Category: hope

I give you my future.

Sr. Dorcee, beloved1 Comment

Originally posted here.

You-Hold-Our-Words-In-Your-Hands-Prayer-Garden

The Divine Hours

I give You my future
the fear that lives inside
take my tomorrow
the unknown in my life

I need a Sabbath Soul
a heart of fertile soil
translate my time
make a liturgy of my life

I give You my past
The world that lives inside
Take my yesterday
The memory of my life

I give You my present
the only world I live
transfigure this moment
it’s all I know to give

+ By Michael Wright [MAT ’12], the associate editor of FULLER magazine and studio. Listen here.

The fog will lift

Sr. Dorcee, beloved1 Comment

The fog will lift, America…

We cannot gloss over reality, but we can remember who we are, and where we want to go

Andrew Krespanis
Jeannie Ewing
July 12, 2016

Web-the-fog-will-lift-america-NIKKOS DASKALAKIS-shutterstock_400007530

Shutterstock/NIKKOS DASKALAKIS

On a recent morning, I awoke to an unusual fog that canvased the country landscape. It felt eerie and ominous, considering the violence we are seeing in our nation and throughout the world. I paused as the clouds wisped past my garden beds, concealing the perennials in all of their vibrant glory. For a moment, I was reminded of the sobering fact that life is fleeting, fragile, and finite. God whispers these truths to us in creation, though we seldom listen.

For some reason, our daughters are afraid of weather patterns; they are still young and aren’t sure why the sun isn’t shining every day or the flowers wither without rain. That morning, my oldest, squealed in horror, “Look, Mama, there’s fog!  We can’t see anything!”

I responded calmly, almost nonchalantly, “The fog will lift, sweetheart.”

And I tell her this in varying forms on a near-daily basis: “The sun will rise again.” “The rain will stop.” While she takes these statements at face value, we all know therein lies profound spiritual truth, especially in times like these.

All things pass. Everything cycles through good and bad, light and dark, growth and loss. We tend to clutch the moments of grandeur, because happiness makes us feel good. But when loss occurs, we are jarred awake, perhaps for the first time, as we remember the precious gift of now.

When a person dies through violence, somehow our first response is fear, much like my darling daughter reacting to the fog. “But we can’t see! We’re in danger!” It’s true that we cannot gloss over the reality that we could die – anytime, anywhere, by any means – but God wants us to dwell on the fact that, one day, the fog will lift. One day, whether on earth or in heaven, we will discover our eternal reward, provided we are faithful to Him.

In times like these, when violent tensions mount on the wings of evil, we can tell ourselves, like children, that the rain is God’s tears blanketing and cleansing the earth; the sun warms not only our bodies, but also our souls and bears light where the darkness would rather dwell.

As tempting as it is, we mustn’t get bogged down in the fearful rhetoric plaguing the internet and social media. When we do, we fall prey to the same anger that incites violence, segregation, and hatred. But we were not given a spirit of fear or division. We are given a spirit of truth, and we must dwell within that truth, even and especially when senseless tragedy befalls us.

Driving through the fog reminded me how much I need God, how desperately I must depend on Him. The weakness of human sin felt almost palpable to me, then, yet I clung to Scripture and prayed. We are all capable of heinous acts. Hope reminds me, however, that we are all capable of greatness and heroism, too.

Life cannot be exclusively felt or experienced in the hazy fog that makes a lingering, translucent barricade around our hearts. When people die through violence, we must purposefully pray that the haze will be unveiled, so that we can see people again – see their inherent dignity and respect life so much that we long to protect and honor, rather than end, it.

In fog, after a while the ethereal clouds dissipate, burned off by the sun, just as the Son illuminates and clarifies everything that the enemy attempts to steal from us – our joy, our hope, our faith. To the children and adults everywhere who fear the fog, I pray that God will whisper to them, “The fog will lift,” and also, “the Son will shine…”

[In] releasing those bound unjustly,
untying the thongs of the yoke;
Setting free the oppressed,
breaking off every yoke?

