ragamuffin diva

I've missed y'all, but... um... I'm still not back yet.

2009-06-26T21:15:00.004-04:00

So, I've been busy. Mostly finishing the Teresa of Avila book, which is going to be a whole lot of fun, lovies. I don't want you to miss it. This is my first non-fiction book, so it was a real learning experience--completely different from writing a novel. And I must admit, I loved writing it. Initially I wanted to call it "Let Nothing Upset You: A Playful Pilgrimage With Teresa of Avila." The first part of the title is the first line of her famous bookmark prayer. Then, I started to favor the last line of the prayer, "God Alone is Enough." By the time I finished that book, I realized that was Teresa's real message.

Before I really hit stride with the book I had an unusual period of confusion about prayer. I felt like I hadn't discovered my own prayer style. I beat myself up about not continuing with certain practices, like Liturgy of the Hours and the Rosary. Somehow, my simple being with God, and talking to Him felt inadequate. I even went to confession and told my priest, "My prayer life has dwindled to nothing." That kind man told me, "Don't worry about your prayer life. God won't let you go." And wasn't that a lovely thing to say. So I didn't worry. I read and read Teresa's words, and I worked. By the time I finished journey with Teresa and her adventures in prayer I felt like a new woman, at least where prayer is concerned.

I've been thinking about you all. I'm sorry I'm not blogging. There are a lot of life changes going on for me, and to tell the truth, it's hard to keep up. I also have a book due July 1st, The Exorsistah 3. I just don't have much to offer here. But I do think of you.

Will you pray for me? I realized in the last few days how hard all this change is, and I hadn't really acknowledge a persistant, nagging depression. But it demands my attention now. I'm going to take care of myself. You know I'll be back when I can.

I'd like to leave you with a bit of prayer advice from my beloved Teresa of Avila. I won't do a longer excerpt, because the book isn't edited. Who knows what will keep and what my friend and editor will leave on the literary "cutting room floor."

May God bless you and keep you. May He grant you magnificent peace. I'll be back soon. You have to help me get ready for the Christy Awards on July 11th! Meanwhile, take it easy, even in prayer.

Love,
mair

Teresa’s Easy Instructions For Being With the Beloved

Place yourself in the presence of Christ.
Don’t wear yourself out trying to make sense of spiritual matters.
Simply speak with your Beloved.
Delight with Him.
Lay your needs at his feet.
Acknowledge that He has every right to deny you His company
(but He doesn’t).
There is a time for thinking,
and a time for being.
Be.

adapted from The Book of My Life, translated by Mirabai Starr, p. 98

Where is Mair???

2009-05-20T23:46:00.003-04:00

Where is Mair is the question you may be asking. Well, the answer is: I'm here. Not on this blog so much. This is because my girlie had prom, and to be honest, for several weeks she has been Promzilla dragging me across the universe and back. But! Look at her!

Don't make me cry again. Don't make me.

I spent a lot of time with this kid to get her that look, and it cost a lot of money, too. But it's over, and now I'm two weeks away from deadline for my new and first non-fiction book, Let Nothing Upset You: A Playful Pilgrimage With Teresa of Avila.

The really cool thing is that I get to dive headfirst into Teresa's teachings. She's a hoot, y'all. Funny, and winsome, and wise. I'm having fun, but still, it's less than two weeks before deadline, the same day Abbie graduates. I must admit that along with being in pain I'm more than a little stressed.

So, if you don't see me, it isn't because I'm not thinking of you. It's just that life is a little crazy, but I suspect it's that way for you, too. So, let's pray for one another.

Much love,
mair-francis

Inner View: Marilynn Griffith, BFF, Writer, Amazing Soul

2009-05-15T07:31:00.004-04:00

You're in for a treat, lovies. One of my seriously homey homegirls is visiting today, novelist extraordinaire, Marilynn Griffith. I met Mary write here on raga-d. She just appeared one day with a flurry of comments. I knew when I read the first one she was truly my soul sister. That was five years ago, and Mary has gone the distance with me. We've laughed, cried, and held each other up through some good times, and some rough times. I'd trust her with my life, and I can't say that about too many people.

Mary isn't just a friend to me. She's a mentor. I don't think I could have written a single book without her love, support, guidance, and teaching. She's between the lines in all my novels, lovies. Every one of them.

Mary has a new book out, Mom's the Word. If you haven't read her books yet, you owe it to yourself to run out and get one right now. Start with Mom's the Word. Then go back to Pink and work your way up to pre-ordering Songs of Deliverance, the sequel to her ridiculously amazing and incredible book, Rhythms of Grace.

Tell me about Mom's the Word.

Mom's the word is a book about marriage, motherhood and discovering
God's best surprises in the places we least expect. It's about
rediscovery, friendship and the poetic rhythm of God's love.

You write so beautifully about women's friendships, and they're often very complex relationships. Why do you think this theme comes up so often in your work?

Perhaps because it's something I struggle with in my own life. As a child, I was friendly with everyone but only allowed to have a few friends. My cousins were my friends. Books were my friends. My
grandmother was my friend. I knew a lot of people and liked them, but
I know that being my friend isn't always easy. You know that better
than anybody! My family takes a lot of my time and my books and work
seem to take the rest.

I've had seasons, especially when my children were young, or during my
worst depressions, when I felt like the lone wolf. I wasn't a good friend to
anybody, and I felt impoverished and friendless, which may or may not have
been true. In other seasons I was so nourished by my "girls". And of course,
there were also those relationships I had that went through rough patches.
They were, and are, complicated. Have friendships been challenging in your
own life?

Definitely. I am amazed as I observe some women in their
relationships. They just seem to know how to be friends. It's easy to
be misunderstood or be misunderstood in today's flurry of emails,
tweets and dings. It's always nice to have some women who just get
you--warts and all.

Your warts are fabulous. And they're funny, sometimes hysterically. You're at your best when you're writing about the warts. That, and when you're penning those big, epic, juicy love stories of yours. What were you like before you were a wife and mother?

