Mary van Balen

IMAGE FROM Rhodes Jewish Museum



Blessed is the one who walks not in the counsel of the wicked,
nor stands in the way of sinners,
nor sits in the seat of scoffers.
but whose delight is in the law of the Lord,
and who meditates on God's law day and night
Psalm 1, 1-2




What comes to mind when you hear the word "law?" Traffic regulations? Tomes of legal statutes? Rules that you cannot break without suffering consequences? Laws, unless changed by legislation or edict, are static and guide individual and societal behavior.

Such definitions come quickly to a modern, western mind, but not to an ancient Hebrew one. To them, law (or Torah) was given by God not only to regulate their behavior, but also to help them become a wise people. (see Dictionary of Biblical Theology by Xavier Leon Dufour)

The Law was not static, but developed as Hebrew history unfolded. By the time the Israelites had returned from Exile and the Psalms were written, "law" was equated with "Wisdom," and to love the Law was to love God. Read More 

PHOTO: MARY VAN BALEN
My world is more chaotic than usual. I am still looking for a job, throwing my net wide. The move from one home to another is not complete, and early this week, my father was taken to the hospital. Along with my brothers and sisters, I have been spending time there, talking with doctors, holding dad's hand, and keeping other family informed. This morning I woke at 5am, overwhelmed with thoughts of preparations to bring dad home and writing tasks left undone. My agitated spirit reminded me that I had not spent time with Lectio for the past few days either.

I dressed and settled at the dining room table. The empty house was quiet and as I began to sing "Come Holy Ghost," tension began to ebb away. I opened my small black Bible and began reading slowly to find my "Word."

The Spirit hovered over the chaos.
© 2010 Mary van Balen Read More 

HOMEMADE SNOWFLAKE: DR. MARGARET COOK; PHOTO: MARY VAN BALEN


Being unemployed will affect many this holiday season, and while I have a part-time job that will end in a couple of weeks, I put myself in that category. I lingered at the Christmas card display at Half Price Books last night, thinking I might find something to send to a few friends, but decided even reduced prices were more than I could pay. Instead, I decided to make the greetings sent this year. Memories of homemade cards made years ago made me smile.

The first card I made as a young adult was complicated and, as a result, few were sent. I wrote a short story, typed up the pages, illustrated them with watercolors, and sewed them into blank red deckle-edged card stock purchased at a college bookstore.

Then there were the linoleum block printed ones with white pine trees on brown paper. I wrote an original poem inside each one (This was long before computers made printing them out fast and easy). They were so labor intensive that the last ones were sent out in July with a caveat: "Christmas is Everyday."

More recently, I have made copies of my December column on green paper and sent it to those who do not subscribe to the Catholic Times.

"Maybe I will do that again," I thought as I moved toward the bookstore door and headed out to the car. It might work for a few friends, but most can easily access my columns online.

I remembered a card I received from Madeleine L'Engle one year. Reading one of her Crosswick's Journals had inspired me to send her a box (A "Mary K. box" my children said.) filled with things I thought she would enjoy: A crystal growing kit, a homemade book introducing myself and my children, a shell from a favorite Cape Cod beach, some columns, and of course, a letter.)

She surprised me with a wonderful letter, a Christmas card poem, and her newsletter. Her card was simple: Hand lettered poem and line drawing copied on the lovely blue paper that office stores sell: between pale and neon.

"Maybe I will write a poem."

It would have to be short. Between grading papers, filling out grad school and job applications, studying for the GRE, and writing magazine articles I don't have lots of time to write poetry.

"Maybe a reflection from my "Lectio Divina."

The more I thought about the project, the more ideas materialized. That is the joy of homemade: I was taking time to entertain ideas, think of my friends and what I could offer them from my life at the moment. No matter what I decide or how late the cards are sent, the recipients will know a bit more about my heart and my experience of the Incarnation season than they would have if one of the boxes of cards had proved irresistible. And, in the making, so will I. Read More 

With positioning desk, table, file cabinet, and bookshelves, the metamorphosis is complete; the freshly painted "bedroom" has become my office. Despite a long day moving, I woke up ready to work. Just standing in the hallway and looking into the new space was energizing. Spaces where we live and work have such power.

While I was in Minnesota last year, I had the opportunity to create my own space for the first time in many years. In the past our family created the spaces in our home. That is how it should be. We had places for art projects, "inventions," and science experiments. An old van der Graff machine sat in the dining room, and an upright piano rescued from a bar squeezed into our living room making music lessons possible.

We were a creative bunch and kept a couple boxes of dress up clothes handy for impromptu dramas. Juggling balls and pins mixed with favorite stuffed animals and a handmade dollhouse that sometimes held little people and other times was populated with small woodland animals. The house spaces changed as we all did.

In the midst of this, a space for writing was difficult to find. At first, a comfortable chair was my "place." After everyone went to bed I curled up in the chair with a journal and pen and wrote away. Eventually I moved into the dining room where first the table and later a small desk moved into the corner served the purpose.

One Christmas my husband cleaned out a small room off the living room that had been a storage place for stuff that had no other place to be. It was a wonderful Christmas present: it even had a door I could close.

Finally, at the Collegeville Institute, I had an apartment and an office to arrange. Housework is not high on my priority list, and I surprised myself with how I enjoyed keeping the rooms neat. I had brought a few things from home to make the apartment "my own:" Shells and stones from Cape Cod and interesting fossils that sat on window ledges, photographs of family and friends, books, two throw pillows, and an afghan.

It was a quiet place where I could work as well as a place to share tea and conversation or an impromptu dinner with friends.

Moving into the transformed bedroom at my Dad's house imparts a similar feeling: I am surrounded by carefully chosen things that have become part of my life: a monk bowl from Thailand, a modern soapstone carving of someone lost in reflection, an ivy plant started with cuttings from a plant at the Institute, an Ethiopian cestrum. A light blue crock that has held pens and pencils since I was in high school and a new pen holder made by a retired photographer from the Catholic Times. And of course, lots of books.

I have a special place for my Bible and a candle, and this morning I resumed Lectio Divina, something neglected in the upheaval of settling in to a new way of life.

Sacred Spaces can be anywhere; An office, a kitchen table, a comfortable coffee shop, or park bench. They allow us to more easily open ourselves to receive the Presence that is always being poured out. I am thankful for this space and for the people who helped make it a reality.  Read More