Category: Saints (and sinners)

Let it be done unto me

Sr. Dorcee, beloved1 Comment

One of the best prayers my spiritual director ever taught me to say was Mary’s “Let it be done unto me according to your word.”  A very simple prayer, but absolutely life-changing.  The part that he particularly focussed on with me was the “Let it be done” part.  All I had to do was give God permission to do what He wanted to do, to let Him do it in me.  There are many, many times when I simply do not understand what He is about in my life.  (Now is one of them.)  I like to understand what God is about in my life.  The reality, however, is that I seldom have a real clue. With this prayer, I don’t need to understand.  I simply need to surrender to what He is about.   As long as He knows, that’s really all that is necessary.  He will guide me, even in hidden ways.

With the Feast of the Annunciation approaching, it’s a good time to remember the example Mary set for us in her response to what, certainly, was not something she fully understood.

“Still she wept”

Sr. Dorcee, belovedLeave a comment

I received many kind words yesterday on the anniversary of my brother Tim’s death.  I thought I would share those from two dear friends in the hope that they many console any of you who have lost a loved one.

I remember my mother talking about the death of her brother, Tom, in World War II on the battlefields of France.  It had been 40 years, and still she wept.  The great losses in life, those people God makes in his own image and likeness and gives to us in love, I think are right to always mourn.

If time has done anything, it deepens our grief.  The longer we live, the more fully we become aware of who they were to us and the more intimately we experience what their love meant for us.  (Henri Nouwen)

Of course, we do not mourn as those who do not know Christ and place our hope in Him . . . but we also know that Jesus wept.  And we take great comfort in that.

The waters of rest

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My brother, Tim, loved to take photos.  In fact, we used to joke about it.  He would show up at a family event and always announce that he had some pictures to show us.  The reason we joked about it was because they were predominantly of dead dear and caught fish.  (You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.)

But at the same time, he also had an eye for beauty.  He loved the outdoors.  Here are a couple of pictures he sent me taken at the place on the lake where he lived.

He definitely has the best view from where he is now.  (Can’t wait to see it myself.) “He leads me beside the waters of rest; he restores my soul.” (Ps 23.2)

I love you, Tim.  Always will.

“Our wounds are part of who we are”

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Two songs are coming to mind today.  One was written by a friend of mine, Kitty Donohoe, on 9-11 which she was later invited to sing at the dedication of the Pentagon Memorial.  The name of the song is “There are No Words.”  Michael Card in his book, A Sacred Sorrow, talks about the importance of lament in our lives, the need to struggle through our griefs to God, as Job did.  In listening to Kitty’s song (which you can do here), you may wonder where God is in it.  My take on it is that it’s the beginning stage of a lament, trying to begin to grieve.  In the beginning, Job himself cursed the day he was born . . . but he stayed in the struggle with God, and we know the ending.  And we know there is “a balm that can heal these wounds that will last a lifetime long.”

The second song is by Michael Card: “Lift Up Your Sorrows”, an encouragement to true lament, to stay in the pain and grief, wrestling through it to find the Lord.

And one more here, another by Michael:”Underneath the Door.”   It is in a sense a testimony to his own struggling through pain in his life to meet God in it.   “But our wounds are part of who we are and there’s nothing left to chance/And pain’s the pen that writes the songs and they call us forth to dance.”

Darkness is not dark to thee . . .

Sr. Dorcee, beloved3 Comments

On Tim’s first anniversary, I was still on crutches (from a broken ankle), but all the sisters in my house drove me up to Tim’s grave.  They even brought a folding lawn chair for me to be able to just sit at his grave.  I read aloud from Psalm 139:

Where can I go from your Spirit?
Or where shall I flee from your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, you are there!
If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!
If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
even there you hand shall lead me,
and your right hand shall hold me.
If I say, “Let only darkness cover me,
and the light around me be night,”
even the darkness is not dark to thee,
the night is bright as the day,
for darkness is as light with thee.

Sitting with me

Sr. Dorcee, beloved2 Comments

I’ve been thinking about what I found most supportive after my brother, Tim, died.  I think of a few things.  People who just sat with me, were with me, not saying much, just being there.  Like Job’s friends who sat with him in silence–probably the only thing that they did right.  People who said something when they didn’t know what to say–but at least they said something, not pretending that nothing had happened.  People who didn’t try to “fix” me by giving me all kinds of perspective, Christian or otherwise.  Again, sometimes the best thing was just being there with me, not necessarily saying a lot.  Not leaving me entirely alone.  (I was afraid to be alone those first days after he died.) People who surprised me with gifts: two dozen white roses, a dinner, a card.  People who would ask me, “Can I do anything for you?” and be okay with me saying, “No, but thank you so much for asking.”

Friends who still recognize that I’m grieving, even four years later, and still “sit with me” in it.  To you especially, I say thank you.

By pictures

Sr. Dorcee, beloved2 Comments

I’m finding it hard to blog these days.  As I’ve already mentioned, my brother Tim’s anniversary is approaching and I’m working on a talk for Monday night’s Witnesses to Hope in which I’ll be talking about his death, so a lot is going on deep down–but not yet at the point where I can write about it.  (Saving it for the talk on Monday night.)  It’s time like these when I feel that poetry or photography or music say it better.  I’ve been listening a lot to the soundtrack from Thérèse, probably because it gives expression to both delight and sorrow.  Consequently today I’m just going to post some pictures of my brother, Tim.  (He was child #3, born two and a half years after me, and as you would probably guess, there were not many baby pictures of him!  Or pictures just by himself, although I found a few.)  So here goes:

Tim and me, the big sister . . .
I think this was one of my mom's favorites--she had written "Farmers in the corn" on the back.

The altar boy . . .
Lover of horses

Thank you for letting me share these with you . . .

Two good friends of mine

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One of the things I find most delightful is introducing good friends of mine to each other.  That recently happened to me again.  If any of you have checked out the “Biographies” section under the “Books to Read” tab in this blog, you’ve seen that I have read two books about Father Arseny, an Orthodox priest who served time in Russian prison camps,  a number of times.  Hence, he has become a good friend.  I have often said about him, “I want to be like him when I grow up.” I recently introduced him to Anthony Esolen, a professor at Providence College (who has also become a good friend).  Professor Esolen writes for Touchstone magazine and, as many of you have probably noticed, for Magnificat.  He recently commented on an article about a priest in a concentration camp who heard the confession of one of his tormentors and the magnanimity of love he showed him.  Having read Professor Esolen’s comments, Fr. Arseny immediately came to mind so I sent the two books off to him in the hope that he would value meeting him as much as I have.  Here are his comments about the books: “The Beauty of the Saints.”

And my hope is that each of you get to know each of them.  Remember I love it when my good friends meet each other.

(I know I included a lot of links in this post–all of them worth reading.  If you only have time to read one, read the last: “The Beauty of the Saints”.)