Mary van Balen

"Well, Hello!" Rita's voice came over my cell. I couldn't believe we had connected, expecting instead to leave a message.

"Happy Birthday!" I said.

"You're on top of things," she replied, no doubt surprised by the early hour of the call. Our forty-four years of friendship had made it clear that I was NOT a morning person. Still, rising early for the chance of spending a few minutes in conversation with my friend was an easy choice.

Rita and I met as freshman at the College of Saint Francis, in Joliet, IL. In fact, since her aunt was the dean of women at that time, Rit had the opportunity to look through letters written by applicants to choose her roommate. We still can't figure out why she chose me. I had written nothing. Nothing about myself. I imagine I just filled in what was required and sent the application on its way.

Looking back, Rita would say it was God. And I would agree. Not only has our friendship spanned over four decades, but through introductions to people who were part of my life, Rita found her life's work in serving the poor and mentally challenged in Appalachia. And me? I found a blessing.

We shared train rides to and from Chicago on the passenger line that provided her grandfather with his job as porter. Her father had a restaurant near the station. We took our guitars and had sing a longs in the dining car. We headed small protests to make changes in the all girls college dress code, generally caused a bit of uproar, and made two other friendships that have also endured.

Rita is not a great communicator, at least to those who are not part of her day, but despite few letters or calls, we connect immediately when we do talk. Today my intent was to celebrate the blessing she has been on the earth for sixty plus years. I did. She also supported me as I continue to deal with the emotional aftermath of divorce and the realities of trying to make ends meet.

In the end we marveled together over a small nature preserve near Peebles, OH, Davis Memorial Park, and a tiny creature that lives in the ice cold water of the cave there.  Read More 

The day had been long. Work. Haircut. Doctor's appointment. Late dinner with friends. I had met them at a restaurant I had not been to before and had difficulty finding a parking place downtown. When I returned to my car I found a ticket on the windshield: The spot was in a residential permit area. Sigh. I'm not used to thinking about residential permit areas. Mom's words came to me: "In a year you'll never know where that money went. Don't worry." Thanks, mom. Worrier extraorinaire over some things, she was right about this one.

I had had a wonderful evening, been treated to a marvelous dinner. So, why obsess about a small parking ticket? So, I didn't. On the drive home, instead of worrying about $40, I recalled parts of the conversations. One of the dinner party, Vicki, is a rabbi, and she shared the story of finding the torah for her new congregation ten years ago. An amazing story of a Polish rabbi in the 1940's giving the torah to a Catholic friend to keep until the deported Jews would return. Of course, they never did. The torah came to the US and using the internet, Vicki found a few members of that Polish congregation who had come to live in Brooklyn, not far from her congregation. This story goes on.

Another story: Among the nine of us sitting around the table, two had recently learned of the transsexuality of either a relative or friend. With my daughter, that made three. We shared stories. I promised to let them know when my book on the topic is published, and I wondered how many others in the restaurant that night might have similar stories. Harold had a good way of expressing the need we all have: To become more "wide minded." Indeed.

By the time I arrived home, I was thankful for the richness and fun of the evening. Then I opened the door.  Read More 

"You're a natural contemplative," a priest/friend once told me in high school. A few months before, I wouldn't have known what he meant. Raised Catholic and having attending Catholic schools from the start, one might have imagined I would have already learned about the rich tradition of contemplative prayer in the the Church. No. Perhaps at that time, such knowledge was deemed unsuitable for the person in the pew. Or perhaps the diocesan clergy were not practicing contemplatives themselves: You can't give what you don't have.

A community of Carmelite nuns, opening their doors to those hungering for something deeper, gifted me with vocabulary and understanding of what I had been drawn to since a child: a quiet way of prayer that was simply part of who I was. They also provided a place where I could come and, well, pray. Sitting in the quiet chapel for a half hour before Mass, just aware of being with others in the Presence of God, was one of the most life-giving times of the week during those years. Read More 

Apartment 7 has a new couch and chairs, new beds, but the same wall of windows overlooking the lake. From the moment the door opened up, I felt at home. This was the same apartment I lived in a few years ago while a resident scholar at the Collegeville Institute. I am honored to have been invited back for a weeklong writing workshop on spiritual autobiographical memoir directed by Lauren Winner.( Still: Notes on a Mid-Faith Crisis; Girl Meets God)