Wow. What a question. That's hard to remember. I was very ambitious, I
remember that. Smart. Driven. Broken. A lot like most young women. Oh,
and I wasn't getting married or having more than one kid.

What were your goals and dreams?

They changed so often that I don't remember them all but they were all
lofty: doctor, engineer, stuff like that. Nothing that I really wanted
to do, but things that I was capable of. I didn't have a good grasp of
purpose. I didn't want to be poor or alone. I remember that. And I
didn't want to be at work when my kid (only one, remember?) got home
from school. I remember that.

You had me beat. I don't think I had much real ambition except to be a wife and mom and writer. Little did I know how difficult all of the above would be. And what are you like now, you incredible wifey and mommy?

Not so incredible. Silly, serious and everything in between. A bit
crazy most days, but who isn't?

I know, right? Some of us are more than a little bit. What are your current goals and dreams?

Ha! To make it through the next 30 days alive. How's that?

I'll take it. In fact, I'll take making it through the next 2 weeks, or even today. It's Prom day here at LaCasa Burney. Pray for us! That child wore me out, but is she ever bright and shiny today.

What's it like to be a writing mom, Mary?

Beautiful. Crazy. Hard. It's a great privilege and I thank each of my
readers for giving me the opportunity to experience it.

We should be thanking you. I've had moments reading your books in which a turn of a phrase took my breath away. You're amazing. Seriously. So, which is harder? Wife and mom, or writer?

I think you've got the order right. Being a wife isn't hard, but being
a good one is and I often miss the mark. Same with parenting. The real
books I'm leaving behind are written on the hearts of my family.
Scary.

Terrifying. I used to tell my folks here that I hoped to do well as a writer so I could pay for their therapy. And they're all so different. If what we leave behind is written on their hearts, those are going to be some very diverse books. I guess we'll have to see, eh?

Brave soul, you put so much put so much poetry into this novel. Are these
really Karol's poems? How much Mary is in those amazing verses?

Oh, there's a lot of Mary in there, I suppose. I just cut the vein and
bled on this one. I had no plan for the poems at all. They just sort
of went in. Once there, they seemed to fit. I love poetry.

Again, you're at your best writing like that. I remember your 2004 blog. Smokin'!

Is it easier for you to write poetry than fiction? I feel totally exposed
when I write poetry. Not to mention I'm so not good at it. You inspired me
in this one.

Sometimes there is no room for thought, just the words, raw and
straining for the sun. They open up and I write them down, glad for
the distraction. I once spent three years revising a poem.

Now, that's how to write! God save me from speedy manuscripts. But sometimes we do what we have to. You know all about that.

Is the process of writing poetry different than writing fiction for you?

Hmmm... The poems just come. I'm always glad to see them. The fiction?
Well, sometimes it must be coaxed off the ledge and back into the
book.

I know what you mean. Sometimes, I have to be coaxed off the ledge when I'm writing.

What else are you working on? In case you didn't get the hint, I've
opened the door for you to shamelessly plug SistahFaith.

SistahFaith, which you helped birth and have been a part of from the
beginning. The network (http://sistahfaith.ning.com) is growing and
I'm looking forward to having you as a keynote for the Garments of
Praise Conference along with Stanice Anderson and Sharon Ewell Foster.
The book comes out in February and I'm looking forward to that too.
Your testimony in there is powerful and healing, just like your
friendship.

Please don't miss this one, folks. It's beyond powerful, and so moving. If you can make it to the conference next month BE THERE! God is gonna meet us in that place.

I'm also part of the Million Blessings Anthology (Kensington, 2010)
with Angela Benson and Tia McCollors. That was my first time writing a
novella. It was fun.

That's excellent company girl. Angela and Tia are first rate, and I love those women.

Songs of Deliverance, the sequel to Rhythms of Grace will drop
December 1, 2009 as well.

Please, please, please don't miss that one, lovies. But read Rhythms of Grace first. Prepare to be up all night. You will not want to put it down.

Where can readers find you on the web, and where is your book available?

I'm easiest to find on Facebook
(http://www.facebook.com/marilynngriffith) and SistahFaith
(http://sistahfaith.ning.com) but I'm around Twitter, my website
(http://www.marilynngriffith.com) and wherever I can check without
getting too behind.

How 'bout an excerpt.

Anyone can sneak an excerpt at the First Fiction Blog Tour
page(http://snipurl.com/i222l) . They're going to do some reviews this
weekend.

Love you girl, thanks for being on raga-d.

Love YOU. Can't wait to see you in June. :)

Omigosh! Could I be any more excited about that? Click on the link for the Garments of Praise conference for more info y'all. And thank you again, Mary. You are a gift to this ragamuffin, and proof that my Father is very, very fond of me.

Let Me Not Be Disappointed

2009-05-12T15:02:00.002-04:00

It was Friday morning. The first week in Lent. I'd gone to Lexington to be with Lisa. I was discouraged, full of self-pity, and more than a little self-loathing. I just wanted to rest, to do what I'd gone there to do, be loved on. I didn't think I could handle much more.

Lisa does some volunteer work at her church, and since I'd joined myself to her hip, that Friday morning I went along. I knew I'd want to spend some time in Adoration, and when she started her day, I headed to the chapel of the Blessed Sacrament.

I entered and peace enveloped me. Prayer books were placed at kneelers all around the tiny chapel, and I loved that. For Lent I was trying to pray the Liturgy of the Hours, so this was right on time, literally. It was the Third Hour, nine am. I bent at a kneeler, opened the prayer book and began to pour my heart out to God. These were the words I read:

Psalm 25
Prayer for God's Favor and Protection

And isn't it always a good idea to have that kind of prayer.

Under the heading was a scripture:

Our hope will never be disappointed (Romans 5:5)

Even after reading these words I still didn't get it. But I began to pray:

To You, O Lord, I lift up my soul.
I trust You, let me not be disappointed;
do not let my enemies triumph.
Those who hope in you shall not be disappointed,
but only those who wantonly break faith.