Is it not sharing your bread with the hungry,
bringing the afflicted and the homeless into your house;
Clothing the naked when you see them,
and not turning your back on your own flesh?

Then your light shall break forth like the dawn,
and your wound shall quickly be healed;
Your vindication shall go before you,
and the glory of the LORD shall be your rear guard.

Then you shall call, and the LORD will answer,
you shall cry for help, and he will say: “Here I am!”
If you remove the yoke from among you,
the accusing finger, and malicious speech …

Isaiah 58:6-9

Andrew Krespanis

Jeannie Ewing

Jeannie Ewing has a Master of Science in Education and practiced high school counseling for one year before becoming a full-time stay-at-home mom. She maintains a personal blog, lovealonecreates.com, where she writes about parenting children with special needs, faith in everyday life, and personal reflections. 

– See more at: http://aleteia.org/2016/07/12/the-fog-will-lift-america/#sthash.KT1DVgaA.dpuf

There’s a decision to make

Sr. Dorcee, beloved2 Comments

Originally posted on Mudroom.

I can feel the tears

And this time I’m trying really hard to stay near You

But I can feel the water behind my eyes

Sometimes making it hard for me to see You.

 

I can feel the waves of doubt

Hitting me like bullets in a windstorm

And I’m squinting my eyes

Trying to see You although my vision often times feels weary and worn.

 

But I did say that I would seek You

In hope as well as in despair.

I did say that this time I would keep You near

And not push You off like You don’t care.

 

I did say that I would not close off my heart

Like I’ve done so many times before.

I did say that I would try out this new journey of trust

Even if it meant walking while I’m sore.

 

And yes, sometimes I feel like I have a limp,

And yet, I have to walk through my daily routine like nothing’s wrong

But this time, I’m trying to stay near Your heart

So I can hear You as You delight over me with a song.

 

There’s a decision to make.

I can hear an old soundtrack playing a familiar tune.

It invites me to cast off this fight to be strong

And instead recline to a familiar position that doesn’t trust You with this wound.

 

The familiar tune encourages me to shove off assurance

And keep distrust as the forerunner of thought

While passing the baton to victimization and dismay

Oftentimes keeping any opportunity for peace at fault.

 

And I know that tune

I can sing and belt out every word.

It’s the song that I know all too well

Because in some broken places in my heart, it’s the only song I’ve ever heard.

 

But I said I would listen to new lyrics

Ones that emphasized your faithfulness—even in tears

Lyrics that take away my woe and sorrow

Even if that’s all I’ve known for years.

 

I made a vow to my heart

That I would lean back and let You lead.

So this time I’m not letting my own opinions go first.

I really want You to succeed.

 

I know all too well—the feeling of doubt and distrust.

I’ve practiced that life for far too long

And it took me in painful circles

Even though I was the one who let it go on and on.

 

I’d like to try something new,

And I understand new doesn’t mean shiny and pain free.

New does mean Companionship with You, the Comforter,

Who has promised to remain ever so close to me.

 

You will be here

Even though I might cry, and weep, and fall limp with pain,

But this time I’m not by myself.

I can lean my heart up against You who too has endured the same.

 

I’ve found a friend

Someone who is beckoning to journey this path with me

And even though I at times might feel shame and condemnation

You have come to rescue me from that false identity.

 

I can take a deep breath

And not try to be a superhero without a power or a cape

Instead I can actually stand in His shelter

And let Him save my heart, my emotions, and the day.

 

Goodbye eternal misery

Goodbye to the endless trail of no hope and emptiness

Hello Comfort and Life

Hello to the One who has come to give me rest.

 

Sing Your Song over me Jesus!

Push out everything that would prevent me from hearing.

Sing Your Song over me Jesus!

Help me lean back, I let You lead, You are the only one I want steering.

