Mary van Balen

I've been thinking of Dad all day. He died in September, 2011. This would have been his 95th birthday. I thought of him as I washed my face and noticed the diamond engagement ring he gave to my mother sparkling on my finger. (It's difficult to think of Dad without thinking about Mom, too.) How many times its brilliance reminds me of the example they were of what St. Paul said in today's reading: The entire law is fulfilled in this one thing...Love your neighbor as yourself. Mom and Dad were good at that.

Parents are a child's first experience of the world. Of love. If one is blessed. And I was. I have lots of memories of Dad. I remember crying and being sick when he had to leave for a week when I was young and he traveled a lot for his job. Mom said neighbors commented that they knew Dad was home when they looked in the windows and could see little legs dangling as Dad carried his young children, one by one around the house.

Two things I remember about Dad these days, as I plug away at finishing a book and the website and marketing tasks that ago along with it. The first is his unwavering support and confidence in his kids (and grandkids). Once, Dad and I were working in his basement shop. He was stretching fabric over a wooden board for one of my high school art projects. I wanted to paint a picture of a pregnant Mary and a young Joseph for a contest. We talked as we worked, and I told him my dream: I wanted to write a book someday.  Read More 

On Father's Day I was winging my way to Collegeville, MN to participate in a weeklong writing workshop with Lauren Winner. My father was winging right along with me, I know. And how appropriate: Father's Day. I can't imagine a better father. Right up to his last days he was encouraging, giving hugs, and bestowing his warm smile. Love sparkled out of his blue eyes. Everyone at the nursing home loved dad. "A real gentleman." "Such a sweet man." "He waved at us when he was wheeled into the dining room."

My blessing. My grace to have such a father. I remember working with him in his workshop when I was a high school junior. I wanted to enter a painting contest and even though I could not fit art class into my college prep schedule, the art teacher had agreed to sign off on my entry. Dad was stretching fabric over a piece of wood. I wanted to paint a pregnant Mary, never having seen an image of her carry the child before.

Dad and I talked as we worked. I confided my dream of writing a book. As was usual in our home, I was given encouragement. Read More 

(Originally published in the Catholic Times, April 5, 2012 © 2012 Mary van Balen)



“Are you going to make some this year?” my sister asked as she looked at hot cross buns sitting off to the right in the restaurant’s generous display of pastries and muffins. She was referring to my annual baking of dozens of the Easter treats and giving them away to family, friends, and neighbors. I didn’t bake any last year. We were beginning to clean out our parents’ home, readying it for sale. I didn’t have the heart.

“I hope so,” I replied, not able to make the commitment. Dad died in September. A contract on the house is pending and I am keeping my first Lent in a new flat. I do hope so. Baking and sharing hot cross buns is as good for my spirit as I hope receiving them is for others. Besides, the world is hungry for more than bread, and the small raisin-filled rolls sealed with a white icing cross dripping over their shiny domes carry more than sweetness and calories. They are packed with promise and the baker’s humble efforts to participate in the Easter Mystery. To be bread.

In her book, “Still: Notes on a Mid-Faith Crisis,” Lauren Winner tells of a similar experience. After coming home from church on Sunday afternoons, she baked muffins and loaves of bread, and wanting to feed others as she had been fed at Mass, she left them on doorsteps around town.

It is a priest’s heart. It is God’s heart. It is the heart of Jesus living in each one of us that sees hunger and wants to feed it. That sees need and wants to meet it. That sees suffering and wants to stop it.  Read More 

Almost two months have passed since my last blog. The reasons are many. The most important is the passing of my father, Joseph Van Balen. My siblings and I have shared Dad's care for about two years. Despite evenings when I wanted to drive home after a long day at work rather than drive to have dinner and a walk with Dad, I was always richer for having spent time with him. I hope the hours we spent together were as much a blessing for him as they were for me.

He was a gentle man who touched the lives not only of his family, but of everyone who walked through his door. Along with Mom, he had an easy way of making visitors feel special, giving them undivided attention and, of course, food and drink.

He was a wonderful father providing unconditional love to each of us. Once, a friend who was a priest told me he wanted to meet my father. He gave Dad much credit for my knowing of God as loving Presence in my life. How true that parents are a child's first glimpse of God, the one they trust, the one they depend on. Mom and Dad gave us experience of unlimited love that could be counted on, no matter what. Read More