The italics in that passage are my own emphasis. It appears that God wanted me to tell me something, because the words leapt out at me from the pages.

Let me not be disappointed.

I don't know about you, but I've had my share of disappointments. Maybe I've had more than my share. I've learned to be brave, shrug my shoulders and go on. But the soul gets tired, and my good God was leading me to pray this for a reason.

After I prayed those first few verses, I strayed from the text and began to pour my heart out in my own words. I asked God to be with me, and help me do His will. I asked, if He were kind enough to permit it, if He'd allow me join Lisa in Lexington to do His merciful works. My whole heart, and everything in me was in that prayer.

Let me not be disappointed.

And right there, in that little, lovely chapel, oh so tenderly, God began to speak to me.

He changed my life in those moments.

That night, before I went to sleep, I reflected on the revelations He gave me. I went back to my prayer book to experience the words that shook my soul so, anew. And lovies, I couldn't find them. They weren't the Friday daytime prayers I was supposed to be praying that morning. I'd turned the pages to the wrong day, and never realized it,To but I believe I had a divine appointment with, "Let me not be disappointed."

Today, I needed those words again. I feel as if every devil in hell is bent on distracting and discouraging me. I'm slapping their evil offerings away like I would mosquitos buzzing in my ear. But they've annoyed me. In fact, I'm nearly worn out from the effort. I needed to revisit Psalm 25 today.

Let me not be disappointed.

God, hear this ragamuffin, and make my dreams come true.

I need a miracle to move to Lexington, lovies, but I believe in those. I'm blessed to be able to say that I've experienced more than a few "God made a way out of no way" moments in my life. I'm using radical, ruthless trust that the Lord loves me enough to provide for me, even in these rough times.

I have hope. Today, it is hope against hope, but that too, is hope.

Our hope will never be disappointed.

I'm standing on that.

mair-francis

Little By Little

2009-05-08T22:24:00.005-04:00

What an interesting few days I've had. I've been being crafty. See, I'd decided to join Ken in the body art business. I'm not quite ready to start tattooing, so I thought I'd began gently. I wanted to get an airbrush tattoo kit. Airbrush tattoos are pretty fun, and my kids loved getting them at the Ann Arbor Art fair, but the cost for supplies is prohibitive, especially with a pending move. I also thought about doing henna tats and promptly bought an inexpensive kit. And in the process of researching I stumbled upon glitter tattoos. Every girls needs a little sparkle sometime, don't you think? For the last two days I've been busy trying these things out.

First, the henna. It's harder than it seems, lovies, but I managed to get a few good designs done. Abbie has a tiny flower and vine on her tummy. It turned out pretty light, and I thought it'd be dark on her because she's so fair skinned. Next was Nia. A paisley design on her leg turned out pretty terrific. ZZ got a vine on her hand that was so so, and I put this design on my own hand.
This one stained best of all. I wish I'd have used a pattern instead of doing this one freestyle, but I'm acquiring a taste for it. Still, I won't quit my... um... day job. Or 3 am job, depending on where my brain is stalled.

This evening's experiment with the glitter tattoos was pretty bad. You'd think I could handle a little glitter and glue, but I couldn't find the right type of glue. Not for glitter tattoos. It has to have a little staying power while not being toxic. Initially the designs looked amazing. But not many moments later they were gone.

This is the star on ZZ's back, after she took a nap.
Sigh. It really was beautiful, at first. And this is with a more heavy duty adhesive. The gel glue I tried initially was a total wipe out, no pun intended.

I suck at these things. At least I do right now.

I can't say I wasn't discouraged. Then reflective. I asked myself why I was doing any of this at all. And then I started thinking of money. See, my boyfriend had been giving me little tokens. And I'd been giving myself little treats. Just as few things I hustled for, taking pop cans back, for example, and taking my mother-in-law ALL OVER THE EARTH! At least it felt that way for a few days. I wanted a means to be able to treat myself! Who wants to be a kept girlfriend? Or full time cabbie. And since I still appear to be unemployable, I thought a little body art on the side would be the ticket.

Money has never been a big motivator for me. I've always been attracted to jobs that pay NOTHING but have glorious spiritual rewards. I lose steam midway as a sales person, and it's all I can do to write a proposal and market my books. I'd rather write them! Dream them! But sell them? I'd just as soon let someone else do that.

When I was in the chrysalis I told you about I read one of my favorite spiritual writer's newest release, Robert Benson's, The Echo Within. It's all about vocation and calling. He said there is a Word God's speaks when He makes us. It's our Word alone. We often hear the echo of it. It points the way to who we are. I mean who we really, really are. This book was so important to me. It clarified so many things. It confirmed, so beautifully, that I've been on the right track all along, though I have my doubts some days. I am a writer, loves. That's who God made me to be. I've prayed so many prayers asking for a job, and the only one that has opened is the one God gave me. I sold a book this year. I'm working on it now. My publisher has expressed interest in another book. I've nearly earned out my advance on Wounded and Zora and Nicky, and while I won't be on the New York Times Bestseller list for those titles, people are still buying them. I'm still in the game.

I'm also an artist. No, I don't think I'll be having any exhibits, as you can see by my crappy henna design. But some of my most fulfilling moments have been making art for my friends in the last year (even the art I haven't mailed yet). Sorry Mich and Ali. And Ali, I'll give you yours in person!

I didn't get paid to do those things, but God, in that funny way of His, kept providing for me. People sent me checks to buy art supplies. People prayed for me. The two icons I painted for friends made them cry. There is great value in their tears, lovies. They are priceless to me.

I also am made to welcome the stranger. If you've read Zora and Nicky you know my definition of "stranger" is the person who is cut off from love. I've talked endlessly about houses of hospitality, and written about them in Zora and Nicky and The Exorsistah 2. I even wrote a house a few months ago and asked how I could begin the process of starting my own. Turns out I've been offering hospitality for at least 13 years. One after another "stranger" who was a sister, nephew, cousin, neighbor, and wayward teen has dwelled in La Casa Burney. It was so effortless, I didn't see it for what it was. It took a few people doing community to say to me, "This is what it looks like. You're there."

