beers to you

"I would like a great lake of beer for the King of Kings; I would like the people of heaven to be drinking it through time eternal." -- St. Brigid of Ireland

Facts about beer from today's reading in the "Little Black Book":
--In the Middle Ages, beer was one of the safest, most nutritious drinks available.
--Bock beer is brewed in the fall, aged throughout the winter, and served in early spring. Beer festivals traditionally began on March 19 (the feast of St. Joseph) and often included the blessing of the new beer.
-- Many monasteries brewed their own beer, referring to it as "liquid bread" because of its nutritional qualities. This was especially true during the lenten fast, when solid foods were restricted.

Enjoy a beer (perhaps a green one?) today. Happy St. Patrick's Day!

the art of disappointment

It's a craft I should have well-honed by now, but it looks like I still need more practice.

I started off today with a very disappointing experience. The details aren't terribly important. Suffice it to say that I missed out on an opportunity, one that I very much wanted to take advantage of. In fact, I thought I was perfect for it -- I even felt called to it. I thought God had presented me with a beautiful, exciting invitation to share my gifts and reach souls in the process. Apparently I was mistaken, and that isn't the plan, at least not for today.

I exist therefore I've suffered disappointments before, so my wealth of such experience should have softened the blow, right? I should have calmly received the disappointing news, maturely weighed the facts, and accepted God's will with joy. Is that what I did? No, I cried like a spoiled child.

Now I'm a bit disappointed with myself, but with that being human stuff and all I guess I could cut myself a little slack. (My husband, my wise and wonderful best-thing-that-ever-happened-to-me husband,told me I should give myself at least 20 minutes to bounce back.) I am able to acknowledge and name my feelings, and I am flat-out disappointed. That's the way it is.

So what to do with that? I've wiped away the tears, penned a quick note to see if there might be a chance the opportunity still exists, and decided to get on with it. I'm sitting here wondering why I think I know better than God, because at its root that's really what disappointment is, isn't it? My will seemed so perfect, so right. I knew this was the greatest idea for me. I was certain that I would be able to do so much good, and I knew my motives were completed other-centered. Now I'm not so sure.

It's hard for those of us who love the Lord and want to use our talents to share the Good News to accept this simple fact: it's up to Him how He uses us.

Again and again I am distraught when my plans to reach souls are thwarted, through my own mistakes or the decisions of others. I've read enough saint biographies to know that I'm in good company. St. Therese longed for the mission field, but died unknown in a local convent. St. Bernadette was visited by the Blessed Mother herself, then when on to a life of suffering and death at a young age, too. Bernadette called herself "the stupid one" and acknowledged that God would put her a corner, like an unused broom, brought out only if He needed her for some menial task. Yes, that's what she said, and she had been visited by the Queen of Heaven. Just who do I think I am????

A small part of my soul wonders if God is trying to make me a saint when He gives me these disppointments. (I'm not being overly pious here; it is of course His will that we all become saints, right?) I just don't understand His preoccupation with little 'ole me. Doesn't He realize that I could do so much good if he just gave me the chance?

He is giving me the chance. The chance to grow, to mature, to endure, to suffer. The chance to give my fiat, again.

I guess I've done the best I can today. I've wrapped up my self-pity and my tears and my disappointment, and offered it back to my Abba, my daddy who really does know what's best for me. His will be done.

happy feast day, Baby Girl

It is indeed a special week for our family. Today we celebrate the Feast Day of our youngest daughter, my precious Celeste Marie.

Three years ago today, the doors of Heaven swung open wide to receive her perfect little soul. That day was honestly one of the most wondrous days of my life. I felt I got a glimpse of that Heaven, her eternal home. I know she's there now praying for me, helping me to get there one day, too.

I have mentioned her several times here, but I haven't told too much of her story. Hers is by any standard a very sad one. The short version is this: she was born with a heart defect, one so severe that she needed a heart transplant. She never received that transplant, and somehow developed serious brain damage as well. Since she was then no longer eligible for a transplant, we removed her life-support and allowed her to die peacefully at the age of four months.

There is so much more to the long version, of course. So much in fact that I felt called to tell her story in a book, which I did in Broken and Blessed: A Life Story. In the book I explore the details of her life, her sufferings, and my own.

In the book I reveal a part of my heart, a part laid bare on days like today. My little girl suffered so much and was taken from me so quickly. Will there ever be an adequate answer when my soul cries out? Why? Why my baby?

