Blogging Buddies, the Bible & Me

This will be my eighth blog and I am thoroughly enjoying putting my thoughts (from my head) and feelings (from my heart) into print. Besides the joy of writing, I have also gotten closer to my cousins via their blogs. I know when they usually publish new posts and look forward to reading and then writing comments. I think blogging is a great way to have some thoughtful conversation with another person without actually speaking. I feel that I am really getting to know someone on a deeper level. I feel closer to them because they are sharing not just words, but thoughts, ideas, and feelings. I our communication crazed society there are lots and lots of words out there, but how many carry thought and reflection with them? I am not familiar with other electronic communication tools like My Space and Face book (my children love these). I did try Shelfari (a book blog) for awhile, but I can write about books on my own blog along with many other topics.

Since I also like to write about my relationship with the Lord, my blog is also helping me learn those scripture verses that I know are "in there, but where?" I like that a lot.

What do you think, are your ready to blog?

Check out my cousins's blogs:

http://1corinthians13love.blogspot.com/

http://ouiesthoughts.blogspot.com/

Feeling Groovy at 60 and Beyond

Sixty years old. Sixty years young. Just plain old sixty years of life. That's me and this is the week for celebrating and reflecting on the past as I look forward to maybe another sixty years. Come on, wishing is good!! And so is the celebrating. In fact, I think I've been having a birthday bish-bah (a word coined by my friend, Lynn) from the beginning of June to these last few days of the month.

My initial party was provided by my sweetie sorority sisters at the Russian Tea Room in downtown Chicago. I love tea, especially when served in little floral teapots with delicate cups and saucers. I imagine myself as a character from a Jane Austen novel having delightful conversation and tea in that perfectly perfect English manner.

Next, I went from that uniquely English party (I am an English teacher and love all things English.) to an all-American tailgate party at U.S. Cellular Field with the Chicago White Sox. I must admit that I had a metamorphosis from being a Cub fan to a White Sox fan since daughter number two worked for the organization. The White Sox won, the scoreboard exploded with fireworks and a Happy Birthday to me was posted on the jumbo tron. Yahoo! What fun is that!

Lastly, I had a birthday dinner with my immediate family. We ate Greek food, we toasted, we laugh and we all told stories. Everyone had an amusing story to tell of events from the past, especially the high school foibles of my girls and the recent European travels of the boys at the table. When the kids toasted me they asked what advice I would give them from my vast years of experience. Cherish friends and family, laugh a lot, and never forget Jesus. I think that sums it up fairly well.

Now, besides all the celebration, I have been doing some reflection. Like those t-shirts that say "Life is Good," life is good and God especially has been very good to me. My husband has survived two major life threatening illnesses and my children and I are healthy and we all have productive jobs that provide us with many extras along with the necessities of life; friends abound and indeed life is good!

The day before my actual birthday, my husband and I were at mass and I was praying for an inspirational verse for my birthday. The Psalm reading of the day went like this:

Responsorial PsalmPs 139:1b-3, 13-14ab, 14c-15R. (14)

I praise you, for I am wonderfully made.

O LORD, you have probed me, you know me:you know when I sit and when I stand;you understand my thoughts from afar.My journeys and my rest you scrutinize,with all my ways you are familiar.

I praise you for I am wonderfully made.

Truly you have formed my inmost being;you knit me in my mother's womb.I give you thanks that I am fearfully, wonderfully made;wonderful are your works.

I praise you, for I am wonderfully made.

My soul also you knew full well;nor was my frame unknown to you when I was made in secret,when I was fashioned in the depths of the earth.

I praise you, for I am wonderfully made.

HOW'S THAT FOR A SIXTY YEAR OLD FROM THE SIXTIES

FEELING GROOVY!

One more thing. On the way home from dinner with the kids this was the song that was playing on the radio. It was a blast from the past that is very fitting to my life today.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jFCGn_bU_kI

Daddy & D-Day

My Dad has been deceased for almost seven years. He was close to 87 years old when he passed into eternal life. As I remember my Dad in the days leading to Father's Day, I also am caused to reflect on perhaps the most defining moment in my Dad's life. The D-Day Invasion of Normandy, France. It has been 65 years since that historic day. In fact, the day that my Dad participated in the invasion was five years and one day before I was born.

My Dad was a member of the 3rd Armored Division, called the "Spearhead," because it was this company of men who spearheaded the Allied forces across Europe into Germany. Particularly, his battalion was the Maintenance Battalion, and it was their job to keep the armor (tanks, trucks, jeeps, motorcycles) rolling the cause of freedom throughout the countries occupied by the Nazis. My Dad was a welder by trade, trained at Crane Company, so this was an easy fit for him. My Dad's parents were from Poland and he, himself, was a first generation American, who wholeheartedly embraced the American principles of "life and liberty." He always said that the stories he read in the newspapers about what Hitler was doing in Europe, taking over country and country, made him want to fight. He enlisted on June 12, 1941, which was six months before Pearl Harbor.