With all this in mind, I knew I needed to release my worries, greed, and stress. I settled myself. I breathed in and out. I asked myself if I would trust my Good God. And I will. How can I help myself? He just doesn't fail me. I don't live large in possessions (new blign from Target, notwithstanding) but I do live large in love, or try to. And God rewards me again and again. Besides, what was I thinking? Like I'd really make big money doing henna and glitter tats.

But this is what I can do: little by little I can decorate my lovies with attention and compassion. Little by little I can work through the minutiae that is uniquely, authentically mine to do. It's a small thing to put a little something pretty on someone, but the love I give with that service will mean a lot, both to me, and the person I adorn. It's a small thing to open my door to a homeless young man who can' t find a break anywhere else, but to watch the rough edges of his past soften, and see him less angry and more hopeful. That's pretty amazing. I don't get paid big money to do these things, but I always get back for my little kindnesses. God takes care of lovers. Don't you forget that.

So, I'll just keep practicing, keep writing, and keep welcoming the stranger. Most of all, I will keep trusting that if I ask God for bread He will not give me a stone.

That's just His way.

mair-francis

I'm Back!

2009-05-06T04:28:00.005-04:00

That was some long break, eh? And I didn't even give you any warning that I'd be gone. Frankly, I had no idea I'd go MIA, and truth be told, I didn't go anywhere, though my beloved MacBook had a brief hospitalization at the Apple Store, but she came back good as new.

No, I think I've just been in a chrysalis of sorts. Yes, butterflies again, a recurring theme in my life. I've read they are a symbol for the soul. They sure are of this ragamuffin's soul. My chrysalis has been a thin place, that weird waiting room in the spirit, between who you are now, and who you are becoming. Between where you are now, and where you are going. And finally, the woman I'm becoming seems strong enough to show her face. The fresh air feels good, but I'm not flying just yet.

Have you ever seen a butterfly emerge out of a chrysalis? Of course, they go in looking rather wormy. And then it gets really quiet, and you have no idea what's happening. I had no idea what was happening. That was something for God's eyes only to see. I can tell you this though, on the other side of that experience, I don't feel like a worm so much, but I'm not quite sure how to be a magnificent butterfly. Let's just say I'm a work in progress.

But back to my really convoluted metaphor. So, this reformed creature finally pushes its way out of it's containment sporting a brand new pair of wings. Yes, wings! But they're covered with something that looks suspiciously like blood. That image always makes me think of new birth. Birth is a bloody affair. I know this. I've given birth a (large) number of times.

The dazzling just-born butterfly is sorta hanging out, flapping those fresh wings, and going a whole lot of nowhere. Or so it seems. I think when we come out of our chrysalis' we need a little time before we cleave the air. So we just flap, flap, flap, practicing, building our flying muscles, because when we fly, we're gone, baby!

A lot has happened between my trip to Lexington, Lent, and this stormy morning in Motown. It appears when I fly, like the birdies, I'll go South. To Lexington, Kentucky. To stay! How this is all happening is so steeped in mystery and grace I can't even begin to tell you. But I will! Or at least some of it. Soon! Suffice it to say right now I have no idea how we'll accomplish moving across country in three months, but God is with us. It's He Who will keep my little family of butterflies once we take flight. I'm grateful for ridiculously amazing grace that my friend Gail says seems to fall out of the sky and land on me. And lovies, it's true. My Father is very, very fond of me.

Yeah, I feel a little sassier by the minute.

I changed my look a bit. Got this spiky 'do. I told the stylist I wanted to look like a rock star, and he did not disappoint me! See my bling? Okay, it's kinda bohemian and not really blingalicious at all, but I love it. I've been spending more time with my boyfriend. For all of you who almost had a heart attack, Ken, that guy I married, is my boyfriend. As my boyfriend he seems to buy me more jewelry. He really likes that Mair to look fresh! I'm not knocking it. The benefits of having a boyfriend are delightful. So, I've been looking like a butterfly, too. And my friend Mary and I have started Dr. Ian Smith's Fat Smash Diet. I need to smash my fat! Badly!

Around the first of the year I said this would be the year of my Tobit journey. Apparently I missed the point at the time. I thought I would journey to riches I didn't even realize I had, but instead, I found myself like Tobit, poor and blind, but given a remarkable healing and deliverance, by God's grace.

And just like Tobit, Angels are surely walking with me, as if they were my kinsmen for sure.

Much love,
mair-francis

The Message: He is risen!

2009-04-12T01:43:00.001-04:00

Matthew 28:1-7 (The Message)

After the Sabbath, as the first light of the new week dawned, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary came to keep vigil at the tomb. Suddenly the earth reeled and rocked under their feet as God's angel came down from heaven, came right up to where they were standing. He rolled back the stone and then sat on it. Shafts of lightning blazed from him. His garments shimmered snow-white. The guards at the tomb were scared to death. They were so frightened, they couldn't move.

^5-6The angel spoke to the women: "There is nothing to fear here. I know you're looking for Jesus, the One they nailed to the cross. He is not here. He was raised, just as he said. Come and look at the place where he was placed.

⁷"Now, get on your way quickly and tell his disciples, 'He is risen from the dead. He is going on ahead of you to Galilee. You will see him there.' That's the message."

The Stations of the Cross for Ragamuffins

2009-04-10T11:55:00.013-04:00

It was my beloved Brennan Manning who introduced me to the Stations of the Cross. In his book, The Ragamuffin Gospel, he speaks eloquently of that February day, in 1956, when meditating on the Stations of the Cross he had a powerful experience of the personal love of Jesus Christ, and it is very personal, lovies. Manning recalls, "At that moment the entire Christian life became for me an intimate, heartfelt relationship with Jesus." It is my prayer that you experience Jesus this way always.

