Sunday, February 7, 2010
Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time
I am writing this after returning home from the Saturday Vigil Mass. It is the eve of Super Bowl Sunday. Tomorrow at this time millions of eyes around the world will be on the Indianapolis Colts and the New Orleans Saints in Miami, Florida, during the annual football television frenzy. Ordinary Time? Not for the NFL or the networks or the countless fans or the bars and grocery stores for whom this Sunday is a high holy day of the sporting world.
Ordinary Time? This period of the Church liturgical year is not meant to imply average, run-of-the-mill, commonplace worship. Rather, it gets its name from the word ordinal, meaning "numbered", since the Sundays of Ordinary Time are expressed numerically. Still, to us average persons in the pew, ordinary is as ordinary sounds. The series of Sundays of green vestments can tend to run together in a kind of nondescript fashion compared to the heightened sense of worship during Advent, Christmas, Lent and Easter.
However, during the Responsorial Psalm tonight, as I was dutifully reciting the response for Psalm 38 along with the rest of the congregation, something out of the ordinary occurred. The full and literal impact of the words hit me: "In the sight of the angels I will sing your praises, Lord." I was reminded that angels truly are gathered around the altar during the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. This is not just some fairy tale or figment of the imagination. The First Reading was from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah (6:1-2a, 3-8) and described the Seraphim crying out to one another in the temple, "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts! All the earth is filled with his glory!"
And I suddenly realized that there I was, an ordinary woman in an ordinary pew on an ordinary Saturday evening in early February, praising the Lord right along with the mighty Seraphim! I was in the sight of the angels; their eyes upon me and my fellow parishioners. What a wondrous merging of the celestial and terrestrial worlds. What an out-of-the-ordinary sense of worship!
So as the eyes of the world turn to the Super Bowl tomorrow, let us remember that nothing on this earth is as extraordinary as being in the sight of the angels every time we sing the praises of the Lord. We do not worship alone. Angel eyes are truly upon us. Holy indeed is the Lord. All the earth, football and all, truly is filled with His glory!
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
A Simple Start to Lent 2009
"A clean heart create for me, O God, and a steadfast spirit renew within me." (Psalm 51:12)
February 25th. Ash Wednesday. In just two short months we have gone from crib to cross. Driving through town I have noticed the occasional home still adorned with a holiday wreath or bedraggled garland and faded red bows. Their removal may seem overdue, yet I am heartened by the sight as well. Snow stays with us for so long during winter. Why not boast exterior cheer well into the new year? After all, such leftover decorations pose no threat to Valentine's Day or President's Day.
We all must contend with snow accumulation. I was reminded of this when I recently stopped at the local Poor Clares monastery on a cold Sunday afternoon. I had not visited since before Christmas. The grounds were blanketed in the beautiful serenity that only undisturbed snow produces. A large, tall evergreen tree near the path caught my eye as I passed by. It invited me to step off the sidewalk and stand quietly beneath its shelter for a moment. With my hand resting on the large trunk, my gaze was drawn high up into the snow-laden branches reaching toward the bright blue sky. Great peace descended on me.
I wanted to linger there under the old evergreen tree, but the cold was starting to seep through my jacket. As I stepped out from beneath the tree I had an urge to lay down right then and there and make a snow angel, but self-consciousness stopped me. Perhaps one of the Sisters would see me from the window and, although I doubted she would disapprove of the childlike display, I did not think I could then traipse into their chapel covered with snow and dripping all over the pews.
The side entrance for visitors is from a porch at the top of a covered stairway. Two small brooms and a boot scraper were placed neatly on a mat. A note posted by the door caught my eye. I read it twice and then had to smile. The message held an extra layer of meaning for me, much as a snowfall does.
I offer the words to you now as a simple meditation to begin this season of Lent. I will leave you to ponder the metaphor in the private chapel of your own soul, especially as you consider receiving the Sacrament of Penance between now and Easter. Here is the note in its entirety:
Dear Friends of our Chapel,
Mindful of Whose living room you are entering at this moment, please, we sincerely request, make every effort to wipe your shoes and your boots as dry as possible. We appreciate your help in keeping our Chapel beautiful. Thank you!
