Someone Interesting on the Plane

Until fifteen years ago, I had never met anyone "interesting" on a plane.  Oh, I know amazing persons were all around me, but I'd never struck up a conversation with one.

That changed the day I decided to say a prayer.

I felt a little silly, asking for something as trivial as "could I please sit beside someone interesting on the plane?" It was a quick prayer, uttered as I hurried out the door to board a flight to another (American) state. 

I don't remember exactly how the seating went, but for some last-minute reason there was a quick exchange. By the time we were airborne, Mr. and Mrs. S. had switched to the seats beside me.

I have no idea how the subject of "Australia" came up (I probably was carrying a souvenir tote bag), but here we were, shortly after take-off, going from hello-nice-to-meet-you into conversation about a land across the earth.  Mr. and Mrs. S. had never been there; I had.  They said they knew one person in Australia, a lady named Katherine, who was from the U.S. and had once lived in their American hometown.  Katherine had been a neighbor of Mr. S., and a good friend of his mother's when he was growing up.  After being widowed at a relatively young age, Katherine met and married an Australian gentleman.  As Katherine's story unfolded before me, I began to think of Kate.

Dear American Kate.  I'd met her when my husband and I were staying with friends in a tiny Australian town.  Kate was a member of my friends' Catholic parish, was so happy to meet us, and loved to talk with The Americans about "home."  She was a refined elderly lady who welcomed us into her home for tea. We wrote each other several times a year after my return to the States.

Mr. and Mrs. S. and their family had lost touch with their friend Katherine, but they'd been so intrigued by how she'd met her Australian husband that they told me more about it.

This was starting to sound familiar.  Why, Katherine had met her husband in the same way Kate met hers.  How unusual.  I told Kate's story to my new friends. The two accounts were identical.  

Could Kate and Katherine be one and the same person?  Mrs. S. was astonished at the very possibility.  I mean (she kept asking), what were the odds?  The Australian town was a tiny one, across the continent from Sydney... not a place many Americans happen to visit.  To sit on a plane next to a woman who'd been there and knew their friend would be an amazing circumstance. 

Long-story-less-long:  Katherine was, of course, Kate.  And through a last minute switch of plane seats and exchanged addresses, I was able to help long-lost friends re-establish contact across the earth.

Mrs. S. phoned me several times over the years after our meeting.  In almost every conversation, she said, still with that obvious astonishment, "we know ONE person in the entire continent of Australia, and we happen to sit on a plane next to a woman who knows her too!?!!"  

Of course, the woman sitting next to Mrs. S. had prayed.  Taking a quick minute as I headed out the door, I'd asked for something quite tiny in the grand scheme of things.  Or so it seemed.  Only God knows how it all played out in the lives of reconnected friends.

Mrs. S. phoned me for the last time a few years ago.  She wanted me to know that, just after celebrating her 100th birthday, Katherine had recently died.

Always when I think of that day on the plane, I am struck by the power of prayer.  I'm reminded of the truth that anything we ask of God can never be too "small" for His attention.  God answered my tiny prayer in a big way.

I sat beside someone interesting on the plane.



This is a slightly updated repost from our archives. I thought of it when I read a kind comment on a recent post.... thank you, Wilma! 

© Nancy Shuman
TheBreadboxLetters.com


Photo via Unsplash.

Who Do I Think I Am?

I have tracked down my spiritual roots! This is no small thing for someone whose Baptismal name is different from the one on her birth certificate, and who had been told years ago that there was "no church by that name" in the city where she was baptized. And whose parents and alleged godparents (was my favorite uncle really my godfather? ...no one seemed totally sure) are all deceased.

But today, here it was. A call from a chancery. Yes, there was a church by that name, of course there was. When I was born it was a tiny, brand new parish in a tiny, rural suburb. Part of the city, but not exactly. A tiny unknown parish for a tiny, unknown, brand new baby girl. Thankfully it still exists, as do its records. They're kept in old books, like the ones people thumb through on the TV program "Who Do You Think You Are" (explained a friendly secretary on the phone today).

Never mind that my family moved from there when I was a toddler. Never mind that my baptismal name was not the same as my birth name - I had always known why, and it was simple. I'd been named Nancy Ann, and on Baptismal Day the priest refused to give me that name. Babies were baptized in Latin in those days, and in that language Nancy and Ann were the same. Father was not about to baptize this child "Anna Anna." My suddenly-rattled mother thought of one of her sisters, and I was baptized Nancy Helen. Which caused a bit of confusion in my Catholic grade school years, but fortunately provided me with an additional patron saint.

There is a lot of interest in genealogy today. Television programs feature people who are thrilled to discover heroic ancestors, long lost links, even living relatives. I find it intriguing.

Nothing, however, has been as thrilling for me as learning the exact date of my Baptism (which I had never known), and that this took place in a church I'd been told did not exist, and that my favorite uncle was indeed my godfather. With one simple phone call, I was able to track down actual, written-on-paper evidence of my relation to every saint in every age of the Church.

