Photo: Kathryn Holt “A word found me,” a friend told me after Mass yesterday. “Reveal.”

She had been looking for her word for the year, prompted by a spiritual mentor, and it shimmered before her right out of the Scripture reading on New Year’s Eve.

“You might want to try it,” she suggested. I might. I would. It sounds so…well…contemplative. I thought I would go home and be still and receive a word.

I did return home, but ran a couple of errands on the way. And then I straightened up the house and prepared some food for dinner (my sister and brother-in-law were coming). I sat quiet for a few moments, and then decided to finish the, I am embarrassed to say, Christmas cards I had been working on little at a time for a couple of weeks.

“It’s a good thing there are 12 days of Christmas,” I wrote on each one, ” That gives me time to send out the cards!”

True. Christmas season isn’t over yet, and I did enjoy taking time with each card, writing personal notes and slipping a copy of my December column into the envelopes before sealing them.

Dinner was wonderful. Michael and I savored pork and sauerkraut. Elizabeth enjoyed the black bean lasagna she brought along. The best part of the evening was the long rambling conversations that included children, grandchildren, my book in process, homographs and triple homonyms, and how to earn badges on “Drawsomething.”

A good beginning to 2013, but no word appeared, shimmering before me.

This morning, the Psalms, reflections, and Mass readings in the January issue of “Give Us This Day” spoke to me, not with a single word, but with an image: Resting in God. Living There.

The January issue began with a reflection by Ronald Rolheiser, OMI about “Blessed Consciousness.” He shared a story of a Buddha sitting under a tree, called a “pig” by a passing soldier.The Buddha responded by telling the soldier he looked like God. Puzzled, the soldier asked why the Buddha would say such a thing. The Buddha explained that what we perceive as outside of us is really a reflection of what is within. The Buddha sat and thought about God….so when he looked outside himself, he saw God. He left the soldier wondering what was filling his own thoughts.

On the other hand, our thoughts are also colored by how the world sees us: Are we told we are beautiful, beloved, treasured? Are we treated with respect or disdain? With love or contempt? What wounds do we carry within that make resting with the Holy One within difficult? That make peace hard to find?

One of today’s Psalms say our hearts cry out: “Seek his face.”

Where do we see the face of the Holy One? Can we see it in ourselves? Can we rest knowing we are the Beloved of Love Herself? If we can, doesn’t that change how we see the world?

The Letter of Saint John admonishes us to “remain in him…”

To rest in the Holy Mystery. To see through the eyes of one who is Loved. To know the assurance and peace that comes with the gift of Embracng Presence given every moment. Every day.

I may not receive a word, but I have an image: being the beloved, resting in the ample lap and arms of the most Holy Mother God, whether I am working at home, relishing quiet prayer time, or selling goods to Macy’s customers.

Living out of such an image is a challenge. The world doesn’t always share Her glorious opinion of me. ( A bit like the grandparents I saw over the holiday looking at their almost year old grandchildren with joy, love, and pride.) Neither do I. But I have an image. And I will try.

Durate: Acrylic on Canvas His betrothed was pregnant. Not his child. Still, he loved her and wanted to spare her the shame and consequences of her condition. What to do? How to love her in such impossible circumstances. And his life? What next for him if what he had most desired and planned was no longer possible?

With so much weighing on his mind and tearing at his heart, how did Joseph sleep deeply enough to have the dream? He did, though, and remembered it on awakening. Mary hadn’t been unfaithful. Really she had been radically faithful to the One they both worshipped.

In the midst of his turmoil, what word had he received? Get up. Take Mary home. Love her. Love her child. Make a home.

Extraordinarily common instructions from Adonai Yir’eh, the God Who Sees.

Difficult for Joseph, no doubt, this faith, this call to live as if nothing unusual had happened.

Today, in the midst of personal and national grieving for the victims of Sandy Hook Elementary, in the face of a “fiscal cliff” and global economic crisis, in a world filled with poverty and violence, in a world where children are not safe, where the vulnerable are not protected. In such a world, what is Adonai’s word for us?

Love.

Love Mary’s child. Make a home for Love Incarnate in your heart, in your home, in your city, your world. Do what Love compels you to do where you are. Everyday. Everywhere. At home. At work. At the grocery.

Love. Extraordinarily common instruction for us.

Protect those who cannot protect themselves. See God Incarnate in the faces of others. Give generously of time, resources, gifts that are your blessings to share.

Love. Where you are. Pray. Where you are. Serve. Where you are. Weep. Hold. Encourage. Laugh. Be radically faithful to the One you worship and let Love Incarnate touch the world through your hands, your feet, your mind, your heart.