The Sisters
February 25th. Ash Wednesday. In just two short months we have gone from crib to cross. Driving through town I have noticed the occasional home still adorned with a holiday wreath or bedraggled garland and faded red bows. Their removal may seem overdue, yet I am heartened by the sight as well. Snow stays with us for so long during winter. Why not boast exterior cheer well into the new year? After all, such leftover decorations pose no threat to Valentine's Day or President's Day.
We all must contend with snow accumulation. I was reminded of this when I recently stopped at the local Poor Clares monastery on a cold Sunday afternoon. I had not visited since before Christmas. The grounds were blanketed in the beautiful serenity that only undisturbed snow produces. A large, tall evergreen tree near the path caught my eye as I passed by. It invited me to step off the sidewalk and stand quietly beneath its shelter for a moment. With my hand resting on the large trunk, my gaze was drawn high up into the snow-laden branches reaching toward the bright blue sky. Great peace descended on me.
I wanted to linger there under the old evergreen tree, but the cold was starting to seep through my jacket. As I stepped out from beneath the tree I had an urge to lay down right then and there and make a snow angel, but self-consciousness stopped me. Perhaps one of the Sisters would see me from the window and, although I doubted she would disapprove of the childlike display, I did not think I could then traipse into their chapel covered with snow and dripping all over the pews.
The side entrance for visitors is from a porch at the top of a covered stairway. Two small brooms and a boot scraper were placed neatly on a mat. A note posted by the door caught my eye. I read it twice and then had to smile. The message held an extra layer of meaning for me, much as a snowfall does.
I offer the words to you now as a simple meditation to begin this season of Lent. I will leave you to ponder the metaphor in the private chapel of your own soul, especially as you consider receiving the Sacrament of Penance between now and Easter. Here is the note in its entirety:
Dear Friends of our Chapel,
Mindful of Whose living room you are entering at this moment, please, we sincerely request, make every effort to wipe your shoes and your boots as dry as possible. We appreciate your help in keeping our Chapel beautiful. Thank you!
The Sisters
Monday, October 20, 2008
There Are No Partial Blessings
"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavens." (Ephesians 1:3)
I woke up this morning to a blue etch-a-sketch sky outside my window, crisscrossed by a multitude of vapor trails from aircraft passing high overhead. My sleepy gaze was immediately focused on one crisp white line moving rapidly above the horizon, on course to intersect with two others. When it did, the three lines created a large white triangle in the morning sky. The surprising image brought the Holy Trinity to mind, and this thought melded into a quiet prayer of praise. God was in His heaven and all was right with the world. The jet continued racing to the east beyond the triangle, trailing vapor in its wake until it disappeared into some chalky white clouds that shrouded the rising sun. I went to the kitchen to prepare a cup of tea. The day had begun with a gentle blessing in the heavens.
When I sat down and opened my prayer book, I was greeted with divine serendipity in the above verse from Ephesians. I have read these words before, but this morning the passage came alive in a fresh new way because of one simple word that jumped out this time: every.
We have been blessed in Christ with every spiritual blessing. Do we realize fully what this means? There are no partial blessings with God. No. None are missing. We need not fear being shortchanged by Him in this life. We do not have to envy those who have gone before us. We do not need to wait to get to heaven before we can receive the fullness of our Father's blessings. He holds nothing back from us. We receive every blessing now, in Christ, who is with us and has told us that the kingdom of heaven is within us. In Him is every spiritual blessing. On earth as it is in in heaven! There is no inadequacy of grace for our earthly pilgrimage.
It is late afternoon as I write this, and at this very hour my brother and his wife are saying goodbye to their 18-year-old son, their only child, who has enlisted in the Army and leaves for basic training tonight. What a momentous and heart-wrenching time for the three of them. It seems like just yesterday he was a tiny newborn baby in his parents' arms, and now he has grown into a strong, tall, handsome young man who has made a decision that will determine a brave new course for his life.
Our families do not live in the same state so I have not been able to say goodbye to my nephew in person. As always, my love and prayers will have to travel across the miles in my place. So right now a spiritual vapor trail is tracing its way across the heavens from my heart to his. As the sun begins to set, hope begins to rise.