I've tried to answer this question many times, and others always want to know the how as well. How did you do it? they ask. How did you suffer through such a traumatic experience and emerge with your faith intact, with a sense of joy?

The answer, my friends, is a person, the person I love even more than I loved Celeste. The answer is Jesus.

I don't like to over-spirtualize things, but the answer here is clear. I could not have survived without Jesus. He used the experience of my daughter's life and death to draw me into His Heart in a way that nothing else could. In some mysterious, mystical way, Jesus used Celeste and her sufferings to invite me into His Life. I am convinced that her life was part of His Plan, and that He willed for me (and for many others) to grow in our relationship with Him because of Celeste.

Like all authors, I want my book to be read. But I am especially passionate about this book because I feel with all my heart that Jesus wants to use her story to draw lots of folks to Him.

I know she did not suffer in vain. I know that three years ago today, as I rocked her and promised her I'd write that book, I was doing God's will. I know today as I remember her with joy and love, not bitterness, I am continuing to live out her legacy. I am happy to be able to share her with others, to remind them of the beauty of her message. Each of us has a unique mission given to us by God. All lives have purpose and meaning!

A wise friend who also lost a young child told me once that my pain would never diminish, that I would always feel it strongly -- but that I would simply feel it less often. I've found this to be true. Of course I am feeling that pain today, as I go to that place in my heart reserved for Celeste. But I am also feeling a profound sense of peace and wonder as I remember the glimpse of Heaven I was able to witness. And hoping that when the door to Heaven closed, Baby Girl was able to prop it open for me, just wide enough for me to sneak in.

You can see the video I prepared for Celeste's last birthday here.

Thank you for your prayers.

a Christian martyr

In Tennessee Williams' well-known play The Glass Menagerie, one of my favorite lines has been adopted by my best friend and me: "You are a Christian martyr."

Amanda, selfish mother to the fragile Laura, telephones her lady friends, attempting to sell them magazine subscriptions. She listens patiently as they describe whatever malady, real or imagined, they are enduring that day, to which she replies with feigned encouragement: "You are a Christian martyr!"

Kath and I have added it to our extensive lexicon because we love to call each other every day (OK, more than once a day) to complain, uh, er, share our challenges. Whether they be physical ailments, emotional disorders, arguments with family members, or spiritual disabilities, we love to offer up our sufferings to one another and hear that blessed affirmation. Yes, indeed, (say here with an affectation) "You are a Christian martyr!

So, needless to say, I was delighted this morning when I found in my email a response from a saint/sinner matchmaking site indicating the resident of heaven who had chosen me was a real live (in Christ) Christian martyr!

I found Marianne's site last week as I snooped around the web, and was fascinated. Here, for the price of an email, I could be hooked up with a patron for 2008. How cool is that.

I have to admit I was initially hoping for a more "glamorous", well-known saint. I just knew that I would be chosen by St. Therese, St. Bernadette, or St. Mary Magdalene. If it had to be a male saint, it would be someone famous and smart like St. Thomas Aquinas. If it was a martyr it'd be an attractive girl like Agnes or a cool, modern patron like St. Max.

When I was a little girl, I loved the well-worn saint book we had on our shelf, because it had PICTURES! Even though my mother told me I was named for St. Catherine of Siena, I knew she had really meant to name me after Cathy of Alexandria, because in those pictures she was so pretty and had long, blond hair. That gal from Siena was not pictured, but I read something about her chopping off her hair, on purpose, because it was her only decent feature. Oh dear.

Anyway, as I waited for my saint to choose me this week, I knew he or she would be good-looking, smart, well-known and creative, just like me! Imagine my surprise when I met up with St. Adrian.

St. Adrian and I just met this morning. I know nothing about him! Could this be right? I know lots of saints, and if I haven't heard of him, he must not be that great, right?

Wrong. All saints are great, of course, I'm just kidding about that. The whole making it to heaven thing is pretty awesome. But St. Adrian, I'm happy to report, turns out to be pretty interesting, and I'm sure the perfect patron for me.

I spent some time googling my new friend this morning, and I'll post more about him as our relationship develops. For now I'll share that several sites claim he is the patron of "communications phenomena" whatever that means. (Blogging, perhaps?)
He is also the patron of butchers, and I am a hardcore lo-carb girl. And Adrian is the first name of one of my favorite TV characters, Mr. Monk, that lovable OCD detective! I can't wait to find out more!

In the meantime I'll just delight in the knowledge that I have my very own Christian martyr watching my back this year. The communion of saints rocks.