Love.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen Preparing to write my monthly column, I had read today’s readings last week. As I sat in the pews at church and listened to them again, I couldn’t help but be reminded of the campaigns that ended with re-electing President Obama last Tuesday. I know Jesus was not talking about election funding and stretching the story of the widow’s mite to do that may draw criticism. So, I want to be clear that I am not attempting an interpretation of Scripture here. Just sharing what came to mind.

First, an obscene amount of money was spent on this election. I have heard an estimate of 2 billion. I don’t know what the exact numbers are, but they are staggering and surely could have been put to better use.

Second, small amounts of money, small investments of time, one person, can make a difference. Over the past few days, a number of conservative spokesmen (most were men…) have pointed to a variety of reasons their candidate lost. Besides accusations of Obama suppressing the vote, hurricane Sandy derailing Romney’s momentum, the 47% backing Obama, or the demise of the white majority, the claim has been made the liberals bought the election. (Huff Post Politics Nov. 11 article by Sabrina Siddiqui)

As I pictured a widow placing her two coins on the table beside much larger donations to the Temple treasury, I thought of the money spent on the presidential election. While I am not suggesting the the Democratic Party ran its campaigns solely on small amounts of money given by ordinary people, I do believe that much of their money was raised by small donations given by individuals.

I am proud that a coalition of many people and groups held together to make their voices heard on Tuesday. Big money could not buy the election…either way. People who stood in long lines, who rode buses to polling places, who chipped in $3 countless times when an email arrived in their inboxes, these people helped make the re-election of President Obama a reality. People who wanted their voices heard. The “ground game” involving countless people hitting the streets, making phone calls, driving people to polling places made a difference.

What happens next is more important. How will this country, divided as it is, come together to address serious issues? Will we be able to work for the common good rather than try to protect special interests? Will programs like Social Security and Medicare/Medicaid be viewed as rights given to those who have contributed all their lives to those funds or as assistance to the most vulnerable among us rather than as “entitlements?” Will issues of poverty be raised as well as issues that affect the middle class? Will the LGBT community enjoy the respect every human being deserves?

As Jim Wallis of “Sojourners” has pointed out that the Bible contains more than 2,000 verses about poverty. Poverty did not make it into the campaign spin. Abortion and Gay marriage did, put forth by some Christian churches as the only two non-negotiable Christian values. (I have to ask why protecting a child in the womb is more important that protecting it once it arrives.)

Our nation is no longer a majority “Christian” nation. It is comprised of people of many faiths and no faith. I think rather than worry and wring their hands over it, Christians should be busy about living their faith. Stop wasting time, money, and energy fighting over issues like putting the Ten Commandments on public property and reach out to those in need.

Madeleine L’Engle, one of my favorite authors, has inspired not only my writing, but also my commitment to try to live out my faith. She told a story about speaking at an evangelical college not long after her Newberry Award winning book, “A Wrinkle in Time,” was published. Some attending her lecture found fault with her book and questioned her faith. They wondered why she didn’t do more “evangelizing.”

Her answer was simple: She would live her life in such a way that others would look at it and want something similar for themselves. She would evangelize, it seemed, not so much by her words as by her life. Reminds me of a comment often attributed to St. Francis of Assisi (Though I have searched his works and have not found it stated just so.): “Go forth and preach; use words if you have to.”

That seems to me the message of this election. People of many nationalities, ethnicities, gender identities, sexual preferences, faiths, non-faiths, philosophies, and economic circumstances have joined together and said: We are hurting. We are suffering. We are in need. We have ideas. Listen to us. Reach out to us. Do something that matters.”

Will we? Will those Christians among us live and respond to need with such joy and faith that others will be moved to wonder how we do it? Will compassion be evident? Will we give, as the widow in today’s gospel did, out of our need, not just out of our surplus?

This election is not an end. I hope it is a beginning.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen I was able to crawl into bed with a grateful heart much earlier than expected. The vote count did not extend into today, or as some feared, even weeks ahead. Romney delivered a gracious concession speech, Obama a rousing acceptance speech. I know rough months loom ahead. Some Republicans are already placing all the demand for concessions on economy at the President’s feet. Doesn’t bode well for compromise or an end to gridlock. Still, Obama is in for four more years, and that in itself is encouraging to me.

