Mary van Balen

PHOTO:Mary van Balen
"FAITH: May the God of FAITH be with you, sending you miracles and teaching you to expect them. May God show you things that can be seen only in darkness. May your faith see you through the unknowns in your life, calling you to trust the unseen presence of God in them. May your faith serve as a beacon to light the way for other pilgrims on the way. May the blessing of FAITH be upon you." p 60

My group of "Sabbath House" friends sat together after dinner, pondering the blessings that come with struggle and pain in our lives. We read a meditation by Joyce Rupp and then shared our personal struggles and the blessing they offered, however difficult to see or feel at the moment. Read More 

PHOTOS:Mary van Balen
Short gray hair replaced the long dark cascades that framed her face in younger years and some songs were voiced in a lower pitch, but Joan Baez still sang songs that called blessings on the poor and homeless, the "salt of the earth," that lamented the injustice suffered by "deportees," and that called for peace.

Her voice occasionally soared in the same hauntingly clear tremulous soprano tones that had filled concert halls and farm worker's fields in the 60's and 70's. More often, the sound was softer, and once the ending of piece appeared sooner than expected, dangling awkwardly for a moment between her and the young man who was accompanying her on guitar.

"We love you, Joan!" someone in the audience shouted.

She looked up. "Even with all my flaws?"  Read More 

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
This morning I stopped at the grocery store on my way to work and bought boxes of animal crackers to share on Saint Francis' feast day.

The morning was lovely. Clouds filled the sky, and though they looked as if they might bring rain later, in the morning they shone with sunlight. I stepped out of my car and smiled at the store employee who was collecting shopping carts from the parking lot. Read More 

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
Over the past fifty years I have entrusted my heart, soul, and mind to entries in journal pages written in eclectic styles that include reflection, documentation, study, rant, questions, lists, drawings, and pasted bits of print, but whatever the form, the writing always ends up as prayer. At least my definition of prayer, which is presenting oneself to God in the very moment, aware, if only briefly, of resting in Divinity’s infinite self, breathing the Holy One's breath as my own.

In dusty boxes, my life’s journey is recorded between covers of various sizes and colors on unlined pages that allow my pen and mind free range. My fifth grade handwriting teacher would be appalled by the seeming chaos, with words scrawled right to left, up and down along margins, squeezed between drawings, photographs, and program notes. But as the Spirit hovered over the swirling masses of creation, she sometimes shows up and helps me make sense of life that has spilled onto the pages. Read More