"We believe in the communion of all the faithful of Christ, those who are pilgrims on earth, the dead who are being purified, and the blessed in heaven, all together forming one Church." (Pope Paul VI)

I am Nancy Helen, a member of the Body of Christ, and I'm thus related to every hero of the faith throughout the ages. I was claimed by Jesus Christ through the Sacrament of Baptism when I was three weeks and three days old. I am Nancy Helen, a daughter of God the Father and a servant of Christ my only Lord.

And that is who I know I am.



Painting: Matthijs Maris, Christening Procession in Lausanne

Ever After

Once upon a time, I was a child who loved fairy tales.  I loved seeing goodness and truth triumph over evil villains.  Happily ever after, that was the expected end.  And so it was.  And so it always was. 

Snow White was a favorite.  Oh, such a story!  The wicked queen enticed Snow White with an apple.  In her guise of a pitiable old lady, the wicked one held forth the fruit, and she lied. What harm, after all, was a lie?  It was nothing in the mouth of one who had a jealous, murderous heart. 

One bite of the apple was all it took; just one little bite. Snow White fell lifeless, and was laid to rest by her mourning friends.

Enter the prince. One kiss from him and lo, she awoke. She was kissed awake by love.  

Many years after being a child reading fairy stories, I'm of the opinion that these are more than simply tales. More, even, than 'this-world-centered morality tales.'  After all, where do we find Ever After in this world?   We can find commitment, and self-sacrifice, and heroism, and lasting marriage.  But even sacramental marriage vows end with 'till death do us part.'  No matter how much a man loves his wife, once she has passed from this life, he cannot kiss her alive.

Enter the Savior.  Not because someone dreamed Him up in order to make of this life a fairy tale; I'm convinced the truth is just the opposite.  Writers of fairy tales and legends knew/know in their hearts that this was how the real story is meant to be.

'The Lord God ... instructed him, saying: 'From every tree of Paradise, you shall eat.  But from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, you shall not eat. For in whatever day you will eat from it, you will die.'  (Genesis)

'The serpent said to the woman: By no means will you die.  For God knows that, on whatever day you will eat from it, your eyes will be opened; and you will be like gods.... ' (Genesis)

'For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but shall have eternal life.'  (John 3:16)

'Let Him kiss me with the kisses of His mouth...' (Song of Songs 1:2)

'Eye has not seen, ear has not heard, nor has it so much as dawned on man what God has prepared for those who love Him.'  (1 Corinthians 2:9)

'I saw new heavens and a new earth... I also saw a new Jerusalem, the holy city, coming down out of heaven from God, beautiful as a bride prepared to meet her husband.... He shall dwell with them and they shall be His people and He shall be their God who is always with them.  He shall wipe every tear from their eyes, and there shall be no more death or mourning, crying out or pain...'  (Revelation 21) 

And so it is.  And so it always is.

And we shall live happily ever after.  

(This is an edited repost from It's Only Write, 2014)

Painting: Duncan, 1915, Sleeping Princess

Where Have all the Stories Gone? Gone to Memoirs, Every One.

Confession:  I have been writing (true) stories that are not on this blog.

A few weeks ago, I pointed those kind persons who'd asked "where have all the stories gone?" toward a new page right here on the Breadbox Letters. But in case anyone is interested in more current scribbles, you can check out my blog It's Only Write.

Well.  I say "more current." But the truth is, some of these are about events that happened years ago. Like a little old gently maturing lady penning her memoirs, I'm looking over events, old and new, and setting some down on paper. Or at least on screen.

No RSVP required.


Painting: Haynes King

Where Have all the Stories Gone?

I have been asked, on several occasions, where this blog's "stories" have gone. I used to write them frequently, oh yes I did. True and Amazing accounts of mailing letters in my mother's breadbox, of blatantly disobeying on my first day of school, of blue velvet ribbons on purple cake. I even wrote about my earliest romantic adventures (...what? You say you missed that one...?) and I've shared a number of serious, prayerful reflections along the way. 

I still "write,"and much of that can be found at my other blog, The Cloistered Heart. And I hope to continue rambling over here also, from time to time. However, nothing matches what the saints have said over the centuries. And certainly no words come close to those of Sacred Scripture. What incredible treasures we have in these!

As for me, I'm a personal fan of not-too-lengthy blog posts. I like finding a nugget, a thought, a few words of inspiration to send me on my way.  From what some of you have told me, you do as well. It is my hope that Breadbox Letters can continue sharing little bits of saints' wisdom as we go through our (often hectic) days.

But for those who wondered where all the stories went, I've gathered links on a stand-alone page, with little snippets and thumbnails of each, so we can find what's what. I will continue linking things I run across in our archives.

Thanks for being here (do I thank you enough? Nope - I couldn't possibly!). It's SO GOOD to know we're on this Homeward journey together! I thank God for you daily - I absolutely do. 

Along the way, if you should want to find longer reflections - or occasional touches of silliness - our new Stories page can be found just under the blog header.  Or, of course, by clicking here.

May God bless us, every one.    



Sebastian Stoskopff painting, digitally altered

In Which I Bend Rules and Answer All the Questions

One thing I love about blog awards is being able to answer all the things. It's like settling back for a relaxing conversation with dear friends. In this case: you!

