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
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
Life does not always provide opportunities to thank those who have made a difference in our lives, but when it does, the moment is one of grace. Last week I had the pleasure of welcoming into my home my high school Latin teacher who was in town for a class reunion.
Many things, including this blog, were put on hold for the past week while I was busy packing boxes, making runs to Headstart or the Saint Vincent de Paul center with donations, and sorting through the last possessions left at the house as we prepared for closing.
Friends. God's Grace. Emerson said, "The ornament of a house is the friends who frequent it." Tonight I would add that they are also the support that keeps it standing.
Last night I received a call from a good friend whose son suffers from chronic depression. He was not taking his medications and was sinking into a darker place than the one he usually inhabits.
Today the Catholic Times published a cover article: 
"...Others fell on rich soil and produced their crop, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty..."