier.

When we are consistently open to the promptings of the Spirit, God can and will do big things. He will set the scene right when He has something to show or share with you. How you perceive it all depends on your willingness to let God in. It might be something that only you can see or something others think is entirely absurd—these are the moments when you stop and pay attention. God is most likely speaking to you and only to you!

Finding Treasures in Pockets of Time

January 12, 2024/0 Comments/in Devotionals, Faith, Family Life, Inspirational, Love, Spiritual Life/by Maria Riley

Finding Treasures in Pockets of Time

When I run into other moms at church, in the neighborhood, or at the grocery store, I find that I am having the same conversation over and over. I say, “Hi! How are you?” and she replies, “Busy!” and then delves into her litany of appointments and tasks that fill her schedule, and I reply in kind by agreeing and sharing my own over-scheduled obligations. We end our rushed conversation and run off to get something else done.

Sometimes there are things in our lives that we need to purge. It may not always be easy to remove it, but often, we are aware of the things that consume our time and give us nothing in return. I find, in my life, those things are typically self-centered, and when I choose to live the way Christ wants me to, I am given the strength to remove those things that take up too much of my life.

As mothers, though, so much of our life is spent in service to others. We are chefs, nurses, house cleaners, and chauffeurs, not to mention boo-boo kissers, story time tellers, snuggle buddies, and behavior correctors. Then our mother-in-law comes to visit, and we must be the perfect hostesses. The list goes on indefinitely, but the hours in the day do not.

How do we find time for Christ when we are pulled in so many different directions? It is especially difficult when these many different directions are for good things for our families. From time to time, I have found myself wishing for the seemingly simple life of a nun, especially when I am craving time and intimacy with our Lord but finding the demands of my vocation of motherhood to be standing in my way. But then I remember the beautiful gift of my calling, and I have worked to grow in my relationship with Christ within the demands of my schedule.

I rarely have large blocks of time, but I am regularly gifted with what I call “pockets of time” throughout the day. I have five minutes here or there, often while I am waiting for something, that I used to spend scrolling on my phone or otherwise distracting myself. Now, I try to be purposeful with these pockets of time and turn to God in prayer, even if I don’t have time to read the daily readings or journal in my Bible study workbook.

I used to get stuck in my growth toward Jesus because if I didn’t have 20–30 minutes to sit down, read, pray, and reflect, I wouldn’t do anything at all. Then, by the end of the day, I would feel like a failure because my spiritual time was just something else that I didn’t get done today (along with a shower or getting that laundry from a week ago folded). Somewhere along the way, I realized that God never gave me a set of expectations for how and when I have to pray. That came from my own unrealistic expectations, compounded by comparing myself to other women who seem to have it all together in their faith journeys.

Now, instead of dedicating 20–30 minutes to God in the morning, I turn to Him for a minute or two 20—30 times per day. Before I get out of bed in the morning, I say hello to the Lord, offer my day to Him, and ask Him to show me His will. When I begin a household chore, I offer it for someone in need. I pray for a moment before I start a workout, thanking God for the gift of my body, the temple which houses my soul and the Holy Spirit. I have learned that just a few moments is all it takes to recenter my day and draw closer to Christ.

The best part about approaching my prayer life in this way is how my spiritual life has deepened and grown. Previously, once I had completed my morning prayer time and reflection, I would check the “Time for God” box and then go on with my day. Now, by regularly recentering myself and refocusing on God many times throughout the day, I am able to let Him work in me and through me all day long. It is such a gift that God has helped transform my life so that my entire day has become a prayer.

Magnificat of a Prodigal

January 10, 2024/0 Comments/in Catholic Theme, Conversion Stories, Eucharist, Faith, Spiritual Life/by Mary McWilliams

Magnificat of a Prodigal

“I baptize you in the Name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” the priest said, making the sign of the Cross on the baby, a newborn not expected to live, and marking her forever as Christ’s own.

My urgent baptism the day I was born was probably the greatest gift my parents ever gave me. It lit a flame within me that oftentimes seemed to flicker dimly yet refused to be extinguished. As I wandered aimlessly and recklessly through the next decades, the grace I received at my baptistm acted as a homing device to bring me back to the true home and true faith that stirred inside of me.

I am a prodigal daughter, one who strayed long and far. One who thought she could grab her inheritance early and do better with it out in the world than within her Father’s house. Like the older son of the parable, I ended up metaphorically broken, dirty, and perishing from hunger.

We were a family that was Catholic, but not a Catholic family; an obligation passed down through my mother’s side. We knew about Catholic things―prayers, holy days, the pope―but as a family, we did not practice the Catholic faith. Culturally, the 1970s was an age of rebellion―not obedience―to tradition, ritual, and authority. Catholicism was an easy scapegoat. I was drawn to the mysticism, the precision of the rituals, and the stories told in the stained glass, but I didn’t understand any of it. I was curious about the people honored with statues but didn’t know them either, save Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. The old churches with their intricate architecture beckoned and the modern ones reflected messages around me that this faith was nothing to love. So many seemed to hate it, and I followed along.

While still going through the required CCD and Sunday motions, I became ABC: Anything But Catholic. How about Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism? Then other eastern philosophies and exploration into yoga. I read enough to pick and choose what worked for me. Occult, New Age, and pursuit of worldly goals led to darker passageways and heavier sins, but there was always some flash, some small ray kindling in me that kept me from journeying as deep into the darkness that had captured many of my friends.