Laura at String of Pearls has generously nominated me for a Liebster award. Thank you, Laura, for such a great honor! And while I'm going to break bend the official Leibster rules a bit (more on that later), I will answer the questions Laura presented, and I'll have fun with them, and I solemnly promise to respond to the best of my ability so help me Aging Brain.

Laura's questions:

1. Do you have a favorite saint, and what drew you to him/her?
    I'd have to go with St. Francis de Sales. I was drawn to him by... I think by him! That's a long story, of post-length all on its own, and maybe I'll write it down one day. The main thing is that this saint and Doctor of the Church taught lay people about their call to live totally for Christ.
     Not so radical, you say? Actually, In the 1600s .... it kind of was.

 2. Do you have a best-loved book that you've read multiple times?  (And will you probably read it again?)  Or do you always just read a book once and pass it on to others?
     Admission: my books alone would qualify me for one of those programs about hoarders.
     Oh dear. Did I just write that out loud? The thing is: after (and before) they've been read, books become my wallpaper. I love living surrounded by them. I "blame" that, in large part, on cozy rainy afternoons in the used books store when I was a child. Which is all to say I'm rather selfish about passing them on. BUT!  I do actually re-read many of them, and pass portions on to you, right here.
     And best loved ones? Oh, so many! Treatise on the Love of God by St. Francis de Sales. St. Faustina's Diary. And from the strictly secular end: To Kill a Mockingbird (is that everyone's favorite?), and the poetry of Robert Frost. 

3. What is your family's Christmas Eve tradition?
    That changes year-to-year, now that the children are grown and cherished grandchildren are in the picture.

4. When you dress up in heels, do you wear panty hose/tights, or do you go bare-legged?
    I haven't worn heels in ages, but when I wear 'dress' shoes, I always wear hose.

5. How did you and your husband meet?
    Through God's grace to help me make a good decision, and I'm absolutely certain that was the case. It was a Memorial Day, I was in college, and I was invited to a party. I'd been to a gathering with this basic group of people before, and it had gotten a bit wilder than I was comfortable with. But this was a holiday, after all, so I figured I'd probably just go.
    Then I got a phone call from the president of the Catholic student center at my University. Would I like to come over that night to do some typing for their Mass bulletin? I'd wanted to get to know some Catholic students, so I made a decision right there on the spot. I'd go for the typing.
    Boy, did I take flak for that one! Type instead of going to a cool party...? On Memorial Day?!?! ("what on EARTH has happened to Nancy?!"). The typing took about half an hour, and then - well, what do you know. There was a party right there, in the kitchen of a priest-chaplain! Into the gathering walked a tall, smiling young man and that, as they say, was that. He called me the next night and talked for over two hours (he told me later that he was trying to get up the nerve to ask me out). We dated for a year, became best friends as well as sweethearts, saw each other nearly every day, and he called me absolutely every day. We sent silly greeting cards to each other constantly, and we went to the Catholic student center chapel to make visits to the Blessed Sacrament as an end to many of our dates (his idea). We married thirteen months after that first meeting.
    Typing on Memorial Day? It turned out that decision was worth any amount of "flak" I had to endure.

6. What's your go-to prayer in times of distress?
    The Sign of the Cross, and the aspiration "'Jesus, I trust in You."

7. Where is the one place in the world you would visit if you could?
    Annecy, France, where Sts, Francis de Sales and Jane de Chantal founded the Order of the Visitation of Holy Mary. Anyway, Annecy is a charming little town.  See...............................................?

8. How many siblings do you have?
    I had one sister, thirteen years older than I. She's no longer living.

9. Are you a worrier?  (I'm worried you'll think that's a weird question.)
    I'm worried that if I say yes, you'll think I don't trust in God enough. And I'm worried that if I say no, I won't be entirely truthful. I'm worried that I'm worrying too much about what you'll think, either way. I'm worried that I should trust God with my feelings as much as with my decisions, but of course I can help my decisions but not my feelings. I'm worried that I might be over-thinking this. I'm worried that I might be, in fact, a worrier. I'm worried that I will never actually get around to answering this question.
    Am I a worrier? Hmm. Think I need some help answering that. What do you think......

10. What, if any, sport do you enjoy watching the most?
    Thank you for the "if any." In my case, it definitely applies.  In my high school and college days I did like basketball, but that was looooooong ago. Now I can ... sort of ... tolerate watching ice skating and surfing, but I get bored quickly even with those.

Now: here's the part where I break the rules. I do hope you will forgive me, but you see, I really wanted to answer Laura's fun questions, and this blog has been "'Liebstered" before, and I think I've passed the award on to a number of other bloggers and now I can't remember who they are (oooops), and there are many blogs I'd like to pass it along to but I'm WORRIED that I'll leave out a blog that I love, love, love simply because my memory is old and creaky, creaky, creaky.

So - instead of posing questions and officially nominating anyone, I am simply going to call your attention to a few blogs that probably don't take "blog questions" anyway.  If you have not found these yet, you just might thank me for telling you about them (and you're welcome!).

I encourage you to visit these ....

Ben O'Neill at Walk with Me.  Ben is a young man serving as a missionary with FOCUS, and his enthusiastic dedication to God is contagious.