I am also relieved the the Roman Catholic Church’s dangerously political posturing did not prevail as more than 50% of the Catholic vote was cast for Obama. I had followed what appears to me to be obvious crossing the acceptable rhetorical line by RC church officials. Cardinal Dolan allowing some of his priests to run obviously partisan rants in their bulletins; Bishop Jenky listing many of Obama’s stands and implying that Catholics who voted for such a candidate did so at the peril of their eternal soul; Fortnight for Freedom running from June 21 through July 4, are just some of the most blatant examples of good reasons to remove tax exempt status from some of those churches. That likely will not happen, but the question has been raised already by Citizens for Responsibility and Ethics in Washington.

Bishop Jenky comparing Obama to Stalin and Hitler is NOT telling Catholics in his diocese how to vote? Ludicrous. I am outraged by such tactics in the name of faith. What happened to the Catholic Church’s doctrine of primacy of conscience? Maybe, because it is part of Vatican II documents, some Catholics think it doesn’t count?

The Church, the Republican party, the nation, must accept the growing diversity in our country. This election shows not only a politically divided nation, but a nation of a many races, nationalities, sexual orientation, and gender identity. It is a nation that must face questions of climate change, poverty, the economy, and violence.

I take heart in the results of this election. Big money, hateful, in some cases racist, adds funded without required accountability of those who footed the bill, was not enough to buy the election. That is hopeful. I will be listening to posturing by the two parties to see who is really interested in dealing with these challenges that loom ahead.

And I will be praying for true cooperation.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen, View: Afton VA My week-long vacation began with a foggy drive through West Virginia and Virginia that necessitated an unplanned overnight in Lexington, VA. The stay was nice, though, and gave us a chance to slow down. One shouldn’t have to hurry into a “vacation.” Strictly speaking, I was the one headed for weeks vacation. My daughter would take off a few days to spend with me at the beach, but our friend was headed back to work after attending a wedding. No matter. I think we all enjoyed a good night’s sleep and arriving in Williamsburg in daylight.

The first day I did a lot of sleeping and reading, surprised at how tired I was. Tuesday I took my daughter to work and wrote a couple of blogs at a local coffee shop before going to visit a friend. Wednesday began four amazing days: First seeing the Dalai Lama, next going to the beach, and finally, seeing the presidential motorcade and the president himself as he arrived at Kings Mill Resort.

Hurrying across the street and up a pine-needled bank to a walking path, I twisted an already sore knee and have spent much of today alternately Icing it and applying heat, preparing to return home tomorrow.

Read the past three blog posts to learn more about a vacation packed with amazing events. As my daughter said, this years visit will be tough to top. I guess she doesn’t want me counting on Dalia Lama and President type expeinences! Who could blame her?

No worries. Time with her and time to relax and enjoy the beauty of the place is more than enough. Though, I have to admit, this has been an amazing week.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen Kill Devil Hills, NC Time on the beach is always a grace. This week my daughter and I spent three days there, walking, looking for shells, watching birds, listening to waves crashing and tides going out and coming in. We splashed through cold water and waded in tide pools, remembering ocean vacations with my parents. Mom loved the tide pools and sat in her beach chair right in the middle. She had a good eye for sharks’ teeth when walking along the oceans edge. With a sieve, she found some big ones in the tide pools.

Wonderful memories.

Kathryn and I enjoyed watching the sanderlings scurrying up to the water’s edge looking for food, and hurrying back up the beach when the waves flowed in. Some of the tiny birds stood on one leg…and as Kathryn noticed, hopped on one foot as often as running on two.

Time and distance are different at the beach. We lose time of both and walk further than we imagined. The beach demands attention. How can one ignore the salty wind, the hollow crash when a wave breaks along a sandbar, or the cold water circling your ankles or sliding up to your knees?

Sometimes we talked. Sometimes we just walked near each other, eyes combing the sand for shells or sea glass. Nothing in particular. Whatever the sea offers that day, that moment.

We had brought books. I had colored pencils and journals. But few pages were read, those mostly at night. No drawings this year. Just walking and being.

Prayer of Presence. Nothing required. No prayer books or Psalms. Just being and occasionally reverencing the Sacred in which all this creation-ocean, wildlife, people, my daughter and me- lived and breathed. It was enough. It was more than enough.

Photo/Stephen Salpukas/College of William and Mary On Wednesday, both my daughter and I had the opportunity to attend H.H. the 14th Dalai Lama’s address on human compassion at the College of William & Mary. (The tickets sold out in 16 minutes the day they went on sale. Someone who works with Kathryn gave her a ticket. I resorted to standing outside with a borrowed “Ticket Needed” sign and at the last minute received the gift of a ticket from a kind young man in scrubs who seemed to already know a lot about compassion!)

