Halloween Post

This morning I was looking through some old school documents in my computer and stumbled upon a short story I wrote when I was in 7th grade for a writing contest that had to begin with "As I stretched out my hand the broom came to life...."
Yes, the prompt was amidst the Harry Potter obsession that swept through every public school district in the U.S. and that is perhaps still present.

Regardless, re-reading it made me reminisce on the HUGE enthusiasm I had while writing it (and the delight my 12/13 year-old self  took when winning first place, despite knowing probably only a handful had submitted anything from my class)  and how, at least in that particular middle school, writing was taken seriously and very much encouraged as was reading. Even during my College Credit English class senior year of high school I can't recall reading book after book with such voracity and delight as in 6th and 7th grade. I have no doubt that the experience really formed my character traits of deep curiosity (now expressed majoring in Biology) and reflective/analytical skills. 

So, just for the sake of some Halloween celebration and further reminicing here is a portion of it:

P.S. I've also been doing more reading on JP II's "Love and Responsibility" and C.S. Lewis's "The Four Loves". Both really great works! More to come!

"I followed the woman, which I later discovered was named Abigail. We

walked through the narrow streets of colorless village. In every corner

there were corpses of people, young and old, their dead bodies left with

black scars in their skin from the Black Death.

With each sight of the corpses I grew even more uncomfortable. The smell

of death was now penetrated  my cloak. Yet, Abigail kept walking as if the

corpses were invisible. As if seeing dead people were an everyday thing. I

could not understand this, for Abigail seemed weak, her eyes seemed to pop

out of her thin bony face and a slender body that was covered by the

over-sized cloak. 

We kept walking the narrow streets until we were at its center, there stood

a meetinghouse. Abigail turned to me but her face had no expression and

simply pointed at the meetinghouse. Without hesitation I entered. This room

was dark, with only two small candles lighting it.

          “Hello?” I whispered, my voice shaking from the uncertainty of this

place.

          “Come closer, for I can not see your face.  What’s thy name?” a deep

voice commanded from the back of the room.

          “I am, I am Victoria,” I said trying to hide my fear as I walked to this

strange man.

          Suddenly the door burst open and let some light in. I could now see

the room was much bigger than what appeared from the outside.  There was

a table in back where the strange man sat and rows of chairs in front of it. I

was standing in the aisle between the chairs. It was Abigail, with a paper in

her hands. She walked to the strange man, curtseyed and handed him the paper. 
Then she left the room and left me again in the darkness of the room.

The man quickly read the paper and I could see a smirk beginning to form on

his narrow scrawny face..."

First Halloween in St. Louis-2001

Talk of Old Men......

 

 

My grandparents. L-R: Mom's mom & dad's parents

Today (well Sunday) I spent some time having a meal/day together with my grandparents. To say the least, each of them is quite the character! Often while in St. Louis I thought I had greatly missed out in bonding with them as a child and establishing a more solid relationship and memories with them. Although I can never get those 10 years back I don't think it's too late to find out who these people who raised my parents are. In fact, I hold each of them very near my heart, particularly my grandmothers who both have such brilliant stories regarding faith, sacrifice and marriage.

To write about each of them would take probably a few posts but today, something struck me quite loudly about an understanding between them and the people my parents are. To be more specific something struck me between who my grandfather is and who my dad is now.

My grandfather has never been one to claim religion as something for him. It's something quite obvious for anyone who engages in a conversation with him, even if for only 5 minutes. He is hesitant to use the word "God", instead boasting of the the dependance we ought to have in nature, usually by followed by an encouragement to visit the cabin he owns in a nearby town in the woods. He has been this way all his life, working on the trucking business, seeing his kids grow up on weekends between jobs, never stepping a foot in a church unless forced.It's been a whole life of such mentality and conviction regarding religion, God and the Catholic Church. I write this in no sense to be critical or uncharitable, I love him dearly and God has been so good to us as to allow for his health to be so good at nearly 90.

However, as facts stand I've grown to understand a bit more of the background my dad had growing up. The faith arrived from his mother most surely and he never saw his father take an active role in raising them, or an active role as a faith leader .My father is a wonderful man, however I've seen traces of very active criticism for the Church, and a few times flavors of anti-clericalism growing up. After spending the day with my grandfather my dad's faith journey was really hugely highlighted for me.

Again, this is a much much longer story, already so limited by my perspective of daughter. However, as of recent months, year, my dad has shown initiatives in spiritual growth that never in my life had I seen. Compared with the figure my grandfather is, and even most of uncles, it is that much more beautiful and joyful for me. Today, a few hours after seeing my grandfather and politely smiling as he spoke of priests chasing after girls and other similar "pleasant" comments, I received a phone call from my dad in St. Louis sharing with me his enrollment as a future knight in the first meeting of the Knights of Columbus in my home parish and further discernment and enthusiasm with this group.  I could hardly believe what he was telling me over the phone and yet there is a great great hope in me that he can grow in the openness and change of heart I've heard in the past few months. I can only keep encouraging him through words and prayers; in offering up the sadness it is to not have them with me.

What greater gift could I receive than to be able to witness a few hints of my dad's greater receptiveness and openness to God? Isn't that the whole purpose of a Christian life? To love and be loved by God and to respond in this love...  Praised be God for all of it!

Being at Peace....