If your faith tradition does not practice this devotion, you may not know what it is. Allow me to demystify it for you. The Stations of the Cross, often called The Way of the Cross, is an imaginative prayer the re-enacts the story of the Lord's passion, death, and resurrection. Don't try this as merely an intellectual experience that demonstrates his death precisely. The Gospels testify of such, and you can read the entire Passion of the Lord narrative in John 18 and 19. But this experience of going to Golgatha with Jesus in our imagination can be still be quite useful. For me, it's needful. So, I'm inviting you to open wide your heart and soul, and travel with Jesus on His darkest day. Enter into His suffering, and share it with Him. See where the experience takes you.

Listen.

I'm going to divide the Stations into four parts.

1. I'll name the stations and describe the scene.
2. I'll cite the words of the traditional prayer, certain that if you allow them to, they'll be a tremendous blessing to you.
3. I'll reflect on the power of the scene, and hopefully guide you to do the same.
4. Finally, I'll respond to what I've experienced in each meditation, as I hope you will. We'll see what God does in our hearts.

You can come back to this as often as you like.

The First Station: Jesus is Condemned to Die

Look at You. I wish You'd so something. You're innocent, for God's sake! It's a fearful thing, God with us, as docile as a sheep, with the shouts of Your own people, "Crucify Him," still ringing in Your ears. You're standing there like so many of us, misunderstood, misaligned, and mistreated. Falsely accused. You are the forgotten, the prisoner, the ever-victimized. Look at You. With us. God, acting like a ragamuffin with the words, "My God, my God, why have You forsaken me," a mere few breaths away.

We Adore You, O Christ, and we bless you;
Because by Your Holy Cross You have redeemed the whole world.

Response: Why am angry so often? What makes me defensive, easy to offend, and slow to forgive and forget. I look at you, mute before a crowd of haters, good, religious, law-abiding haters, and I see the humility it takes to simply live for Our Father. Even poor in spirit I find this kind of humility hard. Jesus, you came to us as vulnerable as a human being can be: God in a diaper. It's enough to blow every circuit in our fearfully and wonderfully made brains! And now God, I share this moment with You, as you quietly accept impending your murder. I'm filled with sorrow, and gratitude for your sacrifice. Humble me. Teach me to love. Make me more like You.

The Second Station: Jesus Carries His Cross

Dear God! What have they done to You? You don't even look human, your skin is shredded so. You said blessed are the poor in spirit, but it's hard to see that now. There's no one poorer than You, not in all of creation. You, the God Who will die in disgrace, dragging the instrument of Your death all the way to the hill we all know--we know--You'll die on. We are the ones who cried out for Your death! Lord, I'm so sorry. That cross must be so heavy with the sins of the world on it. No one can say You aren't human. If You were only God, You'd have done something about this. I can hardly stand to look at it.

We Adore You, O Christ, and we bless you;
Because by Your Holy Cross You have redeemed the whole world.

Response: My cross seems awfully small and light compared to the one your bore on your bloody shoulder, all for love. Most of the time, I bear my cross complaining, rebelling, or full of sorrow. You teach me so much, in this painful meditation. Help me to carry my cross with courage. I can't do anything without You anyway. Maybe that's what you mean by blessed are the poor in spirit. We ragamuffins, who are so helpless, perhaps You will walk more closely beside us, knowing what it's like to be lonely, whipped, despised, and forsaken. It's only because of You that we're blessed. We see that now, Lord. It isn't even because we need You most. We're blessed because You suffered for our sake. And You remember us. Always.

The Third Station: Jesus Falls the First Time

My sins alone heavy Your cross, and You've taken on the sins of the world. I believe You are Who You say You are. I know You sweat blood in the Garden of Gethsemane, just thinking of all this. The awful prayer you will soon pray, "My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?" is already inscribed on my heart, but I'm horrified watching You fall just the same. It makes You seem more human than the Word made flesh ought to be. There You are, cross bowing your back, Your knees bent by this terrible burden. You are weak. The Son of God is weak! A soldier forces You too Your feet so You can carry on. It is unimaginable.

We Adore You, O Christ, and we bless you;
Because by Your Holy Cross You have redeemed the whole world.

Response: All I want to think of is You. I want to comfort You and give You rest. I want to heal Your wounds, especially now that you've fallen. But You, Lord, are only thinking of me. You were wounded for my transgressions, crushed for my iniquities, upon You was the punishment that makes me whole, and by Your bruises--and oh, Lord, there are so many of them--I'm healed. Help me to remember Your great love for all the weak, including weak, ineffective me. Give me the grace to give and receive mercy.

The Fourth Station: Jesus Meets His Mother

Even God incarnate needs His mama in times of need. She is so brave, even though her heart is pierced with a sword because of Your suffering. When Your Archangel Gabriel met her he said, "Hail, Mary, full of grace." I see that grace as she watches You, her Baby, her Joy, the Promise of Israel and the whole world, trudging toward that hill, dragging Your murder weapon. And You, until the end, You're more concerned about what will happen to her. To all of us. Your sorrowful brown eyes gaze at her with such tenderness, and she looks back at You, proud of her son, the Son of God, and utterly crushed by what she sees. You take courage from her gaze. You give her courage.

We Adore You, O Christ, and we bless you;
Because by Your Holy Cross You have redeemed the whole world.

Love without limits. Love that endures the impossible. Love that gives you the strength to get through anything. That is what I witness looking upon You and Your mother. You allowed-- trusted Yourself, God!-- to be taken care of by her, from her pregnancy, throughout Your infancy and childhood, and even as You were dying. It is she who will cradle Your dead body. She is Your mother. My mind reels to think of it. God has a mama! And Lord, You are kind enough to share Your Mary full of grace with us when we need a mama, and who doesn't need a mama? Thank You, Lord, for the wonder that is the Incarnation, and the communion of Saints that gifts us with she who loves You more than any of us.