Over 8,200 people rose to their feet and applauded the Dalai Lama as he walked onto the platform. They cheered when he donned the William & Mary visor presented to him by the president of the student assembly. Then, a hush as the audience hung on each word. The Dalai Lama addressed us as brothers and sisters and emphasized our common humanity that is often obscured when we focus on what he called “secondary level of differences” like religion and race. “If I emphasis ‘I am Tibetan. I am Buddhist. That thinking, that attitude, immediately create barrier.”

( I have included a link to the video of the Dalai Lama’s presentation at the end of this blog for those who would like to hear it.)

There was no barrier between the Dalai Lama and those who came to hear him. Occasionally using the help of an interpreter, he delivered his message in a conversational style. We listened as he warned of unintended consequences of violence and force used to combat threats and evil. Disagreeing with the common saying ‘History repeats itself,’ he spoke of a new reality and the need to approach it with a calm mind and in new ways. He returned again and again to the commonality of human beings and the need to have a calm mind clear of attitudes and agendas based on the secondary attributes that so often cloud our vision.

His laugh, which we heard often, was contagious. When he was finished, the crowd again came to its feet and thundering applause filled the huge venue. This recognition of goodness and reverence for the man who embodied it, brought tears to my eyes.

“It is good to see people respect and honor goodness in their midst,” I commented to my daughter.

I was reminded of a conference I attended with another daughter at the College of Saint Benedict in St. Joseph, Minnesota. The panel of authors included the well-known Catholic novelist, J.F. Powers. He had taught at St. Ben’s and been in residence there. He was old and appeared tired, his comments few and sometimes coming a little late. No one cared or even seemed to notice. When he was recognized, when he entered, when he left, the audience and the other authors, stood, applauded, and filled the room with love and reverence for the man that was palpable.

I had not known much about him before I attended but learned while I was there. Not long after I returned home, J.F. Powers died. I felt graced to have heard him and been part of the community that embraced him at St. Ben’s.

“It is good,” Kathryn replied as the Dalai Lama bowed and showed his appreciation of those who had come to hear him. “It doesn’t happen that often,” she continued.

Perhaps, if we can look for the fundamental reality of the people in our lives and respond to them as sisters and brothers; perhaps if we can cultivate a ‘calm mind,’ as H.H. said; perhaps then we will become more aware of the Goodness that is present in our lives and our world. Perhaps, in this country, we will be able to work together to form a government that is able to look at problems and challenges together with an eye to solving them in new ways rather than with eyes jaded by past failures and deep prejudices.

Walking out of Kaplan Center, I felt hopeful.

VIDEO: The Dalai Lama at William & Mary

On today’s Universalis site, after a two saints listed for remembrance, Blessed John Henry Newman shows up. (I mentioned him in my May 2 blogpost The Vatican, Nuns, and John Henry Newmanas a champion of lay persons’ call and ability to be bearers of truth and prophetic speakers of truth to power.)

Today, I remember his poetry and writings. One has long been a favorite:
“Dear Jesus, help me to spread your fragrance everywhere I go.
Flood my soul with your spirit and life.
Penetrate my being so that all my life
may only be a radiance of you.

Shine through me, and so be in me
that every person I come in contact with
may feel your presence in my soul.
Let them look and see no longer me,
but only Jesus.

Stay with me, and then I shall begin to shine as you shine,
so to be a light to others.The light, O Jesus, will be all from you;
none of it will be mine.
It will be you shining on others through me.

Let me thus praise you in the way you love best,
by shining on those around me.”

The other speaks to my frustration today with where I am, making a living, and striving to remain faithful to the call to write and share what small light entrusted to me:

The Mission of My Life

“God has created me to do Him some definite service. He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another. I have my mission. I may never know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next. I am a link in a chain, a bond of connection between persons. He has not created me for naught. I shall do good; I shall do His work. I shall be an angel of peace, a preacher of truth in my own place, while not intending it if I do but keep His commandments. Therefore, I will trust Him, whatever I am, I can never be thrown away. If I am in sickness, my sickness may serve Him, in perplexity, my perplexity may serve Him. If I am in sorrow, my sorrow may serve Him. He does nothing in vain. He knows what He is about. He may take away my friends. He may throw me among strangers. He may make me feel desolate, make my spirits sink, hide my future from me. Still, He knows what He is about.”

I hope John Henry Newman is right. I don’t believe God sends the suffering, but I do believe God is with us in all places and at all times in our lives.

“I think you have a cricket in your basement,” my sister said after spending the night in “the guest room,” a queen bed in the, thankfully dry, basement.