My dear Nephew, I love you and am so very proud to be your aunt and your godmother. Your decision to join the Army is full of courage and full of hope. The love and prayers of your parents have blessed you all of your life and will continue forever. And even now their support and their tears of farewell are blessing you. The love and caring of your grandparents and all your family and friends have blessed you. You lack nothing. Godspeed. You have been blessed in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavens.
There is a card on my nightstand that I had bought several years ago at the gift shop of a Poor Clares monastery. I was saving it for just the right person on just the right occasion. However, when I came across it in a box a few weeks ago I realized the person it was meant for is me, so I gave it to myself. The front of the card is a simple watercolor of two pink roses, painted by one of the Sisters. The inside is blank, but the following two lines on the front of the card are a powerful daily reminder for me and are meant to be shared:
I woke up this morning to a blue etch-a-sketch sky outside my window, crisscrossed by a multitude of vapor trails from aircraft passing high overhead. My sleepy gaze was immediately focused on one crisp white line moving rapidly above the horizon, on course to intersect with two others. When it did, the three lines created a large white triangle in the morning sky. The surprising image brought the Holy Trinity to mind, and this thought melded into a quiet prayer of praise. God was in His heaven and all was right with the world. The jet continued racing to the east beyond the triangle, trailing vapor in its wake until it disappeared into some chalky white clouds that shrouded the rising sun. I went to the kitchen to prepare a cup of tea. The day had begun with a gentle blessing in the heavens.
When I sat down and opened my prayer book, I was greeted with divine serendipity in the above verse from Ephesians. I have read these words before, but this morning the passage came alive in a fresh new way because of one simple word that jumped out this time: every.
We have been blessed in Christ with every spiritual blessing. Do we realize fully what this means? There are no partial blessings with God. No. None are missing. We need not fear being shortchanged by Him in this life. We do not have to envy those who have gone before us. We do not need to wait to get to heaven before we can receive the fullness of our Father's blessings. He holds nothing back from us. We receive every blessing now, in Christ, who is with us and has told us that the kingdom of heaven is within us. In Him is every spiritual blessing. On earth as it is in in heaven! There is no inadequacy of grace for our earthly pilgrimage.
It is late afternoon as I write this, and at this very hour my brother and his wife are saying goodbye to their 18-year-old son, their only child, who has enlisted in the Army and leaves for basic training tonight. What a momentous and heart-wrenching time for the three of them. It seems like just yesterday he was a tiny newborn baby in his parents' arms, and now he has grown into a strong, tall, handsome young man who has made a decision that will determine a brave new course for his life.
Our families do not live in the same state so I have not been able to say goodbye to my nephew in person. As always, my love and prayers will have to travel across the miles in my place. So right now a spiritual vapor trail is tracing its way across the heavens from my heart to his. As the sun begins to set, hope begins to rise.
My dear Nephew, I love you and am so very proud to be your aunt and your godmother. Your decision to join the Army is full of courage and full of hope. The love and prayers of your parents have blessed you all of your life and will continue forever. And even now their support and their tears of farewell are blessing you. The love and caring of your grandparents and all your family and friends have blessed you. You lack nothing. Godspeed. You have been blessed in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavens.
There is a card on my nightstand that I had bought several years ago at the gift shop of a Poor Clares monastery. I was saving it for just the right person on just the right occasion. However, when I came across it in a box a few weeks ago I realized the person it was meant for is me, so I gave it to myself. The front of the card is a simple watercolor of two pink roses, painted by one of the Sisters. The inside is blank, but the following two lines on the front of the card are a powerful daily reminder for me and are meant to be shared:
Just to be is a blessing.
Just to live is holy.
Ponder these words for yourself. Let them sink deep down into your soul. Then begin to count your blessings. Each and every blessing. Let me know when you run out of numbers . . . .
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Encouragement x 6 = HOPE
"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and God of all encouragement, who encourages us in our every affliction, so that we may be able to encourage those who are in any affliction with the encouragement with which we ourselves are encouraged by God. For as Christ's sufferings overflow to us, so through Christ does our encouragement also overflow." (2 Corinthians 1:3-5)
Simply from a writer's perspective, this is one Scripture passage that makes me grin. Why? Because I imagine my 7th-grade English teacher, Sr. Charles Borromeo, scolding the great St. Paul for using such repetitive language in a long, run-on sentence. The reproof includes, "Can't you think of another word besides encouragement? Get a thesaurus!"