Victoria's Art. I find Victoria's artwork stunning. It's a big word, 'stunning,' and I mean every bit of its bigness. Not only does Victoria share her finished work, she often takes us through her process of creating it. Check it out!

The Mad Eyed Monk.  I've mentioned this blog here before, but the writer has begun posting again after a little break. Hers is good poetry.  And I mean really good poetry.  Poetry shows, it does not tell, a writing teacher said years ago. Check out this blog and I think you'll see what that means.

Linda Maran's blogs, particularly It's Time for Pain Free, Prep Free Living and Linda Maran, Freelance Writer. Linda writes Christian fiction, Amish novels, and self-help nonfiction.

If any of these four bloggers would like to accept the Liebster Award, please consider this a nomination. You can add this (or any as I understand it) Liebster "badge" to your sidebar.

Thank you again, Laura. And may God bless us, every one!

Just Old

My six year old grandson is kind and thoughtful.   Truly, he is. 

Trying to keep up with him recently (not always an easy task), I explained my slowness by saying: 'I'm coming.  I'm just lazy.' 

Oh dear (I could hear him thinking)....  Could Grandma be feeling unhappy about that?  Why, such a thing would never do. 

'Oh no you're not!' he said quickly.  

He seemed determined to reassure me.  

'You're just tired, Gaga.   And OLD.'
 
That explains a lot. 

'I say we should look to the young, untarnished, without stereotypes implanted in their minds, no poison, no hatred in their hearts.  When we learn to see life through the eyes of a child, that is when we become truly wise.' (Mother Teresa of Calcutta)

Painting:  Jozef Israëls 

This post is part of Catholic Bloggers Network Linkup Blitz

The Martyrdom of Me

Today I realized something about myself.  I don't mind suffering!  Physical distress, poverty, pain:  none of these bother me at all, as long as I'm not inconvenienced or uncomfortable. 

I've read gripping works about Christians in horrid circumstances.  St. Therese on her deathbed, Ignatius of Antioch on his way to martyrdom, John of the Cross imprisoned, Immaculee Ilibagiza huddled in a bathroom.  I usually read these things at night, under soft blankets in my cozy house.  From my comfort zone, I am inspired and challenged and ready to endure anything for God.

And then I wonder if someone might have misunderstood something I wrote about prayer.  Or if I might be getting a headache.  Or maybe I'm asked to go a teeeeeny bit out of my way to help someone else.  Alas and alack.  Such things can feel like the very martyrdom of me.  

(back of hand to forehead; long sigh........)

This is not my first blog post about this kind of thing.  Shouldn't I be getting 'better' by now?

I would say yes and no.  Yes, in that I should be growing in acceptance of God's will, whatever that may entail.  Hopefully that is happening.  

And no, in the sense that I will surely always dread suffering.  That is only human, only normal.  I would even say that the dread and misery makes the gut-wrenching acceptance of God's will (when it involves suffering) all the more valuable.  It is a matter of choice, and I can choose God's will regardless of how I may feel.  

I do not have the grace to endure facing lions or being imprisoned, because at this moment I don't need it.  If a lion ever comes for me, God will provide all the lion-grace I need.   

The grace to endure a headache?  Yes, that I am frequently given.  I'm sorry to say that all too often I've been too busy fretting or complaining to see and accept that grace as the gift it is.       

So I shall sit back against my fluffy pillows, maybe with a cup of tea, and let God inspire me with words like these.....

'Permit me to imitate my suffering God... I am God's wheat, and I shall be ground by the teeth of beasts, that I may become the pure bread of Christ.'  (St. Ignatius of Antioch, just before his martyrdom)

'In temporal crosses let God touch and strike whatever string on the lute He chooses.  Never will He make but a good harmony.'  (St. Francis de Sales) 

'Three times I was beaten with rods; I was stoned once, shipwrecked three times; I passed a day and night on the sea.  I traveled continually, endangered by floods, robbers, my own people, the Gentiles; imperiled in the city, in the desert, in the sea, by false brothers; enduring labor, hardship, many sleepless nights; in hunger and thirst and frequent fastings; in cold and nakedness.  Leaving other sufferings unmentioned, there is that daily tension pressing on me, my anxiety for all the churches.. if I must boast, I will make a point of my weaknesses.'  (2 Corinthians 11:25-30)

'If we only knew the precious treasure hidden in infirmities, we would receive them without complaining or showing signs of weariness.'  (St. Vincent de Paul)

'You are quite willing to have a cross, but you want to have the choice; you would have it common, physical, and of such or such a sort.  How is this, my well beloved daughter?  Ah no, I desire that your cross and mine be entirely of Jesus Christ.  As to the imposition of them and the choice, the good God knows what He does and why He does it, all for our good.'  (St. Francis de Sales)

Painting:  Ferdinand Max Bredt

This post is linked to Catholic Bloggers Network Linkup Blitz

It's a Major Award!

No, this is not an announcement of a win.  Voting for the Sheenazing Award won't close for a few hours yet, and anyway - this new kid on the blogk definitely doesn't consider herself an actual contender.  After all, there sits little breadbox letters among the ranks of the biggie-blogs like... well, you know.  THOSE.

