Are You Clever or Kind?

We've all been there. That annoying situation, that in-your-face confrontation, that awkward moment that left you feeling like a fool.  It's the scenario that we replay in our heads thinking I wish I had said (insert clever comment here.)

We receive our training from movies and television, where even the five-year-old has something smart (and not the good kind of smart) to say to Dad. People spend oodles of time on Facebook and YouTube trying to win accolades for their clever put downs. 

But is clever always the best response? 

Here are two examples from my experience.

I was in a state capitol with a woman of Asian descent. We were wandering aimlessly when a security guard, who might have thought we were lost, said, "Your tour group went that way."  There had been a group of Japanese people taking a guided tour of the building, and he made the assumption that we belonged with them. This wasn't exactly a hub of international visitors, so he probably wasn't exposed to much ethnic variety.  He was trying to be helpful.

My friend assumed her most stereotypical Asian accent and said, "I not with them. I married to American doctor." She whispered the last with many nods and smiles as if it were a great accomplishment. 

She could have said, in perfect English, "Thank you, but we're not with them.'' That would have been nice. Instead, and I could clearly see this from the man's expression, she had embarrassed him. No, she took it a step farther. She rubbed his nose in it and humiliated him by making fun of him. I'm sure she felt very clever as we walked away. 

Backtrack to grade school.  I grew up in a largely white European and Hispanic neighborhood, but we did have a few black students at our Catholic grade school. One, whose name I can't recall, I assumed was a member of a foreign royal family.  He had rich, dark skin and a delicate bone structure, stood tall and slim and always carried himself with something more than dignity. He rarely condescended to talk to the rest of us. For some reason, this meant royalty to my 11-year-old mind. I probably associated it with an order to the young prince not to mingle with the peasants.  

John was the complete opposite. He was short, friendly, and very funny. Not class clown funny, but he often made us laugh with his wry comments and his celebrity imitations. One day, he told me that over summer vacation he planned to lay out and get a tan. I laughed my head off, assuming this was another joke. Then I noticed he wasn't laughing. He said, "What's so funny?" And in my wisdom, I replied, "Black people don't tan."  

John had a choice. He could have made me feel like an even bigger idiot than I already did, once I realized my error. It would have been difficult, as I was already searching for a rock to crawl under, but he could have. John chose to be nice. He simply explained that, yes, black people do tan.  He left me with something to think about. He opened my mind to question future assumptions.  And he left me in his debt for not raking me over the coals, for not assigning ill will where none existed. From that day forward, John ruled, as far as I was concerned.

The problem with clever, at least in the form that is worshiped by our modern society, is that it comes at someone else's expense.  We decide they deserve to be mocked for that comment or action and that we, in all our blamelessness, should be the ones to do it. We're looking for a rush--all those pats on the back from those who agree with us, the likes on Facebook, the re-posts. We assume we know their motives, their intent, and their entire life philosophy, and we never give them a break for misspeaking or simply having an off day.  

There have been many, many comments made by people I know and sometimes even like and respect that have been so off base, so ludicrous, that a clever response is almost made-to-order. And often theirs is a response to something I've written, so to hold back my clever comment means I may let them think that they were right. It takes humility, but I've managed to choose Nice so far, with God's help. 

Maybe they were repeating something without checking the facts. Maybe they are having a bad day. But even if they meant exactly what they said, I've kept the lines of communication open for future discussion, because I didn't embarrass them with my cleverness.

It could be as simple as the person who left the comment did not know that black people do tan. 

A Gentle Plea to Catholics: Stop Burying St. Joseph!

 I love St. Joseph. He is the patron saint of the worker, the Patron of the Universal Church, and a good guy to get to know. (Anyone known as The Terror of Demons is someone I want on my side. And that terror is caused not by Buffy the Vampire-like powers, but by his humility.)

And I love having statues or paintings of saints around the house. They are a reminder of the example set by these people--an example of how to live like Christ.

And, being Catholic, I believe in the intercession of saints, both those with a capital "S" and those friends and relatives who have passed on.  And with the popular book and movie "Heaven is for Real",  maybe Protestants will even believe. After all, one of the things that Colton does in heaven is pray for his father.