I loved to listen to his stories, whether it was about the time his unit was on the ship heading for the invasion dressed in desert fatigues when suddenly in the middle of the night they were given new camouflage fatigues. This was an way to fool Hitler into believing that the invasion would come through Africa, rather than Europe. Another story, a funny one, was about the time he was testing a motorcycle after repairs. He was speeding (Dad always had a heavy foot), crashed and ended up in a hospital in Belgium. He said he was waiting to see those cute army nurses, when he found himself surrounded by monks who had turned their monastery into a hospital. Oh well, he must have received a lot of prayers because he made it home safely and in one piece.

When the movie, "Saving Private Ryan," came out I asked him if he wanted to see it and he politely declined, saying, "I saw it once already and that was enough." I always remember his description of the landing at Omaha Beach as exactly the way Spielberg portrayed it in the movie. Speaking of movies, the last scene in the movie, "Life is Beautiful," shows an American G.I. rolling through with his tank and giving a little boy who had survived in a concentration camp a ride on the top of the soldier's tank. My Dad told of a similar experience, pushing through France and Belgium to liberate a concentration camp in Germany, only to find that the Nazis killed almost everyone before the Americans could get there. He always talked about how sorry he was that they couldn't get there in time. However, I really think that the evil and lunacy that one sees in war happened when he described a situation at the end of the war, that according to him, was caused by the politicians and not the soldiers. His unit was at the Elbe River in Germany. German soldiers were surrendering with their hands up in the air. The Russian Army (our ally) was on the other side and they were just shooting down the Germans and the American were told just do nothing. My Dad was really bothered by this because as a soldier he was an adherent of the policy that you should not shoot someone who is surrendering. Perhaps, this led to his cynicism toward politics later in his life.

Now reflecting on these stories and my Dad's service to his country that gave him 1 service stripe, 3 service bars, the American Defense Service Ribbon, the American Campaign Medal, the European African Middle Eastern Theater Ribbon with 3 Bronze Battle Stars and the Good Conduct Medal, I can count myself as one of the children of the men who fought to destroy evil and restore freedom with their own lives. I can just hope and pray that when it is my turn to do the same and "spearhead" the cause of liberty and freedom in God's name, I will do the same.

One more thing, my Dad had a great devotion to St. Joseph (his namesake) and St. Therese of Lisieux (often called the Little Flower of Jesus) and always credited his life to their intercession.

HERE IS A GREAT YOUTUBE VIDEO OF THE 3RD ARMORED DIVISION:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iUWzvu1Z4Pc

the poor or THE POOR?

As a Christian I am very familiar with all the exhortations in Scripture about the poor and serving them. In fact, according to the Concordance in my NIV Bible there are 74 verses that have to do with the poor. The strongest verse, I think, is Jesus telling the rich young man what he is lacking, "If you want to be perfect, go, sell all your possessions and give to the poor and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come follow me." (Matt. 19:21) Growing up Catholic, I always thought this verse only applied to the missionary priests and nuns who were serving the poor around the world. Certainly, Mother Teresa and her sisters are excellent examples of people who serve the poor. But what about me? How have I really served the poor? Oh, I have made donations to the poor at church, at work and especially during the Christmas season when I make donations to the Salvation Army bell-ringers and the Toys-for-Tots program at the school where I teach. But, is this really SERVING the poor?

My thoughts about the poor became intensified when I recently read three books, What is the What? by Dave Eggers, Q&A (populary known as Slumdog Millionaire)by Vikas Swarup and There Are No Children Here by Alex Kotlowitz. The first and third book are true stories that deal with children suffering from poverty and violence. The former takes place halfway around the world in the Sudan and the latter takes place in inner city Chicago (my own backyard). More people are familiar with Slumdog because of the Academy award winning movie, which takes place in the slums of India. As I read these books, my heart was troubled. How can this be happening to these kids? Does anyone care? What is the cause? How can the violence and poverty be stopped? What is the government doing? What is the church doing? Are donations enough? I don't think so. What can I do? Here's a great quote from Mother Teresa, "Let us not be satisfied with just giving money. Money is not enough, money can be got, but they need your hearts to love them. So, spread your love everywhere you go. "

Spreading love and helping the poor is just what my church's monthly Food Pantry is doing. My husband and I made the step to get involved by helping with the food distribution during its monthly evening hours. Jesus did send them out two by two.