Which is why I consider the nomination itself a major win.  I feel like a starsblogstruck extra finding herself on the set of a movie starring Meryl Streep.

It's enough just to gaze open-mouthed at the amazing Sheenazing work being done in one's presence.  It's also enough to say to whoever nominated this blog:  thank you.  Sometimes a blogger wonders if she's composing (or in my case, often quoting) anything that truly touches anyone "out there."  The person who nominated this blog...  my new BFF... probably knows this, because you're likely to be a blogger yourself.  You know it's nice to, every now and then, get an "attagirl" to help you keep on going.

Thank you to everyone who reads, everyone who comments, everyone who subscribes, everyone who nudges me toward the keyboard.  Because you're here, I'm encouraged to live chunks of my days steeped in:

1)  Scripture

2)  Writings of saints

3)  Magnificent artwork 

4)  Prayer (I pray every time I look for a match up of picture and post; yes, every time)

5)  You, my blog friends

6)  And sharing in The Sheenazing Awards!  I hope to visit, in time, every single nominee.  What a treasure trove of wisdom and inspiration and fun!

I look forward to congratulating the winners in each category.  As for me, I see six things I've listed above and know for certain:  

I have won a major award. 

Hush

I am enchanted by snow when it softens a city.  It's like the gentleness of God blanketing all that is sharp and angular, and somehow this is magical to me.  Maybe that's because, in grade school, I rode the city bus twice a day, and I got to see a chunk of my town in its sooty as well as whitewashed conditions.

The bus made stops and starts along Main Street, its doors whooshing open to let in soggy passengers toting briefcases and shopping bags.  I could hear sighs of relief as these weary ones fell into seats; I knew they were grateful to simply let chilled bones thaw.  

The magic of bus windows was that they weren't stationary.  Views changed incessantly, just like on a television.  City sidewalks, storefronts of tall department stores, tree-filled neighborhoods lined with cozy brick homes.  The perfect backdrop for a young daydreamer.

I don’t spend time on buses anymore, but I look out windows.  Oh, indeed I do.  Today I glance out toward my street and am unable to find it.  There is only a field of white, with sunshine bouncing so strongly that it hurts my eyes.  I might as well be living on a farm.  Tonight there will be pink and blue and amber sprinkles under streetlights; I hope I remember to enjoy them.

Snow is, to me, the gentleness of God trumping the clamor of man.  No matter how sharp the angles of our buildings, they are softened.  There is a hush of city sounds. 

In the darkest months of the year, the ones in which we may feel starved for light - that's when snow comes to brighten our paths.  Yes, snow might change our plans.  Yes, it could cause some disruption.  

But if it’s here, we might as well enjoy the view.

“Praise the Lord... fire and hail, snow and mist, storm winds that fulfill His word…”  (Psalm 148:7-8)

Portions of this post are (edited) from our archives. 
© 2014 Nancy Shuman.  TheBreadboxLetters.blogspot.com

Painting: Meersburg im Winter 1931; in US public domain due to copyright expiration
 

This post is linked to Catholic Bloggers Network 2014 Linkup Blitz

GOSH.

A person could get used to this.

Anabelle at Written by the Finger of God has been kind enough to honor The Breadbox Letters with three blog awards!  One of which is the glorious, beautiful, gleaming, red-carpet-worthy, Best Moment Award.  

Oooooh.

                                                                    
All I can think of to do, in my blushing, head-ducking, shyly smiling flusterment, is to quote a character from my favorite BBC program.  So, in words of Camilla Fortescue-Cholmondeley-Browne Noakes:

                                                                     "Gosh!"

Because this is called the "Best Moment" award, I think I'll get all thematic AGAIN (I'm having fun with that) and make my list about the 10 best moments of my own life.  

That I can think of.  We all know that fifty other obvious ones will pop into my mind as soon as I click "publish."  Because I have shared many of my more significant holy moments either here or on my other blog, I think I'll stick to some "lighter" things for this list.  Which will be random, as (and if) I think of them.....

(do I have to limit it to only ten?  Gosh!  Maybe I can combine a few...)

1.  My wedding day.  Every moment was a best moment.  Even the one in which I tried to place the ring on my groom's right hand.  He kept giving me his left and I kept giving it back and grabbing for his right.  Poor thing, thought I, he's so nervous and confused.   Thankfully I gave up and humored him.  

2.  The moments when my children were born. 

3.  The moment I learned my first grandchild had been born.  I set this one slightly apart from the births of my other grands because I was there, within "hearing distance" of the delivery room, straining for the sound of my grandchild's first cry.  We'd been told the labor wasn't progressing smoothly.  I was stressed.   My interior prayer was constant and intense.  Then: the moment of joyous relief.   

4.  The moments when I learned that grandchildren numbers two and three had been born.  This news was delivered by phone, because both times I was at home caring for the older ones.  The prayer had been just as intense, however, and I sobbed both times.  

5.  When my grandchildren's parents were married (which DID happen before the grands were born, but I'm just now thinking of it.  Told you this would be random).  I sobbed. 

6.  (My Best Moments tend to be damp).