Finally, I understand that certain saints are the patrons of professions or situations, because in life, they either worked in these industries, worked miracles in Jesus' name for certain people, or received a certain miracle themselves.

St. Peregrine is the patron saint of those with cancer, because he was miraculously cured from cancer.

St. Genesius is the patron saint of actors. He was an actor, and legend has it that during a performance of a play that he wrote to mock Christians, (appropriately enough, during a baptism scene), he converted to Christianity. It cost him his life.

St. Monica is the patron saint of alcoholics. Her son, St. Augustine, embraced an immoral life, and she prayed for him for many years until his conversion.

Image from Amazon.com

I get it. These stories are inspiring, and people keep up these devotions because they've seen results.

And then we have the  "St. Joseph Home Seller Kit".

The practice is to bury a St. Joseph statue underground in order to sell your house.  Burying a statue is weird enough, but there is something particularly disturbing about burying it upside down.

I can even understand why people think of St. Joseph as an intercessor when they need to move. He uprooted the Holy Family and took them into Egypt and back again at the advice of a messenger of God, which was a difficult task.

And I want to be clear:  I'm not questioning the intentions of people who bury the St. Joseph statue.  I just don't believe they've thought through what there actually doing.

Here is an example:

My mother wants me to visit her, so she buries a Jackie doll in her backyard to get me to come.

First off, I would be flattered that I had my own doll. Then I would be incensed that Mom would bury it in the backyard. I mean, why not just ask me?

And there it is in a nutshell. It's all about relationship, whether your talking to Jesus or Joseph.  Neither Christ nor his saints (including His mother) are at our beck and call. Performing rituals to get something out of them is a bit impersonal, insulting, and, dare I say it, pagan.

Does this mean you shouldn't ask St. Joseph for his help?

Not at all, but have a conversation with him! Tell St. Joseph your need, and ask him to intercede for you. You would ask family members to pray for you, and St. Joseph is a member of that big, extended family--the Body of Christ, also know as the Universal Church.

I know that many Catholics look on this practice as a harmless old wive's tale, but I think that it demeans both the importance of St. Joseph's role in Jesus' life and the relationship that should exist in prayer, whether you are praying to Jesus or asking for the intercession of a saint.

You can be confident in your prayer, knowing that God answers all prayers, but have the humility to understand that it will be according to His plan and His will.

There is absolutely nothing wrong in asking St. Joseph for his intercession, but please do it in a respectful manner!

Divine Mercy Saved My Sanity

Where to start. Probably with how I was losing my sanity.

My husband had been in a terrible work accident. He had to undergo emergency brain surgery, and they were keeping him sedated, so I had no idea how he would come out of it.  There were side issues, but I think that's enough of a cause to push a wife to the brink, don't you think?

Now, for an explanation of Divine Mercy. 

Sister Faustina, a Polish nun, had mystical experiences where Jesus appeared to her over a period of time. To sum it up in my own words, He said that His Sacred Heart hurt because it was overflowing with Mercy, but people weren't coming to Him for His Mercy. That's the short version. You can read Sister (now Saint) Faustina's diary Divine Mercy in My Soul: Diary of Saint Maria Faustina Kowalska for more information, and I recommend that you do. This was a private revelation, so Catholics can make up their own minds whether or not they believe it, but it was vetted by the Church to make sure nothing conflicted with Scripture or the teachings of the Church, and it received their approval. And it's so important!

The Divine Mercy Chaplet

The chaplet is said while gazing on an image of Jesus with red and white rays coming from his Heart. At the bottom are the words "Jesus, I Trust in You". 

The original Kazimirowski painting.

Here is an excerpt from the Diary that explains the meaning of the rays: 

During prayer I heard these words within me: The two rays denote Blood and Water. The pale ray stands for the water that makes souls righteous. The red ray stands for the Blood which is the life of souls ...

These two rays issued forth from the very depths of My tender mercy when my agonized Heart was opened by a lance on the Cross. (Diary, 299).