 

A real super hero

Sr. Dorcee, beloved2 Comments

A sister of one of our Sisters recently broke her leg severely and is basically off her feet for months.  I thought I would share one of her posts.  I’m sure you will be as inspired as I have been by God’s care for her.

I find myself mentally setting up my week with the goal of coping till the weekend when my family is all around me, to help, love and support me.

Week day mornings are a rush to get all my “assisted” tasks done before my children catch the bus for school…they closely follow a list to ensure I have everything within an arm’s reach so I can manage my world from the mossy green motorized lift chair.

Most mornings prior to my accident I would leisurely walk out to my kitchen and prepare coffee while marveling at the birds gathered around the feeder outside my window.  The familiar sound of my favourite couple, The Cardinals, calling back and forth, one protectively watching the surroundings as the other fed taking turns to spell each other off. God’s morning gift of greeting me through nature, as I poured the rich aromatic dark roast coffee from the bodum to my mystic monk pottery mug, never ceased to bring a grand smile of thanksgiving to my face.

I am a creature of habit, with little rewards built into my everyday routine…a decadent coffee here, pastry there, thick fluffy towels and luxurious lotion after a shower…by no means do I possess wealth, but reflecting now, I managed to physically reward myself after every spiritual exercise of obedience. Oh boy did I have things backwards.

Friday I felt stuck… dark… alone… all of the creature comforts I used to cling to have vanished, I need aid to do them all and guilt prohibits me from asking a personal support worker to grind beans for a gourmet coffee – it’s so minuscule in the grand scheme of what they do. The walls feel like they are closing in and perseverance just out of reach. Reflection on the week brings me back to our study of the sacraments, the outward sign containing God’s grace… God’s grace… I feel empty. Last week Fr. Brian didn’t come by for my weekly confession and with many funerals this week in addition to his weekly masses I hesitated to bother him for a home-visit for reconciliation. My sister reminded me that Fr. Mooney, a retired priest that lives in a nursing home a few miles west of our home had his number in the bulletin for emergencies. Is this an emergency? I just knew that my heart was in its darkest place since my accident.

Nervously I picked up the phone, I prayed ahead that God would prepare Father’s heart for my call and I wouldn’t be disturbing him. Father picked up on the 3rd ring, his soft frail “hello?” producing a lump in my throat, as if I had connected somehow with much needed light in my darkness. “Father Mooney?” I choked through tears… and explained my circumstance. “Well… let me check my book” with a few words he ripped open a spiritual oppression that had been hanging over me for days “tomorrow afternoon I will visit and hear your confession” in a whisper it was gone – the walls, the shadows, the monotony of my days – uncertainty uprooted and HOPE was firmly planted.

When I got off the phone the dam holding all of my anxiety washed away and I wept in gratitude for Fr. Mooney. I emptied my heart and lifted it to God, thanking Him for sending me a super hero – literally, a super hero… because there is NO earthly person, except a priest, who can administer reconciliation. Father Mooney, in his sunset years of mid-eighties, will pull a chair up to mine… he will garb himself in the priestly purple stole symbolizing penance and a portal will open… between time and a place outside of time. I will be joined, through Father as the veil, with my Saviour and healing will happen…the broken made whole… my GPS set straight… the gifts of The Holy Spirit watered and nurtured.

Of all the people in the world, pro-athletes, music giants, movie stars, motivational speakers, fashion designers, models and a plethora of other multi-millionaires who claim to have the answers to joy, love and success…there is a tiny white haired man whose humble life belongings line the dressers and walls in one room of a nursing home. This afternoon he will pull a worn camel coloured cardigan over his black dress shirt and white collar. He will shoulder an overcoat past the aches and pains of his eighty year old body and cover his head with an ancient fedora to keep today’s misty rain out of his downy locks. Gazing at the back of an envelope where he scribbled my address in pencil, he will find my home… and walk in the front door – his spiritual cape invisible to everyone but me.