7.  The first moment I tore open an envelope to read: "thank you for your article.  We would like to publish it..."  I had never submitted an article before.  I'd never WRITTEN an article before.  No one, including me, even knew I was writing an article.  I was just clacking out thoughts on my handy dandy electric typewriter (Yes. This happened That Long Ago) during hours when the kids were in school.  On a whim, I sent it to a Catholic magazine.  I told no one I'd done such a reckless thing.  I didn't even tell my husband.  

When I called Hubby at his office to say that, um, I'd had an article accepted for publication, his immediate response was "I didn't know you wrote articles!"  I replied "I don't."  

There was a moment of puzzled silence from the other end of the line.  Which is understandable.  ("she couldn't tell her left hand from her right, and now she's having articles published without writing them?!?   What next...?" )  He recovered from his puzzlement when he learned I was being paid.

8.  The moment my husband proposed.  He simply got down on his knees and asked me to marry him.  This was long before proposals involved videos and skywriting and choreography.   

9.  I know I said I'd keep this list to the lighter, less "holy" moments.... but you know what? 

Every one of the above moments was holy.  Every single one was a marvelous work of God.  I look over this list and see the holiest moments of my life.  It would not be a complete package, however, if I didn't mention one moment that was utterly life-changing.  That was the moment, the instant, when I realized for sure that God was real. 

Having spent several years as a "closet agnostic," then having told God I didn't believe in Him but that if He were real I'd like for Him to show me, and then having begun reading the Gospels, I suddenly believed.  It was a moment beyond time, a moment beyond all I'd ever known before or since.  Jesus was real and I knew it.  That one moment has gloriously altered every moment since.  

It was the most significant moment of my life.  

And moment number ten?  I'll get to that in a minute.  First, I'd like to pass this award along to a few bloggers who brought me special moments of reading enjoyment in 2013. 
_____________________________________________________________________
The envelopes please...

Moments of Humor, Smiles, and Outright Laughter:  The blogs of Sue Elvis.  Since she has just accepted this very same award on Sue Elvis Writes, I pass this on to another of her blogs:  Stories of an Unschooling Family.  

Moments of Prayer:  I don't think this blog accepts awards, but I cannot help myself.  So here is a nod to the ever inspiring Truth Himself.  

Moments of Poetry:  The Mad Eyed Monk.  It is simply amazing.   

Moments of Photography:   Totus Tuus Family and Catholic Homeschool. I especially love what Allison does putting text into pictures... wow!

Moments of Classy Catholic Womanhood:  The Feminine Gift

Moments of Inspiration:  I Want to See God 

Moments of Being Inspired to Cook:  (and for me, that doesn't happen easily).  Reasons for Chocolate has shared two of my favorite recipes ever.  I'm linking this directly up to one of them (because I make this often!).  Patty shares beautiful family moments as well.

There are so many blogs I love, but I've decided to stick to just these categories.  For now.  (wink)
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And my last random best moment?

10.  Right now, right here, as I write this.  For, looking at the above list of moments, I realize how utterly blessed I have been.  Grabbing a box of tissues, I know I can say (for real) EXACTLY this: 






Thank you, Anabelle.  I've had great fun. 

Appendix:  "the rules for acceptance" via Anabelle

Post a picture of the award on my blog (check)

Link to who nominated me (check)

List ten random things about myself (check)

Pass the awards on to other bloggers and inform my awardees via their comment boxes  (check..... and away we go.....!)

Gosh

 
This post is linked to Catholic Bloggers Network Linkup Blitz

Awards, Kisses, and UH OH! SHARKS!

I am terrible at titles.  Had I been a world famous novelist, I would not have been one.  I'd just be an aging collector of rejection slips for things like Fun With Elizabeth Bennett and Mockingbirds Shouldn't Be Shot.

That could change, however.  After reading the last two posts on Sue Elvis Writes, I am seriously inspired.  I mean:  wouldn't you like to read a post called "Man Bites Shark?"

Of course you would.  And you should.  Which is why I am starting my "acceptance post" with a mention of the very first blog I'm going to pass the award on to.  Acceptance post for what? (I know you're asking). Welll...

Gloria at A Life Dedicated to Prayer has generously passed along the Sunshine Award to The Breadbox Letters.  As part of my acceptance, I am to divulge ten pieces of information about myself. 

In the interest of keeping up with the Elvises and thus offering a noteworthy subject, I choose that all time greatest attention grabber:  Romance! 

Yes. I've decided to share 10 ROMANTIC Things About Me.  

How's THAT for intrigue?

1.  I am a former Art major who married a mechanical engineer.  It happens.  Especially when said engineer is good hearted, quietly devout, super intelligent, lots of fun, and the love of one's life. 

2.  I had a "sock hop steady" when I was twelve, at dances held weekly in a local school.  I wouldn't dance with him to Ricky Nelson records though, no sir.  I had a big crush on Ricky, and dancing with another man to his songs would be just - wrong.  

3. You're too young to know who Ricky Nelson was (admit it). 

4.  On my first date, I panicked at hearing the doorbell, so I hid in my closet.  My skirt got caught in the door as my mother called out in a loud whisper "Nancy!  Get OUT here! I don't KNOW this boy!"  I eventually untangled my cotton skirt from the doorlock, and headed out to the guillotine afternoon date.  We walked three blocks to a neighborhood movie theatre in utter silence.  When we got back to my house, I said "thank-you-very-much-I-had-a-lovely-time.  Goodbye."  (I read Teen magazines, I knew how to behave).  I was thirteen.