On the Our Father beads, you pray the words, "Eternal Father, I offer you the body, blood, soul, and divinity of Your dearly beloved Son, Our Lord Jesus Christ, in atonement for our sins, and those of the whole world."

On each Hail Mary bead, you pray the words, "For the sake of His sorrowful passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world."

On Wednesday evenings, I would go to the chapel and pray the Divine Mercy chaplet. We would sing it, which added a dimension to our prayer. I also prayed it over my husband, and I prayed it at the hospital with his mother.  

I received such consolation from Him and a feeling of peace--that everything would be alright, and He would be with me through all of it. 

I received His Mercy.

It pains me that so many have turned away from Jesus, or that they think they don't need Him any longer, even if they believe. He died for us and rose again to open the gates of Heaven, that we might be with him for eternity. He made it possible. He issued the invitation.

We need to cooperate with that Grace every day. We sin, which separates us from God. We undergo trials. More Christians have been martyred over the past century than all the previous centuries combined, and it's on the rise. We still desperately need His Mercy, and so it it necessary to say: 

"Father have Mercy on us, and on the Whole World."

"My Life with the Saints" by James Martin, SJ, is an Easy Way to Discover Some Saints

Many people turn to Saints in times of trouble, for example, or for intercession. It's like having an older brother or sister who faced the same situation you're going through, one you can  turn to for inspiration or advice. They are our cheerleaders, leading us to Christ through their examples.

There are Patron Saints for various illnesses, professions, and attributes. St. Peregrine, who was cured of cancer, is the Patron Saint of those suffering from the disease. St. Therese of Lisieux, also know as The Little Flower for her little steps to Jesus, is the Patron Saint of depression. I think Blessed Mother Teresa will probably be the Patron Saint of the marginalized.

I would like to learn more about Saint Jerome, because it sounds like he had the same difficulty I have with playing nice. His biting sarcasm made him enemies, even in the Church. Like when he snarked about some Roman clergy,  "All their anxiety is about their clothes.... You would take them for bridegrooms rather than for clerics; all they think about is knowing the names and houses and doings of rich ladies." Ouch.

Have you ever wanted to meet a few Saints but you just didn't have time to delve into their lives detail? Or maybe you weren't sure which Saint might speak to you -- who you might relate to -- and you didn't want to pick through several books.

"My Life with the Saints" is one book that contains stories of many saints.  Written by James Martin, SJ, (that would be Society of Jesus, which makes him a Jesuit) Father Martin introduces several Saints he met during his journey as a priest. Told in an easy-to-read conversational style, the book relates how Father discovered each holy person and what he learned from their example.

Saints he covers include Joan of Arc, Therese of Lisieux, Ignatius of Loyola, Thomas Merton, the Ugandan Martyrs, and Mother Teresa. You can see from the list that not all are canonized Saints and not all are individuals, but  all of these people lived their faith with conviction (and sometimes died for it,) and their example can bring us closer to Jesus.

Winner of the Christopher Award, which salutes media that  "affirm the highest values of the human spirit."

Was Miley Cyrus Sexually Abused? Why Isn't Anyone Asking?

From this

To This

We see her onstage imitating fellatio, simulating sex with older men, and masturbating with a giant hand. We giggle or gasp or frown. Feminists say it's just a woman expressing herself and are pleased. Those with solid moral standards dismiss her behavior as slutty.  Some men (especially father's with daughters) are shocked; some men, those who appreciate a chance to objectify women, are gratified.

Why isn't anyone asking the obvious question? Is Miley Cyrus' behavior a result of having been sexually abused?

Sexually abused girls, with their lowered sense of self worth and their skewed view of sexuality, tend to act out. They sleep around. They use sex for attention, or as a means to be loved. They have so little sense of worth that they believe how others view their body defines their value. Or they act out as a means of having control. Sound familiar?

You can hear the stories of those who have been abused from Oprah or Johnnette Benkovic. Or check out support groups for those who were victims of sexual predators. They all say the same thing: Their abuse resulted in promiscuity, which reinforced their low view of themselves.