I investigated, and sure enough, the cricked was chirping loudly and stopped abruptly for a few moments when I turned on the lights. Her hiatus was brief, and then her song bounced off the cement block walls once again.

Today, I found her, clinging to the side of an old brick next to the wall behind the dryer. I moved the dryer and she stopped her fiddling. We looked at each other. Well, I imagined she looked at me. I know she knew I was there.

“Thank you for your song,” I said, “but you can’t keep playing in here.”

I walked upstairs and returned with a plastic container that had held treasures from my trip to the Northwest. I gave a slight bow to my guest, managed to guide her into the container without damaging her delicate instruments, and carried her upstairs and out the side door

“There,” I said, “play your music here.”

She disappeared into the grass and I assume found a place suitable for her song. I imagine her playing as I drove off, a few minutes late, to meet a friend for lunch. On my way I had begun to compose a haiku for the cricket. It is in progress. I will put down my first thoughts here and will continue to add until I am comfortable with the result.

First, I must say that as I reflect on the cricket in the basement, I consider that she played her song wherever she was. Probably surprised and possibly dismayed to have been relegated to an old brick behind my dryer, she played anyway. I should be so faithful.

Haiku in process:

Basement Cricket, found
Filling house with cricket song.
She now plays outside.

Basement Cricket, found.
We pause and regard one another
honoring the song.

MORETO COME…CHECK BACK

Do you have a haiku in you this fall? Want to play around with this one?
Post your haiku as a comment!

PHOTO: Mary van Balen “Have you celebrated that, Mom?” my daughter asked as I mentioned that this month would mark the beginning of my twenty-seventh year of writing my monthly column, “Grace in the Moment.”

“Well, no. Not really.”

“Well, you should. You should celebrate your accomplishments, and that is a big one.”

I conceded that one ought to celebrate, but wasn’t sure how to do something like that. I mean, shouldn’t someone else plan the celebrating? It seems odd to throw a party for yourself.

“It doesn’t have to be something big. Go out with a friend and have a drink, or go to lunch, or something.”

She had a point. Our lives are busy with work, family, and friends. The house can always use some attention. There is shopping and laundry, and yard work. Who has time to think about celebrations? But we should.

Honoring our achievements is not bragging. It is a way to reverence who we are and the way we contribute to the world. Sometimes by our work. Sometimes just by who we are. Recognizing an accomplishment empowers us to go on, to build on what we have done. It is as much a push to the future as it is a nod to the past. Celebrating milestones is a kind of self-care: making sure we appreciate and nurture the gifts we have.

My daughter was right. When one lives alone, observing life’s small (and not so small) accomplishments can be difficult. There is no spouse or significant other to keep track. To notice, for example, the passage of over two decades of writing. Or of finishing a pivotal chapter in a dissertation. Or preparing more meals at home than eating fast food. Or finally getting a room cleaned out and organized.

Perhaps what deserves celebration is the maintaining of a friendship across many years and many miles. Could be the completion of a work project.

But I think, as a country, we may be better at making lists than we are at honoring life’s special moments.

My daughters are getting good at it as this past weekend attests. I left for the retreat on Saturday with a messy house. The dining room table had scraps of paper, books, receipts, and countless other bits. The sink was full of dishes. My office table was likewise strewn with notes and books, with reminders and rough drafts. I had a wonderful day, energized by both the topic and the people attending, who were generous with sharing of themselves.

But, once the retreat was over, fatigue began to creep in. I opened the door of my house expecting to be overwhelmed by what had been left undone.

Instead I saw a clean kitchen.

“My sister,” I thought and smiled. She had done this before. What a blessing. Then I walked into the living room where a cleaned off table held not one, but two beautiful bouquets of flowers and an envelope. I opened the card: “That song in your heart? It’s beautiful. That dream in your journal? It’s possible. That moment you’ve been waiting for? It’s now…Congratulations.”

Then a beautiful note, written by my oldest, but sent from the hearts of all three daughters.

I sank onto a dining room chair and cried.

“You should celebrate,” my daughter had said.

Despite the miles and states between them, they had found a way to be with me at a special moment. They offered all the good things that celebrations bring: encouragement, joy, and support.

And my sister and her husband? They took my daughter (who had something to celebrate herself: The completion of assembling a new electric motorcycle on schedule for participation in a time trial…) and me out to dinner.

So I write a blog to thank them, and all those who help us mark events in our lives, however small, that give us a reason to notice and give thanks.

I am not sure who told me once that one should grab every reason to celebrate and do just that, but I am echoing the message.