5. My first kiss was in the springtime.  A boy brought me home from a date and looked shockingly handsome in the moonlight as it fell across my porch. He leaned in close to ask "can I kiss you goodnight?"  I gazed into his deep brown eyes and uttered the most romantic words I could think of: 

"I can't think of any reason why not...." 

I was older than thirteen by then, but am too embarrassed to tell you by how many months years. 

6.  I did not kiss on first dates... at least, not in my teens (okay, I made it to eighteen with that).  I read Teen magazines; they told me how to act (and kissing on first dates was Not How Nice Girls Acted).

7.  Teen magazines in "my day" were a far cry from what they are now.  Which tells you two things:  a) I grew up a long time ago, and b) I'm glad I grew up a long time ago.  

8.  Teen magazines are extremely influential.  About that, I am utterly serious.  They present life as they want you to think it should be .... complete with ads.  I shudder to think of what advice I'd be taking if I were a young girl dating now. 

9.  I had glasses, but never wore them on dates (or anywhere else).  After getting my glasses locked with a boy's during a movie (we'd both snuck on our specs when the film began, and I don't know how in the WORLD we managed to "lock frames" as he bent his head toward mine), I decided that hearing a movie was just fine with me.   

10.  Several friends have told me I should write about "my dating experiences," as they tend to be a bit... .. different ...from those of other people.  Ah ha, girls!  It has been done!  

But I gotta admit:  they look pretty lame in print.  Not like the shark attacks or dead bodies in Sue Elvis' world.  

To pick up the pace a bit, I will direct you to where you can read of sharks, and of bodies in the woods.  SO - my first nominee for The Sunshine Award is the ever entertaining

Sue Elvis Writes 

I also nominate:  

The Beautiful Gate 

Praying for Grace

These Joyful Mysteries

Reasons for Chocolate

My Desert Heart 

Contemplative Homeschool

MommyNovenas 

Campfires and Cleats

And I hope I nominated my other faves a few weeks ago, from my other blog.  O dear O dear, I hope I did!

I look forward to seeing what the rest of you do with this....

This Cloud of Witnesses

I had occasion today to step out of the mold on my other blog, just rambling on about whatever came to mind.  And you know what?  I enjoyed it.  So much, in fact, that I'm going to try an experiment right here, where you usually find a very brief post with a picture.

I do like matching words with paintings.  Maybe I'll even find an illustration to go along with.... well... with whatever tumbles out as I click away here on a keyboard, determined to make this a ramble of whatever comes to mind.

Which is a scary thought indeed.  I feel like an acrobat performing without a net (note to self:  look for a painting of an acrobat performing without a net).  

Let's see.  It's cold here today.  Very.  The snow that fell overnight sits right where it landed; it isn't going anywhere at these temperatures.  Nor am I, for I don't go out much anymore in snow.  I had to drive through it, however, back when my children needed rides home from school.

It was during one such drive when God let me know (again) that He loved me.  Inching my vehicle through a sudden snowstorm, I panicked when the car's back started to fishtail.  I panicked anew as I watched a school bus skid through a stop sign and spin totally around in the intersection.  

I had a small child waiting for me eight miles from my home, but could I reach him safely?  My toddler, meanwhile, sat beside me, humming happily.  In those days, little ones could ride in the front seat with Mommy, in regular seat belts.  And in those days, cell phones were far in the future. 

Totally lacking in driving-confidence, I was pretty hopeless in snow.  But my husband drove in anything - he could make it through a storm like this.  He'd have to leave work to help us out, but that would be better than my plowing our little ones into a tree.  Realizing I needed his help, I pulled (slid) into the parking lot of a pizza restaurant.  Only to see, in the window, a sign.

"Restrooms for customers only.  No public telephone."

I did what any sensible "me" would do under the circumstances.  I sat in the car and cried.

And then I felt guilty about crying, and hopelessly un-adult, and most of all lacking in faith.  I mean, I trusted in God, I knew I did, and I believed He was watching out for us, and He could get us through anything, and this was just snow after all.  It wasn't a famine.

But I was a failure.  I was, I just knew it.  I didn't have enough confidence to keep on driving.  I felt I was failing my children, myself, my husband, my God.

My tears turned out to be an asset when I finally slogged into the restaurant with a three year old in tow.  I was allowed to use the non-public phone and then go back to the car to wait for my husband to round up us all.  As my toddler ("Frankie") sat oblivious to my lovely pity party, he continued humming, thankfully unconcerned.  

I, meanwhile, was praying.  Not aloud - this was happening inside my heart, where I was apologizing to God for not having enough faith to keep on driving, and where I was feeling embarrassed, and even secretly asking God how (if) He could possibly love a scaredy cat like me.

"Mommy?"  Frankie's little voice interrupted my silent confession.  "Mommy, Jesus loves me!"

Yes, He indeed did, I said to my little one (who'd been humming "Jesus Loves Me" all this time).