The Fifth Station: Simon Helps Jesus Carry His Cross

By now it's pretty clear You aren't going to be able to carry Your cross alone. What must it be like for You, Who spoke worlds into existence by the power of Your Word, to surrender and accept the help of a man, this reluctant son of Africa, who wants nothing to do with any your suffering? He is a black Jew, in town for the Passover. This is why Simon was chosen, because those who believe they are good and proper Jews, those who can't see that he is their brother, can't be bothered to soil their hands touching You. They choose Simon's hands. They force those black hands. After all, You can't just drop and die where You are! You need help getting to the spot of Your execution, and Simon takes the heavier part of the cross, despite his reticence, and gives You a respite. The two of you continue.

We Adore You, O Christ, and we bless you;
Because by Your Holy Cross You have redeemed the whole world.

I am an African American woman. I know the burden of being black. Simon teaches me to see the grace that my suffering the injustices of racism afford me. It's a brutal grace, but there is redemption in our suffering when we offer it to You. This softens my heart to all kinds of suffering, but especially the many injustices in this world, to people of color, to women, to children, to the poor, but Lord, there is nothing more unjust than an innocent Man dying for everybody's sins. You received help, knowing You couldn't carry the cross alone. This station also teaches me to accept the help I'm offered, and to give the help it's often difficult for me to extend. We really do have to bear one another's burdens. Teach me to do so with great love and humility.

The Sixth Station: Veronica Wipes the Face of Jesus

Suffering monstrous injustice has a face, and that face is God's. Jesus, Your brow, furrowed from the tremendous pain You're in, Your kind eyes, moist with grief, your cheeks, reddening and purpling from being struck repeatedly in the face... Lord, Your altogether lovely face, looks like the face of the battered woman, the political prisoner, and those afflicted with chronic pain diseases. Your face is the disabled, and every suffering soul, body, mind, and spirit. The ragamuffin face is Your sweet face. Veronica sees You. She cares. She doesn't have the good sense to stay away from you. Careful! Girl, Jesus is dangerous! But love compels her. She isn't thinking about the trouble she can get in. About the risks. From her own veil she wipes the spit and blood off Your face, to give You a modicum of relief. Grateful, You leave her a divine imprint of Your image on her cloth.

We Adore You, O Christ, and we bless you;
Because by Your Holy Cross You have redeemed the whole world.

I want to be Veronica. I want to relieve, in some tiny way, Your suffering. Maybe my veil will be the work, the helping. And the imprint of Your face You'll leave with me when I share with others is the smile on the face of a child who is no longer hungry. Perhaps Your icon will be gratefulness shining in the eyes of a transvestite prostitute who has lost all sense of self, but remembers what dignity is because I offered her a cup of coffee. No preaching. Simply a cup of coffee offered with no judgement, because like Veronica, I'll see and care, no matter how much trouble I'll be in for helping one of them. Yes, I want to be one who loves beyond calculating risks. I want to be the one You show Your image to, and that image, the imago dei, is present in the poorest of the poor, and I don't mean just financially.

The Seventh Station: Jesus Falls a Second Time

He is half-way there. Even with help the load is too much to bear. Once again, Jesus hits the dirt, dirt that He made with the sound of His voice, then humbled Himself to become. It's astounding. "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you will return." He, too, though Divine, was Dust. Jesus falls again, deeper into His humanity. He will not forgot us. He knows that we are weak, and so very human.

We Adore You, O Christ, and we bless you;
Because by Your Holy Cross You have redeemed the whole world.

Everyday I grow older. Every moment. I was born in the process of dying. My hair is grayer now. My joints ache and throb. My body is soft, flabby, and diminished. You enter into my suffering, having embodied it Yourself. You love me even though I didn't take care of myself. Even though I'm undisciplined, lazy, and self-destructive. I see what You have done for me. I see You there on the ground, so weak, tired, and human. You became human so that I could partake in Your Divine nature. I see this. It takes my breath away.

The Eight Station: Jesus Meets the Women

You met them, these women who love You, in their times of need. You touched them, and You weren't supposed to touch them, healing them of issues of blood and such. You spoke to them, even though some were Samaritans, because You saw their thirst, their deep, unquenchable needs, and You said to them, "Give Me to drink," because You thirsted Yourself, for their love, for their deliverance, for their healing. And now here they are, flanked by children, babies on hips, horror on their faces. They showed up for You, and You acknowledge them, just as You always did. But You keep going, so You can continue to love, touch, heal, deliver, and quench our parched, hurting places.

We Adore You, O Christ, and we bless you;
Because by Your Holy Cross You have redeemed the whole world.

Burn this moment in my soul: seeing You suffer, for me, a ragamuffin diva, and how You took the time, despite Your suffering, to look upon me with love in Your eyes. May I never forget that on the way to the cross You remembered me. You saw the rejection, the men, the rapes, the abuse, the self-abuse. You saw my thirst, that desert stretched out in my soul. You let me wash Your feet with my tears and hair, and the only beautiful fragrance I slathered on You was sorrow for my many sins, and my deep gratitude. You never, ever forget me. You remember us all.

The Ninth Station: Jesus Falls a Third Time

The people mock You. They think You are a joke, and they jeer at You from the sidelines. They don't remember the day the voice of God split the sky and the Holy Spirit glided through the blue to settle on You. "You are my Son, the Beloved," Abba said, "In Whom I am well pleased." The Beloved falls again. The Beloved doesn't appear to be capable of going on. Jesus, my Beloved, has fallen for the third time. If I don't feel I can take my much more of this spectacle, how in God's name is He going to get through this?

We Adore You, O Christ, and we bless you;
Because by Your Holy Cross You have redeemed the whole world.