However, from a thirsty soul's perspective, I do not grin. Rather, I heave a huge sigh of relief as I drink in Paul's words and say "Thank you!" Why? Because to a thirsty soul, each of his six uses of the word encouragement (or its variation) is a welcome sip of water!
Read the passage again. Read it aloud to yourself or to a loved one. It is a mouthful. But it is also a heartful!
We all run dry occasionally, mouths parched from too long a stretch of dusty road. We are also surrounded day in and day out by others tired by the race, out of breath from the climb, or depleted by too many tears shed. For all of us, one sip of water is not enough. There is no such thing as too much encouragement!
And when that encouragement comes from God Himself--God of all encouragement, in our every affliction--then our soul opens wide in welcome relief to drink it in.
Affliction is not too strong a word to express the trials of life. We can be afflicted by something as crushing as a terminal illness or as wearisome as a family argument. We are never alone in our afflictions. Those around us are also beset: a niece and her husband grieving a miscarriage; a friend floundering after divorce; a pastor in need of retreat; a neighbor caring for a spouse who suffers with cancer; a brother and his wife adjusting to their teenage son's decision to join the Army; an aging uncle eager for company; a woman lighting a candle at church for a beloved sister who died unexpectedly the week before.
So many trials and worries. So much silent suffering. Discouragement is a natural response. How do we replace it with encouragement, even when we ourselves are in need? My sisters and brothers in faith, we turn to Christ. Again and again. And if we are too weary to even make the effort to turn, we find that He is already turned to us--always. Always. Even from the Cross. Especially from the Cross. Triumphant in His suffering, triumphant in our lives. So through Christ does our encouragement also overflow.
It overflows at the bedside of a dying 89-year-old woman at the hospice center, whispering that she is ready to go to her Father and praising Him with raspy breaths for the beauty of life. She thanks me for helping her take a few sips of water through a straw. With her face close to mine and with labored breath she tells me I have beautiful eyes. I am taken aback and humbled. In her own trial of dying, she encourages me in my living.
This past Thursday evening, weary from a day of too many tasks and concerns, I rousted myself from my comfortable recliner to attend Mass at my parish. The gray drizzle matched my mood. Crossing the wet parking lot with head and heart both down, I passed the flowerbed near the church entrance. Lo and behold--I was amazed to see white lilies in full bloom! The sight was so unexpected. They seemed so out of season as summer wanes and a few trees near my home are already aflame with crimson color. I stopped in my tracks and bent over one lily to gently touch the silky white bloom and breathe in its scent, my nose tickled by the golden pollen.
Ah, the sweet fragrance of hope, almost forgotten in my discouragement of the past week. The sweet reminder: He is risen. He is risen indeed. Easter in August! Now that's ENCOURAGEMENT!
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! May six times be encouragement enough for you, my sisters and brothers in faith.
Simply from a writer's perspective, this is one Scripture passage that makes me grin. Why? Because I imagine my 7th-grade English teacher, Sr. Charles Borromeo, scolding the great St. Paul for using such repetitive language in a long, run-on sentence. The reproof includes, "Can't you think of another word besides encouragement? Get a thesaurus!"
However, from a thirsty soul's perspective, I do not grin. Rather, I heave a huge sigh of relief as I drink in Paul's words and say "Thank you!" Why? Because to a thirsty soul, each of his six uses of the word encouragement (or its variation) is a welcome sip of water!
Read the passage again. Read it aloud to yourself or to a loved one. It is a mouthful. But it is also a heartful!
We all run dry occasionally, mouths parched from too long a stretch of dusty road. We are also surrounded day in and day out by others tired by the race, out of breath from the climb, or depleted by too many tears shed. For all of us, one sip of water is not enough. There is no such thing as too much encouragement!
And when that encouragement comes from God Himself--God of all encouragement, in our every affliction--then our soul opens wide in welcome relief to drink it in.
Affliction is not too strong a word to express the trials of life. We can be afflicted by something as crushing as a terminal illness or as wearisome as a family argument. We are never alone in our afflictions. Those around us are also beset: a niece and her husband grieving a miscarriage; a friend floundering after divorce; a pastor in need of retreat; a neighbor caring for a spouse who suffers with cancer; a brother and his wife adjusting to their teenage son's decision to join the Army; an aging uncle eager for company; a woman lighting a candle at church for a beloved sister who died unexpectedly the week before.