Along with eleven other women from across the country, I will be spending the days writing, workshopping one another's pieces, and learning about the craft of memoir. Of course there is time for conversation, making new friends, and praying with the monks in the Abbey Church. Read More 

Friends are coming to dinner tonight. We meet once a month for dinner, conversation, and prayer. This is the fist gathering I have hosted in my new place, and I am looking forward to it. I cleaned, put on "Vespers" by Rachmaninoff, and lit candles. What a wonderful way to celebrate the feast of St. Nicholas. Three gold coins sit on each plate, remembering' the story of Nicholas helping a poor man and this three daughters by tossing a bag of gold coins into the young women's window, providing a dowery for each. One story claims the gold fell into their stockings, and thus, we hang Christmas stockings to be filled with small gifts.

Tonight, as we gather for prayer, we will read over today's Scriptures which speak of God's great love for every person and desire to take care of the poor. God is compared to a shepherd caring for his sheep, searching for one who wanders away, not wanting to lose even one. Readings from Ezekiel, Isaiah, and Mark echo the theme of Love wrapping us up, protecting us, and making sure we arrive safely home. Read More 

I took advantage of a day off to accomplish a number of things: doctor appointment, hair cut, and repotting plants. The day was too beautiful not to spend some of it outside and my hospitable friend, Melanie happily offered her time and her place. We have walked paths that wind across her property in every season. We have watched for comets and stars in dark hours of the morning. As I drove to her home, I felt my spirit become lighter anticipating a shared few hours.

As I approached her driveway, I noticed bluebirds on telephone wires. I slid my camera into my pocket as we began our walk. The day was bright and warm for November. We wandered through her garden, edged with drooping sunflower heads and tomato plants that had littered the ground around them with small, orangey red globes. Mint was as pushy as ever. Her basil plant had been huge, and the blue berry bush still sported green leaves.

We saw bittersweet and avoided stepping on too many walnut hulls in an effort to save our shoes. On poor tree had numerous broken branches rubbed clean of bark and shredded by rutting deer.

When I walk slowly like this, I often look down at the ground, my eyes searching for familiar plants and flowers.

"Look, Melanie, a wooly caterpillar."

The words were barely out of my mouth before she saw another, then I saw another. Read More 

Sunday morning when my cell phone alarm began to ring, I fumbled with it until I found the "snooze" button. I had driven all night to return home from a family wedding reception and had set the alarm to wake me for early Mass. My legs did not want to move and neither did the rest of me, but I forced myself out of bed and made it to church a little late. I was glad I did.

"Someone once said that you need three things to have hope," our pastor said as he began his homily. "Someone to love, something to do, and something to hope in."

As I listened to his words, I thought of my life. I had been feeling discouraged. My path had not turned out as I thought it might and its direction was lost in the mist of uncertainty. Still, I had someone to love. No husband, but children, family, and friends. Yes, I am blessed with three daughters, with friends from across the country and around the world: GED students, authors, care givers, professors, and poets.

I have something to do. Read More 

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

"Have a good evening," Kim said as I left work last night.

"I will. I'm going to a Christmas dinner with some friends."

"CHRISTMAS? Girlfriend, Christmas is over. We are getting ready for Valentine's Day!" she said, smiling.

"When I was growing up, the tree went up on Christmas Eve and came down after the Epiphany. That's January 6th. I like to savor the holiday."

Savoring it I am. A kindred spirit, Ann still had decorations up. The living room was glowing with a Christmas tree; candles and poinsettias brightened the room where we gathered, but the most delightful adornment was the people around the table sharing good food, conversation, and coffee. As Emerson said, "The ornament of a house is the friends who frequent it." Read More 

PHOTOS: Mary van Balen
This year's Advent wreath reflects the non-traditional path I have been traveling and the beauties to be found in it. Many of my belongings are packed away and I was not sure what kind of wreath would mark the weeks of Advent. After unsuccessfully looking for the perfect blue and rose colored candles or candle holders, I decided to use what was at hand instead.

I drove to a friend's home, and together we walked past her old barn and along the paths that wind through fields and along fence rows to gather earth's bounty. I had nothing particular in mind and we kept eyes and hearts open to see what would be offered for the taking. Read More 

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