Mary van Balen

After a longish day of travel that took me to Seattle via Tennesee, I met my friend Kathryn and her husband Gary for my first experience of Washington state. First impression? Cool, almost cold! Wonderful relief coming from parched midwest. Gary parked the car and we took a walk along Puget Sound until arriving at one of their favorite little seafood diners. All types of seafood was breaded and fried by the owner, an older man who had been running the Sun Fish for quite a few years. Kathryn and Gary had salmon. I tried scallops. Not greasy. Delicious.

We walked back by the beach dotted with white tents, closed, which sheltered all types of art work. A festival of somesort. Along the water, three groups had built roaring bonefires in large firerings. I don't know if they used driftwood, but it was plentiful. Frisbees, dogs, laughter, music, all part of the scene. But, the one who stole the show was the bubble lady of Puget Sound. At least that is what I called her. She was using poles about six feet long connected with fabric "rope," and dipped into what I can only say was amazing "bubble juice." The crowd around her grew as she raised the poles above her head, holding them about a foot apart, and walked slowly, allowing the air to create huge bubbles that twisted and grew, alive with color and movement. So alive did they appear that we were all surpised when they suddenly dissolved into white film that fell to the ground.

She blew into the swirling film and created bubbles inside of bubbles, holding us all, young and old, spellbound. I remembered making a much smaller version of the bubble poles for my children and to use in school settings, but I had not developed a bubble solution as fullproof as the bubble lady's. When she was taking a rest, I walked over and began a conversation. She sells the "bubble juice" that she had developed far beyond my own dishwashing liquid and glycerin. She also photographs the bubbles and hopes to sell large prints to those decorating office buildings. (You can view her bubbles at Big Dipper Bubbles

"My bubbles are art," she said. Kathryn, Gary, and I agreed. Art in the moment, and art caught by a camera. We didn't have the opportunity to see the photos. Disappointing. I will check her website. But what a perfect way to begin a week-long visit with friends: Celebrating life, its simplicity, its beauty, its serendipity. The bubble lady set the tone for this trip to the Northwest that would nourish my spirit with joy and prayer as well as my body with as much seafood as I can resaonably put into it!
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"There was the work hard, play hard Eden of childhood truths and treats. Run out in the rain, my Czech grandmother would say urgently, run quick! I flew out the back door, naked, screeching with demented joy, to stand under the drainpipe, rainwater sluicing down my tadpole body."


..................................from "The Florist's Daughter: A Memoir" by Patricia Hampl



Sometimes, in the midst of news of wars, poverty, illness, and hateful rhetoric, something comes along that reminds us of the human capacity for joy, sheer joy. Often simple, it arrives unheralded, breaking into the quotidian of life or the darkness of suffering or despair.

On Saturday I attended a pool party given by a counselor friend who includes a large number of transsexuals in her practice. I had never ventured into the pool at these annual gatherings, but did last week. My swim suit fit a bit tighter that I remembered, but, oh well. Pride aside, I caught my breath as I waded deeper into the water. Laughter filled the evening as people executed dives, some better than others, tried silly stunts, and slipped under the water as they tried in vain to keep a ball in the air. Nothing amazing. Just fun. Fun, food, and conversation shared by those touched by challenges of transsexuality. I stayed late, but was not the last to leave by far. Who wants to let go of such moments?

No. We open wide and suck them in, gulping down the sweet delight.

Sometimes joy comes with a joke, or a dry one-liner during a game of euchre. My dad was good at that.  Read More 

Funny how a piece of mail that arrived late could be just on time. Two weeks after the beginning of Lent, a one-page reflection on a program for the season appeared in my mailbox. Sent from the Benedictine Abbey in North Dakota, Assumption Abbey, it contained exactly what I needed to jump start my already waning efforts at keeping Lent. I had begun the season with a half-hearted intention to refrain from eating candy or desserts and a more sincere plan to regularly post Lenten blogs.

The candy and desserts fast was easily broken when I had dinner at a friend's home and was served something sweet. Benedictine hospitality would see the dilemma and come down on the side of reverencing the host. Of course, after breaking the fast once, I could find lots of reasons, perhaps not so Benedictine, to indulge. There was the potluck at work to raise money for a summer food program for children. I had to taste a couple of the goodies. And then a coworker bought a Godiva raspberry filled dark chocolate bar and offered me a couple of squares. You get the picture.

I have been somewhat more successful with blog posts if I compare my success to the number of Advent posts, though they were so few that the victory is hollow. So what was my problem? Two weeks in, Lent was a bust and to be honest, I didn't mind that much.