So many trials and worries. So much silent suffering. Discouragement is a natural response. How do we replace it with encouragement, even when we ourselves are in need? My sisters and brothers in faith, we turn to Christ. Again and again. And if we are too weary to even make the effort to turn, we find that He is already turned to us--always. Always. Even from the Cross. Especially from the Cross. Triumphant in His suffering, triumphant in our lives. So through Christ does our encouragement also overflow.
It overflows at the bedside of a dying 89-year-old woman at the hospice center, whispering that she is ready to go to her Father and praising Him with raspy breaths for the beauty of life. She thanks me for helping her take a few sips of water through a straw. With her face close to mine and with labored breath she tells me I have beautiful eyes. I am taken aback and humbled. In her own trial of dying, she encourages me in my living.
This past Thursday evening, weary from a day of too many tasks and concerns, I rousted myself from my comfortable recliner to attend Mass at my parish. The gray drizzle matched my mood. Crossing the wet parking lot with head and heart both down, I passed the flowerbed near the church entrance. Lo and behold--I was amazed to see white lilies in full bloom! The sight was so unexpected. They seemed so out of season as summer wanes and a few trees near my home are already aflame with crimson color. I stopped in my tracks and bent over one lily to gently touch the silky white bloom and breathe in its scent, my nose tickled by the golden pollen.
Ah, the sweet fragrance of hope, almost forgotten in my discouragement of the past week. The sweet reminder: He is risen. He is risen indeed. Easter in August! Now that's ENCOURAGEMENT!
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! May six times be encouragement enough for you, my sisters and brothers in faith.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
From Bushel Basket to Lampstand: Blog Beginnings
"You are the light of the world. A city set on a mountain cannot be hidden. Nor do they light a lamp and then put it under a bushel basket; it is set on a lampstand, where it gives light to all in the house." (Matthew 5:14-15)
BLOG? Back in 2005 I first heard that word and a tiny seed was planted. Here might be the realization of a dream: to write my way into the hearts of my sisters and brothers in faith. To journey with them on their way, with The Way: Jesus Christ. With The Word: Jesus Christ.
A way with words.
Then in February 2006 while visiting my daughter out of state, God allowed a tiny sprout to break through the ground. The night before my departure, she and I stayed up late, poring over her laptop together and rather hastily creating a blog for me. My usual computer-impaired self was overwhelmed by the many choices of templates, texts, and other tools, but my daughter guided me through as best she could. The excitement and anticipation of my new blogspot kept me wide awake all through that night. My lamp was lit!
Little did I know that upon returning home a large bushel basket awaited me. This basket, full of the cares, demands, duties, and endless details of ordinary daily life, was promptly upended and placed over my lamp. Between then and now, life just kept happening, and I never returned to my blogspot to begin writing. My password was forgotten and irretrievable. Life went on. The bushel basket stayed put.
It is now two and a half years later, and by the grace of God my heart has been freed to begin anew. Just yesterday a special young man from our parish came by to help me create a new blogspot. He only had time to help me with the bare beginnings, and after he left I was overwhelmed by the myriad complexities of templates, texts, and tools which might have daunted even the Four Evangelists if they were trying to write in this computer age! I feared I might not be able to write my first post until my blogspot was perfected, with more graphics and sidebars and links and other clever gadgets. But I have learned to listen to my inner voice, which whispers now to remind me, Less is more. So I will proceed with complete trust in the Lord as I embark into the blogosphere here on Friday, August 22nd, 2008.
My lamp is lit once again. It is not necessary that every nook and cranny of my head be swept clean and the house perfectly readied. I will not allow computer technology to become another kind of bushel basket thrown over my efforts. It is enough that my heart is ready and eager.
BLOG: Believe and Love Our God!
As the sun sets on this Feast of The Queenship of the Blessed Virgin Mary, I end my day where I began it: outside on my backyard patio in prayer before my garden statue of Mary. The image is of Our Lady of Grace, arms extended downward and hands open in invitation and blessing. But what makes this image precious to me is the face. It is the face of a young maiden with a hint of a smile; a face full of quiet mystery and peace; a face full of compassion as well as delight; a face of innocence, yet radiant with dignity and wisdom; the face of a queen--my little Queen.