You are flattened beneath this cross. I want this terrible execution to stop RIGHT NOW! But it doesn't. You are still alive, dying, but alive right now. Jesus, You are crazy to suffer like this for the likes of us! You don't deserve it! But You accept it anyway. Your executioners help You to Your feet. One of them strikes You again, and they all laugh, as if it's hilarious seeing You so incapacitated. You, with Your wild claims, "Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up." You look destroyed already, but somehow you for now, You only rise from the ground, take up Your cross, and show me how it's done. I adore You, Beloved.

The Tenth Station: Jesus is Stripped

Remarkable. Incredible. Unbelievable, but it's true. You arrived on this tiny planet You spoke into being, naked and squalling, clinging to a woman. Now, You are naked, again. Only there is no woman to swaddle You in cloth and cradle You to her nourishing bosom. Not yet. You are more vulnerable now than You were as a newborn birthed in a filthy barn. You have no protection. No hidden weapons. Certainly no shield! Naked. Evil men have stolen the dignity of God.

No, it is we who have stripped You. In fact, Lord, it is I.

We Adore You, O Christ, and we bless you;
Because by Your Holy Cross You have redeemed the whole world.

Your losses are staggering, and you've been stripped of far more than Your clothing. This is a shameful, bloody, humiliating death, that leaves little room for doubt:You love like no other. Lord, You're not even crying out here! Where is justice? It sure isn't demanding, "Pay me!" No, justice is as mute as You are, as You submit, for love, to the unthinkable.

I want to pray that You'll help me, touch my heart, so this can mean something to me. I don't want to forget this, especially on my cold-hearted, selfish days, but I literally don't have a prayer right now. It's You Who's on my mind. You are holding nothing back. I see it all. Every physical wound You took for me. My own shame, my own nakedness, doesn't even cross my mind. Jesus, I can only think of You. And this isn't over yet!

The Eleventh Station: Jesus is Nailed to the Cross

No gentleness exist here. They hoist You onto the wood, use unnecessary force to stretch out your arms and legs, and with those wretched nails, long and thick enough to carry the weight of a man, they hammer You, God, beaten, bloody and abused, to the cross.

We Adore You, O Christ, and we bless you;
Because by Your Holy Cross You have redeemed the whole world.

You've done it Jesus. You've entered completely into our suffering. There is no ragamuffin poorer and more needy than You. Lamb of God, You take away the sins of the world, have mercy on us.

The Twelfth Station: Jesus Dies on the Cross

You hang in the middle of two criminals. Naked. You thirst, but we are not like You. We cannot begin to quench Your thirst. Not today.

You give Your mother to your Beloved disciple, and in doing so, entrust her to us all. You give your disciple to her, ensuring that we will always have a Jewish mother. All of us. You forgive us, knowing we don't know what we've done. You cry out to Your Abba, the one Who called You The Beloved, Who said He was pleased with You. He presence is gone. You pray a shocking prayer, "My God, My God, why have You forsaken me. Why have You deserted, left, cast aside, turned Your back on... why have You broken Me?

We Adore You, O Christ, and we bless you;
Because by Your Holy Cross You have redeemed the whole world.

Saying, "I'm sorry," Isn't enough. My mouth refuses to utter such inadequacies before a broken God. My Lord, and my God, like the Beloved disciple, standing with You, I say nothing at all. I just stand there, staring and weeping, being broken myself as You draw Your final breath and gives Your life for me.

I must remember this:
"Then He took a loaf of bread, and when He had given thanks He broke it, and gave it to them saying, 'This is my body which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of Me.' And He did the same with the cup after supper saying, "This cup that poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood." John 22:19, 20

The Thirteenth Station: Jesus is Taken Down From the Cross

His mother cradles Him in her arms, once again. But He is not a Babe. He is a Man, an innocent one. Jesus, the Beloved, in Whom God was well pleased, is really dead.

God is dead.
The world goes dark in mourning.

We Adore You, O Christ, and we bless you;
Because by Your Holy Cross You have redeemed the whole world.

I am weeping.

The Fourteenth Station: Jesus is Laid in the Tomb

You said blessed are the poor, and who has less than the dead? You said blessed are they who mourn, but where is our comfort? Your disciples have scattered, afraid. Two men who followed You in secret, take You away from the scene of the crime, give You a resting place, and brokenhearted and reverent, wrap Your lifeless body in burial cloths and herbs. They place You in a tomb You did not own, though You made the world. A stone is rolled over the door.

You did it. You went and died for us. You, Who knows death is so permanent, so unforgiving. Hope died with You. And justice. Love is extinguished.

This is hell, existence without You.

We Adore You, O Christ, and we bless you;
Because by Your Holy Cross You have redeemed the whole world.

Dear God, we've killed You. Forgive us.

Congratulations, Lenten Failures

2009-04-07T15:10:00.002-04:00

This year I felt like the flu was the Grinch who stole my Lent. For weeks I've languished, more miserable than not, with one brand of flu after another, back to back. I may find a few days respite, only to be slammed again, by some new incarnation of it.

Some days, I got my penances and devotions right. Most days I was toast. On this Holy Tuesday I'm thinking of all the people who shared their Lenten journeys with me, and how often I heard from them, "I failed."

Me, too.

Congratulations. If we are more aware of our sins, weaknesses, and failures, we have had a successful Lenten journey. I began the 40 days so earnest, chapel veil on my head, and cross of palm ashes on my forehead. I end it sitting here weary, with another achy tummy, having just finished yet another bowl of Mrs. Grass's Chicken Noodle Soup. I have no idea where my chapel veil is. The cross I bear now is not ashes, but illness, and not the usual one! A completely unexpected addition to my season of penance. The flu taught me something, however, namely, without God, I can do nothing. I can't pray. Can't fast. Can't long even so much as for Him. Lord, have mercy, a sistah can't even crawl, Pepto Bismal and Thera-flu in hand, toward grace with out the grace to do so. My vaguest notions of poverty of spirit are oh-so much more real now. I'm completely reliant on God, because I'm a mess, a sick, tired, sinful, and ridiculously needy mess. What is the point of Lent if not becoming more keenly aware of that?