"And Mommy," Frankie continued, this time with emphasis. "Jesus loves YOU, too!"

Out Of The Mouths Of Babes.

It is now years later, and I have made my peace with snow.  And with the truth that God loves me, even if I can't make myself drive when the weather is bad.    

And notice the painting I found to go with this ramble.  There the lady stands, perched atop the high wire, which obviously isn't all that high.  One stumble and she'd be in the arms of the people all around her. 

One stumble, and I find God's love waiting for me.

I need not fear reaching even for so marvelous a goal as holiness, for all around me are the saints of God.

"Since we for our part are surrounded by this cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every encumbrance of sin which clings to us and persevere in running the race which lies ahead."  (Hebrews 12:1)

Painting:  Forain, The Tightrope Walker 

And There Are Books

It's a time of year when minds of young men and old women lightly turn to thoughts of books. 

Yes, I made that sentence up all by myself.

Perhaps I could put it this way.  The air outside is chilling.  Darkness falls early.  There's frost on the punkin, snow in the forecast, a crackling fire beneath the mantel, and a cup of warm tea by my side. 

And of course, a book.

This is also a time when we're thinking about Christmas gifts. Dolls and scooters and toy airplanes (I bought one of each this morning; shhhh, don't tell..). And what better gift than a book?

But there are books, and there are books.  Some transport us to worlds of wonder, and we soar through their pages on words spun together like threads in fine tapestries.  Others read more like a string of sentences akin to the first one in this post.  Not likely to be on any bestseller lists, they. 

Of course, bestseller lists are not the best places to find good reading material.  I know such news is not a shock to anyone reading this, and there are certainly exceptions, but many highly popular offerings are not worth our time (at best) and can (at worst) be harmful to our lives of faith.

I think St. John Bosco gave us perfect guidance on the matter when he wrote "Never read books you aren't sure about... even supposing that these bad books are very well written from a literary point of view.  Let me ask you this: would you drink something you knew was poisoned just because it was offered to you in a golden cup?" 

After my recent post on spiritual reading material, I’ve been thinking of writings that have struck me in some way.  Here are just a few, with links to more information about each. 

The Fulfillment of All Desire by Ralph Martin. An inspiring look at growth in holiness, using the works of seven Doctors of the Church.  One of my favorite books of all time.

Fire Within by Father Thomas Dubay SM. I love anything by Father Dubay, but this one is my favorite.  

Francis de Sales, Jane de Chantal, Letters of Spiritual Direction helped me know (and love) both of these saints as human beings. 

And then there are the following three titles, which had me burning the proverbial midnight oil.  I found them (the first in particular) as riveting as novels -  probably because the stories are true.  

Unplanned by Abby Johnson. 

Mother Angelica... by Raymond Arroyo. 

A Right to be Merry by Mother Mary Francis PCC.  I love Mother's humor! This was written in the (1950s?), but the life has changed little, and hey: a smile is still a smile.....

I want to feed my mind with things that will lead me toward God, never away from Him.  One of the most comprehensive helps I've found, for when I'm considering various topics and even (a few) authors, is a list of links on the Women of Grace Blog.  Even though it does not list specific titles, it does deal with subject matter we might run into when we're considering spiritual books.  I once heard it said that "lies are more believable when they're built on a foundation of half truths."  So I am grateful for the help that can be found by clicking here.

I write this as winds begin to stir outside.  I have a hard time adjusting to this season of early darkness.  My old clock keeps up a steady tick; it chimes on the hour, but never correctly (we decided to call this idiosyncrasy "charming").  I have chamomile tea, a soft afghan, and of course - a book.  

Long Sigh.


Painting:  St Cecilia (detail), John William Waterhouse 

This post is linked to Catholic Bloggers Network Monthly Linkup

The House at the Back of My House

I'm beginning to see it.  As leaves fall and trees turn into tall bare sticks, I'm beginning to see.

All through the summer, the neighbors' house was there.  Even though I couldn't catch so much as a glimpse of it out my back windows, I knew it remained.  Our trees were full and lush, shielding the house from view; but I knew that once autumn winds blew and tossed leaves about, I would see it again.

It's not that I'm particularly attached to that house.  Oh, I do enjoy the look of its gray roof against a winter sky, and I find the sight of smoke billowing from its chimney downright neighborly.  But what caught my attention in a moment of prayer was the realization that, whether I see it or not, the building remains.  The presence of the house is an objective fact.

Whether or not I "see" Him, God remains.  Things may come along and block my view, but that makes no difference.  God's presence is an objective fact.  Nothing that obscures my view of Him changes that.  Always, no matter what, He is there. 

Sometimes things wedge themselves between me and God.  Often I plant these things myself.  But always God is there, and unlike the house at the back of my house, He is actively waiting.

He waits for me to turn to Him, push aside whatever blocks our union, and come to Him anew.

'In all our thoughts and actions we ought to remember the presence of God, and to count as lost any time in which we do not think of Him.'  (St. Bernard of Clairvaux)


Painting:  Vitus Staudacher Sommertag im blühenden Bauerngarten; in US public domain due to age

This post is linked to Catholic Bloggers Network Monthly Linkup