A few weeks ago, the rosebush next to the statue had put out a branch along the ground, growing toward the feet of Mary, and with a bud on its very end. This morning I noticed the bud had opened into a beautiful yellow rose. There it blossomed, right at the feet of Mary. What was even more striking was that the rose covered the head of the serpent on top of the globe Mary stands upon.
Mystical Rose, pray for us.
So, dear sisters and brothers in faith, I begin this blog under the patronage of Mary, my little Queen; as well as Holy Joseph, my dream weaver; and Mother Frances Xavier Cabrini, who continues to lead me to The Sacred Heart of Jesus and the wonders of His love. . .
May my words give light to your house, from my lampstand to yours.
BLOG? Back in 2005 I first heard that word and a tiny seed was planted. Here might be the realization of a dream: to write my way into the hearts of my sisters and brothers in faith. To journey with them on their way, with The Way: Jesus Christ. With The Word: Jesus Christ.
A way with words.
Then in February 2006 while visiting my daughter out of state, God allowed a tiny sprout to break through the ground. The night before my departure, she and I stayed up late, poring over her laptop together and rather hastily creating a blog for me. My usual computer-impaired self was overwhelmed by the many choices of templates, texts, and other tools, but my daughter guided me through as best she could. The excitement and anticipation of my new blogspot kept me wide awake all through that night. My lamp was lit!
Little did I know that upon returning home a large bushel basket awaited me. This basket, full of the cares, demands, duties, and endless details of ordinary daily life, was promptly upended and placed over my lamp. Between then and now, life just kept happening, and I never returned to my blogspot to begin writing. My password was forgotten and irretrievable. Life went on. The bushel basket stayed put.
It is now two and a half years later, and by the grace of God my heart has been freed to begin anew. Just yesterday a special young man from our parish came by to help me create a new blogspot. He only had time to help me with the bare beginnings, and after he left I was overwhelmed by the myriad complexities of templates, texts, and tools which might have daunted even the Four Evangelists if they were trying to write in this computer age! I feared I might not be able to write my first post until my blogspot was perfected, with more graphics and sidebars and links and other clever gadgets. But I have learned to listen to my inner voice, which whispers now to remind me, Less is more. So I will proceed with complete trust in the Lord as I embark into the blogosphere here on Friday, August 22nd, 2008.
My lamp is lit once again. It is not necessary that every nook and cranny of my head be swept clean and the house perfectly readied. I will not allow computer technology to become another kind of bushel basket thrown over my efforts. It is enough that my heart is ready and eager.
BLOG: Believe and Love Our God!
As the sun sets on this Feast of The Queenship of the Blessed Virgin Mary, I end my day where I began it: outside on my backyard patio in prayer before my garden statue of Mary. The image is of Our Lady of Grace, arms extended downward and hands open in invitation and blessing. But what makes this image precious to me is the face. It is the face of a young maiden with a hint of a smile; a face full of quiet mystery and peace; a face full of compassion as well as delight; a face of innocence, yet radiant with dignity and wisdom; the face of a queen--my little Queen.
Countless images abound of Mary as Queen. Indeed, an entire litany resounds with her praise. Yes, she is Queen of heaven and earth; Queen of angels, patriarchs, apostles and confessors; Queen of all saints. Yet, like a rosebud opening to the warmth of the sun, my child's heart opens most to Mary simply as the young mother in Nazareth--my little Queen--little in her simplicity, poverty, and humility, yet powerful in her love and her intercession.
A few weeks ago, the rosebush next to the statue had put out a branch along the ground, growing toward the feet of Mary, and with a bud on its very end. This morning I noticed the bud had opened into a beautiful yellow rose. There it blossomed, right at the feet of Mary. What was even more striking was that the rose covered the head of the serpent on top of the globe Mary stands upon.
Mystical Rose, pray for us.
So, dear sisters and brothers in faith, I begin this blog under the patronage of Mary, my little Queen; as well as Holy Joseph, my dream weaver; and Mother Frances Xavier Cabrini, who continues to lead me to The Sacred Heart of Jesus and the wonders of His love. . .
May my words give light to your house, from my lampstand to yours.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)