Then Brother Alban Petesch's reflection was dropped in my mailbox.  Read More 

Last night, this old hippie attended her first rock concert. Well, the Trans Siberian Orchestra is not a true "rock band," as my daughter who accompanied me pointed out, but it is close enough. I was propelled to buy two tickets one night when I was hungry for music, music that would energize as well as entertain. Having listened to Rochmaninoff's "Vespers," Handel's Messiah," and Pavorrati's "O Holy Night" countless times, I logged on the internet only to find that the singalong Messiah, and any holiday offerings of the symphony were past. Few options remained before the new year.

One group, Trans Siberian Orchestra, sounded familiar. My work schedule actually would allow me to attend their Sunday afternoon concert. I googled the group, an eclectic mix of strings, percussion, guitar, and vocals, and decided to give it a go.  Read More 

Therefore, let us celebrate the feast,
not with the old yeast, the yeast of malice and wickedness,
but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth.
1Cor 5,8





Alleluia! He has risen. Let us rejoice.....or be filled with joy!




My sister and brother-in-law joined me for Easter Mass that was celebrated in a mixture of English and Spanish for our ethnically diverse congregation. African drums, flute, clarinet, guitar, organ, piano, bells and tambourines accompanied spirited song. One could feel Joy in the air and in the soul.

What about Easter Joy? It is neither something we can manufacture, nor, as Bishop Rowan Williams stated in his Easter sermon, something we can develop through theory or technique. Rather, Easter Joy comes upon us, grasps our heart, and enters in.

It is the Joy of Presence. Jesus promised to be with us always. The Spirit dwells in us, no matter the situations we face. Violence and hatred fracture our world. The earth groans under the weight of its inhabitants, most of whom are unaware that their lifestyles have a devastating effect on the planet. Personal tragedies, deaths, and suffering do not go away on Easter. So, what made hearts happy and voices strong enough to shake the small building that held our worshipping congregation? What made smiles quick to appear and laughter bubble up from those gathered? Read More 

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
"How small and gentle his coming was. He came as an infant. The night in which he came was noisy and crowded; it is unlikely that in the traffic and travelers to Bethlehem, the tiny wail of the newly born could be heard.

God approaches gently, often secretly, always in love, never through violence and fear. He comes to us, as God has told us, in those we know in our own lives..."
Caryll Houselander, The Passion of the Infant Christ, p. 46


This Christmas, after a long day at work and then baking and cleaning at home,I attended midnight mass at my parish. Walking through the parking lot, I saw candle flames flickering behind stained glass windows, and voices of the choir and congregation singing Christmas carols drifted across the snow covered neighborhood. The area, a mix of business and poor homes, looked transformed by a fresh fall of powdery snow. Read More 

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
I know the plans I have in mind for you – it is the Lord who speaks – plans for peace, not disaster, reserving a future full of hope for you. When you seek me you shall find me, when you seek me with all your heart. (from Mid-morning reading, Terce - Jeremiah 29:11,13)

Today's readings continue to bathe us in hope, or more accurately, reason to hope. The first reading from the Mass is Isaiah 29:17-24. Verse after verse declares freedom from oppression "for the tyrant shall be no more..." In these lines the blind see, the deaf hear, and "the meek shall obtain fresh joy in the Lord."

When most news we read today is filled with accounts of war, suffering, and injustice, Isaiah's words bring relief. I read them over and over, silently and out loud, and they were like cool water sliding down a parched throat. They allowed me to hope and to believe that hope for the poor and hurting in our world was possible. Not only possible, but sure. Not an empty promise but a reality whose time would come.
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PHOTO: Mary van Balen
"On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food...And he will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples...Then the Lord God will wipe away tears from all faces...Let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation for the hand of the Lord will rest on this mountain." Is 25:6a,7a,8a9b.10 (from today;s Mass readings)

Both the first reading and the gospel from today's Mass present a warm and compelling picture of our God. Everything about the two accounts pulls us toward the Lord who is generous beyond anything we have experienced. I read these passages and think: "I want to be there." This God is irresistible. Read More 

PHOTOS: Mary van Balen

"Exultation is the going
of an inland soul to the sea
Past houses – past headlands–
Into deep Eternity." Emily Dickinson

Such was the gift my daughter gave to me last week in celebration of my 60th birthday. The deep spiritual connection of my "inland soul" to sea is well known to family and friends, and for me, time at the beach is more retreat than vacation. This trip was no different. Read More 

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
The wedding stirred my emotional pot causing a variety of feelings to rise to the surface. Predictably, joy came first and remained dominant; how could it not in the face of the couples’ glorious happiness and love for each other? It spilled out of their eyes and faces, out of their gently touching hands, out of their smiles, and the rest of us, most seasoned veterans of the sacrament, soaked it up.

Hope filled my heart as well as I sat with the guests in rows of white folding chairs set up in the sun. The thought that the bride and groom are a good match pulled sadness along and "What ifs” threatened to ruin the moment. With practice I am becoming more adept dismissing those spoilers, and that is what I did.  Read More