He has come to the help of his servant … he has remembered his promise of mercy.

By my 30s, wrong paths and hard lessons had beaten me down. I had pushed God away, doubtful I had a way back, but I started attending an Episcopal church. It was Catholic enough to be familiar but without … well, whatever it was I claimed offended me in my youth. I pondered the creed in the Book of Common Prayer and tried to recall the Creed I had memorized as a child. Was it exactly the same? The Creed was something I always believed. I didn’t know why. I could say it without feeling like a hypocrite. I knew that if I were serious about reuniting with God, I had to go back to my beginning. With a “try me” attitude, I began listening to Catholic radio and watching Catholic television constantly. What I thought were tough questions about the faith were satisfied quickly and easily.

Tentatively, I considered going to Mass, but refused to set my alarm, daring God. If he wanted me back to the Catholic Church, he’d wake me up. He did. I played that game the next week. Once again, he won. This continued for weeks until I wanted to go to church, and just to make sure I wouldn’t miss Mass, I set my alarm.

He has lifted up the lowly … He has mercy on those who fear him …

At Mass, I felt like I had crashed a gala event. Still, each week I went. I sat in the back feeling invisible, until Communion when I felt conspicuous. Alone in the pew, I knew it was not my time. It took three years of going to Confession, remembering a lifetime of sins, and speaking them out loud before I felt like I could honestly receive the Eucharist.

He has scattered the proud in their conceit …

On Easter, the day we celebrate his Resurrection, came a resurrection for me. After many years, torturous examens, and woeful pleas for forgiveness, I stepped up to receive the Body of Christ. “Amen,” I whispered, closing my eyes to dam up the tears. Immediately, I was surrounded by a beautiful aroma that was like home-baked bread with an undefinable sweetness. Not sweet like candy, fruit, or flowers, just a sweetness all its own. The experience simulated walking into a cozy home on a windy, frigid day, with a fire in the fireplace, and a scrumptious dinner in the oven. It had the joy of being welcomed by happy dogs and held by arms that had been waiting just for me. It had the intimacy of snuggling under a blanket with the person you love the most, who knows you better than anyone, your faces millimeters apart, trading secrets and dreams, giggling over private jokes. This sensation would remain with me through the end of Mass, and it continued through the summer.

He has filled the hungry with good things …

More than a decade later, I might experience a brief wafting of this aroma when I receive the Eucharist. I miss the intensity of the first months, but I think he knows I’m convinced he is with me. He promised, “Behold, I make all things new.” He took me, a soul that didn’t expect to survive, and bore me anew.

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord.
My spirit rejoices in God my Savior.

God’s Christmas Wish

December 15, 2023/0 Comments/in Catholic Theme, Catholic Writing and Publishing, Faith, Family Life, Holidays, Hope/by Kimberly Novak

God’s Christmas Wish

Finding myself deep in the throes of holiday madness recently, a short phrase spoken by a house guest caused me to stop and think about where my focus is this Christmas Season.

“We want as much as we can get. All dogs want are the crumbs.”

Among the busyness that comes with the holidays are many suggestions for the gift-giving season. As a child, I recall giving my parents my gift wishes in not-so-subtle ways. I circled toys in catalogs and newspaper ads, as a blatant way of letting them know all I hoped for that Christmas. I have lovely memories of how my children voiced their wish lists, and I am enjoying how creativity is growing with each new generation.

Fixing our eyes on the birth of Christ becomes complicated when the commercialization of Christmas is all around us. Somewhere, at some point, there needs to be a balance. After all, God gave us the best Christmas gift ever, and doing the same for our families is good. Keeping our hearts aligned with God in the process is even better.

I never imagined such a profound statement coming from giving our dog apple pie crumbs. The truth in those words echoes in my heart days later. At this time of year especially, we do want as much as we can get, and if you think about it, the little dog considers the crumbs a full-course meal. I don’t think I will ever look at a piece of apple pie the same, and if my little dog plays her cards right, she may end up with a whole slice!

What would this look like if we flipped the circumstances just a little? Would crumbs be enough in everything we pray for or desire from God? If God’s will for our lives is not to receive the wish list in our minds but to receive only a portion, can we be as content as the dog receiving scraps? Taking it even one step further, let’s imagine that we are holding the meal, and God is patiently waiting for us to give Him a portion—how much are you willing to give God? Are you offering only crumbs or the entire piece?

A relationship with God requires opening your heart and giving God your time and energy. We put forth all of these things to the multitudes during the holidays. I never think twice about making time for shopping, baking cookies, and attending holiday gatherings. However, there are times when my prayer life suffers amidst the holiday madness. Christmas is a celebration of the birth of Christ, God’s one and only Son, given to us as a gift. It is a beautiful gift for you and me to offer our time, energy, and focus to the God who gave us life.

So how do we find that balance, the sweet spot where we can check off the holiday to-do list while staying true to our commitment to the intimacy of prayer? The obvious would be to put God first. This is easier said than done when our minds focus on everything else. Perhaps a written wish list between you and God might do the trick. Consider what God might wish for you, and then offer your requests prayerfully each day. Actions such as these will help to keep your heart and mind focused on involving God in the holiday preparations.

As you wrap presents and tie beautiful bows this holiday season, offer a prayer or two for God’s children who are happy and content with what little they have. Pray for the desire and grace to be satisfied with what God has given you, and perhaps drop a crumb or two to the little dog waiting at your side; God is right there with them.