From a recent e-mail to a friend in St. Louis:


"My heart always found some consolation that I just had to make it to Christmas until I could taste the sweet familiarity and warmth of all I had unwillingly left behind. I, wrongfully, looked at my future visit to St. Louis as an oasis where I could renew my hopes and energy to once again feel ready to return to a place where I had no friends, little personal history; a place when most of the time I felt I stumbled day to day alone. In other words, my heart and mind was back in St. Louis even if my body was here in Mexico. Hence, as you can imagine, the possibility of knowing I may have to wait another 6 or 8 months (or longer!) when I thought the "finish" line was just around the corner in 2 months wasn't (isn't) easy and yet, by the grace of God, I'm finding a greater disposition and peace to accept however God wishes to embrace me this Christmas time. Perhaps it's under the roof of my childhood parish, embracing my parents and sister at the midnight Christmas Mass we always attend OR perhaps it's during a fall-like day (it's much warmer here remember) here in Mexico, in the company of either my grandmother (who lives alone), or the Beloved, at parish still new and unfamiliar, but with an invitation to further stretch myself in my belief and conviction (and lived experience!)  that all I need is in Him regardless where (and with whom) I am physically that Christmas day Mass.  Do pray for me as I still stumble with my confidence in this acceptance!

I think this hints a bit with where I am right now in adjustments here. Still homesick, with a heavy heart to return to a place that's still very much home and yet with a greater appreciation as to how "launching" into this has made me ever more confident in my both myself and God who I have constantly sought PRECISELY because I have dismissed (and continue!) the fears and doubts that my strength and essence most strongly arrived from others and their help instead of this most essential communication of a whispering kind between myself and the One who first loved me" 

The last place where I shared a lovely lunch/scones with the above mentioned friend in St. Louis.

 

Praying with the Jesuits....

One of the many wonderful gifts given to me by really wonderful people back in St. Louis includes Hearts on Fire; Praying with Jesuits. It had been safely kept in my bedside stand for a few months and today, during the couple of hours between the bus journeys and waiting in a government office I started reading (or rather, praying) this book. I was deeply touched by the poetic-style and the utter sincerity of the many wide-ranging Jesuit authors found here.

Although, ideally, the book is meant to be a companionship during the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius (or through a more scheduled prayer schedule attempting to capture their essence) my reading today was, at best, haphazard and random in its selection.

One prayer that particularly caught my eye (and made me honestly examine these past few weeks) was this:

The First Principle and Foundation 

(near the end of the prayer)

"...In every day then, we must hold ourselves in balance
before all of these created gifts insofar as we have a choice
and are not bound by some obligation.

We should not fix our desires on health or sickness,
wealth or poverty, success or failure, a long life or short one.
For everything has the potential of calling us forth in us
a deeper response to our life in God.

Our only desire and our only one choice should be this:
I want and choose what better leads me
to God's deepening his life in me.

-David Flemming S.J. (former provincial of the Missouri Jesuit province)

My thoughts surrounding why this particular prayer (out of the few I reflected on) caught my eye is really a bit of a longer story in its details but at its essence realizing where my love and relationships with others should head. A reminder for today to re-center those worries and concerns in the promise that all is okay if they're placed near Him.

Peace,

The Inside of a Public Bus here in Guadalajara (Google image)

Fall in Guadalajara

Walking around my neighborhood a few days ago (the first day of October), I saw a street that had just recently planted new Agave plants. I guess they'll still be getting plenty of sunshine throughout October and November. This must mean no beautiful foliage changes this autumn although, as bonus, you could never make tequila from the maples and oaks in St. Louis. ;)

A (Late) Blurb About St. Therese

Okay, Okay, I am about 24 hours late with this post HOWEVER how could I wait another year to ''officially" post on this great saint's feast day?

So for now, we're back to October 1st, not only the start of a great great month (the birthday month of this great woman, month of the rosary, feast day of: St. Francis of Assisi, St. Teresa of Avila, and yes, also the birthday month of yours truly) BUT we get to kick it off remembering an AMAZING young French lady. Needless to say, October is a GREAT month.

I won't write about the biography of St. Therese, for that you can't find multiple sites and her own autobiography (which, I'll admit with guilt I have yet to read though it's one of the multiple books on my shelf), bur rather why I even remember this saint at all.

Although I have yet to read The Story of a Soul I have read another great book called Maurice and Therese: The Story of a Love (the link is a review on it) a few years ago, probably back in middle school or early high school. It was from this read that I first discovered who this great woman was and turned from an icon to a real person filled with as much grandeur and wisdom (I mean, this youngster is a Doctor of the Church!) as with vulnerability and sensitivity.

I was impressed and touched, and although it has been a few years since the read I can still recall feeling a connection with St. Therese at the moment. In this book, a collection of letters between a seminarian and the saint, I found the eagerness to be a little "Therese" for a dear Jesuit seminarian who was helping at my parish. I chuckle a bit now but such goal, for young Sofia, was so genuine, pure and quite zealous!

I, of course, can't think of St. Therese without thinking of countless memories made over a few years with an apostolic community of Carmelites back in St. Louis. They remain so dear in my heart and the icon (and statue) of St. Therese in their recreation room is still the mental image I recall when I think of this great saint.

I pray that I still seek to be a "little" Therese, morphed from my initial new and fresh zealous desire to a more complex understanding of what this saint teaches about faithfulness and deep turmoil. Ah and yet I know I have so much to begin to learn!

Well, happy (late) feast day of St. Therese! St. Therese of the Child Jesus, pray for us!

Peace of Christ,