Miley might have given us a clue when she labeled her congregation as hypocrites. Was her abuser someone she trusted? A youth minister? A member everyone else viewed as especially holy?

She also got into drugs. Sexually abused minors often turn to drugs to numb the pain and humiliation of what they've gone through.

There are so many clues pointing to this young woman's possible abuse, but our culture is so fixed on objectifying women that we're ignoring the obvious. From the media's emphasis on women as sexual objects to our politicians' push for sexually active minors, we're making it easier for abuser. Abortions for 12-year-olds without parental notification? A predator's dream come true. No awkward questions. No proof.

Is this young woman really enjoying herself? Or is she crying out for help?

We don't know, because no one has asked the question.

The Novena of the Little Way, or How to Have Peace When the Toilet Overflows

Image of Oakbrook Terrace Tower
from Wikipedia. I used to work here.

We live in a society that thinks BIG is the answer. Bigger servings at restaurants. Bigger vehicles. Bigger paychecks.

Sometimes, this translate into our prayer life. I must say the entire Rosary. A single Hail Mary or Our Father isn't worth as much. A quick prayer in the car as I'm driving to my appointment isn't worth it. I'll wait to talk with Jesus until I can get on my knees and spend at least fifteen minutes in prayer. I'll wait to do it right,that is, BIGTIME.

Bigger isn't always better. Just ask me after I take one more bite of Peruvian Fried Rice. And have you ever tried to park in between two SUVs? That mindset - everything needs to be BIG - can get in our way.
Can you imagine ignoring your spouse or your child as you dash out the door? "A quick I love you isn't worth my time. I'll talk to you when I have time to sit down and have a big, long conversation." Sometimes what we can give at the moment is enough.

When a woman in a writing group announced that she had a medical worry, she asked us to say a novena for her.  A novena is a prayer that lasts nine days. It can be a Rosary with additional prayers, or a set of prayers along with the Our Father, Hail Mary, and Glory Be. It can be time consuming.

My typical reaction would be, "Oh, sure. I'll find time in-between bleaching the kitchen grout and scrubbing the dog's butt hairs." (Yes. I'm serious. About both.) And then she explained.

Her novena was so incredibly simple.  As frustrations come up during the day, like trying to catch the dog to clean his bottom, offer them up for your intention. That's it. And if it sounds too easy, just pause a moment and reflect on how many frustrations come up during a normal day. Pretty powerful, which is no surprise, since it came from a Saint.

Therese de Lisieux, the Little Flower, is known for her Little Way to Jesus.  She insisted that she was too small to do BIG things like the great saints, but if she offered the small things to Him, it would be like taking a stairway to God. A step at a time. If she raised her arms to Jesus, he wouldn't be able to resist and would lift her up, much the same way that people can't resist picking up a beckoning toddler. Jesus turns the steps into an elevator to the top.

So she was nice to that nun who was mean to her. She offered up her irritation during prayer time, when an older nun's clicking Rosary beads drove her crazy. (Isn't it comforting to know that a Saint can get hacked off by the same things that bug me?) She took little steps toward Jesus, and now she's a Saint. A BIG Saint, with a capital S.

And so I employed her technique. When Buster passed up the wide open hillside did a messy job on someone's private front lawn, I offered up the cleanup process. When the computer glitched again and again, up it went to God. Whenever we attempt holiness, the enemy jumps in to distract us, but this time it backfired. He gave me so many opportunities to offer my frustrations to God, and something wonderful began to happen. God always rewards our efforts.

As I continued this process, the things that would normally have me shaking my fist and swearing like a sailor ... well, they didn't bother me so much.

I went to the church office to help out, and because of computer problems, I wasted an hour before we had to give up for the day. Me, the same woman who left my chiropractor's office in a stressed-out tiff because I waited fifteen minutes past my appointment time, wasn't bothered.

When I had to make a Rosary bracelet special request, the wire kept breaking. I persevered and finally found the right gauge wire. (Note to self. Mark those bags of wire.)