When we arrived to work at the Food Pantry one of the first things I had to do was guard my heart against making any judgements as literally hundreds of people gathered in the back of the church. These people were not book characters, but living breathing human beings; a unique assortment of ages and ethnicities. Many of our church's Food Pantry customers don't speak English but Spanish, so we have to have enlist the help our Spanish Deacon and his wife to translate the procedure for food distribution. Each participant must register and obtain an I.D. card, which helps our church learn the names of the people and families we are serving. Then, as people arrive they are given a number, just like at the deli counter. When their number is called they line up and receive a ticket for a bag of groceries and another bag of assorted items that they can pick through, like toiletries, juices, candy, diapers or whatever the pantry receives from donations.

The first couple of times I worked at the pantry it was my job to unpack donated items and place them on a table for later distribution. I wanted to welcome everyone with a smile and hello. What surprised me is that the evening had the atmosphere of a party and social gathering. There were people chatting, children running, and babies crying, all in the church. Everyone was happy and thankful for this service. Many people, who I didn't even know, were thanking me all night. The merry atmosphere was contagious. And the end of the evening I carried the merriment home with me.

The following months I had the job of announcing the numbers and directing people from the church to the line in the lobby for their tickets. That was really a fun job. I called, signed numbers with my hands, so those who didn't understand English could tell it was their turn to get in line. I found myself making a connection to all the young children as I tried to engage them in the counting of numbers in English. Again, it was fun and it was very apparent that everyone there was enjoying each other and the "drama," that I put into announcing the numbers. For those individuals reading this post, this type of language communication is called, TPR, or Total Physical Response, which pairs listening to a target language with actions. Sort of like charades. Like charades it has a game-like quality and is loads of FUN. I found myself thoroughly enjoying this service to the poor. I also got to personally chat with a number of different people. A 73-year old woman, who called herself, "the little old lady from Pasedena," many young girls who were eager to help with straightening out the hymnals after the younger children played with them, and even a couple of teen-age boys who helped me translate the need for having one's I.D. card ready to help the ticket line move more quickly. Just being there with the poor and seeing their hope and happiness ignited by free bags of groceries gave me a deep feeling of joy, though my feet did hurt from standing all night. What I'm learning is how to live out more of God's love in my life: "We loved you so much that we were delighted to share with you not only the gospel, but our lives as well, because you had become so dear so us." (1 Thess. 2:8) For me, the title to the post becomes capital letters in my life.

Hummingbirds and raccoons

After a long Midwest winter, I longingly look forward to springtime, which means my hummingbirds will return to my garden. I get out my feeders and go to Wal-Mart to stock up on hummingbird food. I carefully mix the powder with water and add some extra sugar because I know my birdies love the added sweetness. My husband and I also purchase some annuals for our flower boxes. The type of flower is not as important as the color, eye-popping red is guaranteed to be the perfect eye candy for the hummingbirds. Perhaps the vivid red delivers a sweeter nectar, but I'm not sure. With all my careful preparations in place, I received my reward. The sweet red juice brought the sweet sound of hummingbird wings. They had arrived!

I carefully positioned myself to observe these marvelous creatures enjoying a free feast provided by moi. Springtime had arrived and summer was coming quickly. However, I would soon be robbed of my joyful bird watching.

One morning as I looked out my window, I noticed that my feeder was completely empty.

Someone or something had drunk all the red juice. I quickly made another batch and filled my feeder once again. Perhaps, I thought, the wind and rain had spilled out the juice. This time I added more sugar just to make sure that my birds would thoroughly enjoy their food and tell all their friends about the super sweet taste. But once again, the next morning the feeder was empty. Now who was the culprit? Cats, bats, raccoons, coyotes and fox all frequent the woods behind our house. This required a plan. Each night just after dusk (which is a busy feeding time), I took my feeder in for the night. This plan worked for a few days until one evening I forgot to take the feeder in and sure enough it was empty in the morning. What was I to do? With paper and pen in hand I wrote myself a couple of large notes reading, "Bring in the bird feeder." and left them in conspicuous places around the house and this time and each day after I did not forget. Oh, I even found the culprit, which was a huge raccoon that I saw one evening at twilight (no vampires where I live) slowly scout my yard, deck and feeder. I was the conqueror and once again my birdies could delight in their nectar and I could delight in watching them.

Lesson learned: Many predators want to rob us of our joy, happiness and delight in the Lord. They may not look fierce (raccoons are kinda cute), but their sole purpose is to steal our bread of life, Jesus. We have to have a plan and remember it day after day. For me, most recently, when my joy in the Lord was taken away by the cynicism of others or my own sinful nature I needed to use the "sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God" (Ephesians 6:17) to thwart the schemes of the enemy. Also, I constantly needed to remind myself to do this and not try to manage any battle in my own strength. It was and is a lesson that I hope to remember everytime I hear the flutter of those hummingbird wings.