The website problem that has brought me to tears? I went at it step by step until I found the solution. (I really think the Holy Spirit had something to do with that one, because I'm incapable of figuring out problems on the computer.)

* * *

I took a break from writing this blog to walk the dog. I had to cross a busy street because some jerk had her dogs off-leash, even though the park signs clearly say All dogs must be on a leash. I really, really hate this. It's rude. It's inconsiderate. It's stupid. It shows a disregard for other people and the dogs, who could be hit by cars or attacked by other loose dogs or coyotes. It's lazy. The dogs ran around while she texted on her phone.

Just as I was working up a deep breath to bellow at her, I remembered my novena. Though I grumbled a bit about being deprived of the satisfaction of telling her what I thought about her rude, inconsiderate, stupid, lazy ways, I gave it to God. And my anger dissipated. (Truly. I'm smiling as I write this. Well, maybe not smiling, but the urge to kill something is gone.)

Our lives are never going to be free of frustrations, so why not offer them up for your special intention? Try it. Then let me know how it worked out for you.

Kitchen Tragedies and an Easy Feel-Good Craft

NOTE: This post was written a while ago and left to ferment, much like the bread starter. :)

Tragedy. I thought it might be too strong a word, but you'll find it fits.

First, the Amish Friendship Bread.

A few days ago (10), a fellow dog-walker said, "You bake, right?" When I realized she wasn't joking, my pride jumped in and said, "Sure." Aforementioned smile oozed right off my face when she told me to "wait right here" and returned with a bag of brown goo. It was starter for Amish Friendship Bread. The friend part (or foe--it depends on your perspective) is that you work this starter for 10 days, and on the final day you divide the starter into four bags, keep one to make the bread, and terrorize three neighbors by handing out the additional starter.

2010 Friendship Bread Starter Photo by
Carroll Pellegrinelli, licensed to About.com

For five days, you smush the starter, hoping to rid the world of tiny bubbles that form in the bag. On day six, you add ingredients. Smush, smush, smush until day 10, when you bake the bread.

Sticking to this kind of project is almost my worst nightmare. The worst nightmare came true when I knocked the bag off the counter and it splattered on the floor. No bread for you! (Said in the voice of Seinfeld's Soup Nazi.)

The up side is I got the mess cleaned up before Buster licked it up. Bubbles and Buster equals horrendous gas, which doesn't bother him half as much as it bothers the hubby and me.

Second, the Mexican Spaghetti. I was attempting to be creative, okay? Trying to keep the Man from coming home to another dinner of bacon, hash browns, and eggs. I love a bacon, hash browns and egg dinner. It's really easy. Still, I have to admit that it's missing something important. Like veggies. (I don't think hash browns count, except when I say they do.)

I had ground turkey, pasta, a small bag of frozen onions and red peppers and (I think) pineapple that I didn't use in something or other. I cooked it all together along with a package of taco mix and some water, added cooked noodles, and then topped it with cheddar cheese. It looked beautiful, like something out of a Taste of Home cookbook.

Riddle me this. Why aren't taco's too spicy, but Mexican Spaghetti is? I think the tomatoes and lettuce on the tacos cut the heat. I got heartburn just looking at dinner. I should have gone in for the Girl Scout Chili. (Chili served on Fritos.) But the hubby loved it, and that's what counts. He gets leftovers tonight. I'll have...bacon and hash browns and eggs.

I did manage to find a little joy today.
I made my very own sachet! (And a rhyme!)

In the farmers co-op delivery, I received some lavender. I know you can eat it--somehow--but I decided to dry it instead. Okay. You caught me in a lie. I set it on the counter and forgot about it. When I went to move the pile of twigs, they fell apart. Completely dried out. So who says the glass is half empty? Not me! I transferred the lavender to a pretty bag I bought for 99 cents at the bead store. You just tighten the ties at the top and Taa-daa! Your very own sachet!

Here are the mesh bags I used from Oriental Trading Company.

Bags from Oriental Trading

So the moral is, if you can't make something good to eat, at least you can surround yourself with lovely smells.