Thank God for failure. It effectively chases ugly spiritual pride away. It burns up our self-reliance. If we are smart, we will learn to love better because of our failues, and look upon our brothers and sisters in Christ, and on this planet period, with the soft, kind eyes of grace.

Another Lenten surprise has been the tender emotional healing of wounds that have needed salve for a long time. Some sore spots in our soul heal a bit, only to fester once again. What love I've been given. I wanted to do something for Jesus. Turns out He did something for me, and several other lovies in my life. Thank you, Lord!

I wasn't able to do the zine, The Stations of the Cross for an African orphan, but I'm keeping the idea for a later time. Sadly, the orphans need so much support, whenever I do it will be timely, and they will benefit from whatever we raise.

I'd still like to share The Stations of the Cross with you, however. By Holy Thursday I'm going to post my ragamuffin stations right here. We, as poor and needy as we are, can walk together with Christ on the scandalous journey that showed us He loves us to death. I hope you will join me, and covet your prayers.

Much love,
mair-francis

My Wilderness

2009-03-28T03:20:00.005-04:00

It's time, and I'm no more ready to go into the wilderness than I was the day my lungs felt like they'd explode. Days of migraine, only to segue into a bout of tummy trouble that singled out Abbie, Nia Grace, and guess who? And what does Jesus say? At 3 AM, no less!

"It's time."

And so I go, feeling so alone.

It isn't much to look at, the desert. Miles and miles of a whole lotta nothin'. It's colder than you'd think a desert would be. A few skeletons litter the landscape, of some poor souls who didn't make it out. If the look as if they simply gave up the ghost, and withered to bone where they lay. But their numbers are few.

"I sure don't wanna end up like that," I think. "God, it's cold. I always thought of deserts as being hot. Mine is cold, and dark. I don't like it."

The shadowy figure coming my way is the devil. He's going to tempt me. With what, power? I'm not much for wanting power. Significance? Yeah. I should see that coming. What else?

"You want to be loved," A voice says. It isn't the devil.

And there I am, on that mattress again, in that empty house. And the devil coming toward me looks like Joe.

Jesus beats him to me. He stands behind me, and puts his arm around my shoulder. It comforts me. And there they are: one man in front of me, and the God/Man behind me.

Joe doesn't say a word. He turns and walks away. Of course, he doesn't have to say anything. Hasn't he disappeared without a word three times? And that saying nothing, says everything.

"What does it say?" the Lord asks.

"I don't want you."

"How do you feel?"

"A little sad, but..."

"Yes?"

"Not so much. I mean, I thought this was going to be horrible, but all I feel is a little sting, what you'd feel if you were embarrassed. It isn't so bad."

"That's my girl. Are you angry at him?"

"Nah. I mean, look at him. He's a kid, just like I was. A little arrogant. Really cute. Kinda lost. Everybody has the right to find their own way. Maybe he just didn't know how to be forthcoming. It isn't everybody's strong suit."

"What about the Joe who was 42 when he hurt you?"

"He had to find his way, too. I made my own huge mistakes. I wasn't a child. I was 40. We survived."

"Yes, you did," Jesus says. "Do you forgive him?"

"Yeah. I do. But it still stings."

"That's okay. You're doing the work."

I don't expect it, but my parents come next. And they too stand before me, only to walk away without a word. It more than stings. I feel sick to my stomach, and it ain't the tummy bug.

"I don't want to do this anymore, Lord."

"It's important, little one. I want you to tell me what their silence says."

"It says, 'I don't want you.'"

"That's the same thing Joe's silence said. Think about that."

"No."

"It's okay. I'm right here, and I haven't even moved my hand from your shoulder."

"I thought the big wound was Joe's, but it isn't, is it?"

"No."

"I forgave my parents. They told me that loved me. They said they did want me. Daddy was a heroin addict. Mama had seven other children, and that was before she had the last baby. Mama said she didn't have any fight in her. How could she refuse her own mother, and her beloved aunt? People she couldn't say no to told her I was better off where I was. What could my parents do?"

"Do you believe them?"

(...)

"Do you believe they wanted you, love?"

"No. They were supposed to fight for me, but they let me down. They were suppose to come for me. I missed them. I loved them, and I was too young to fight. I was fifteen months old, but I knew them. I loved them!"

My complaint pricks my heart. I failed my own son, in the exact same way, even though I loved him. I didn't know how to fight for him.

"Damn." I hang my head in shame.

Now Jesus stands in front of me. He inclines Himself before me and whispers. "Let's keep going. You don't want to get stuck there. Not now." He lifts my chin with His strong, carpenter hand, His "hand of God." But He's gentle with me, so very kind. "If you don't believe your own parents wanted you, don't you think you'd have a little trouble trusting in anyone's love?"

I blink, but don't say a thing.

"Do you believe I love you?"

"Yes," I answer too quickly.

"Do you believe I love you?"

"Most of the time?"

"I said yes."

"Do you believe I love you?"

"Some of the time. I couldn't keep doing any of this without Your love. Lord, I can't live without Your love. You're all I've got. You're it."

"Then why do you work so hard to please me, when I'd be content just sitting with you in silence? You try to win my love as if you don't already have it. Little one, you avoided your parents later on in your life because you didn't feel capable of pleasing them. You felt rejected, again and again, whether you were or not. And you've sought Joe's attention because you don't want anyone to make you feel the way your parents did, again. You're trying to undue what they did by gaining his approval. You have his approval, and you know it."

"Yes."

"He can't heal you."

"You can't undue what was done."

"You're right. You're God, and You're supposed to be right, and..." I ramble, until I just shut up.

He smiles at me. I love His smile. "You have so much love. Open your eyes to it."

I'm mute. I have no idea how to do that.

"What have I asked you to do lately?" Jesus says. "The two things I tried to talk to you about again and again. But you avoided me."

"You said come to the silence. And you said you wanted me to stay a child, but grow up."

"Do you know what I mean?"

"You want me to come to You and do nothing. And You want me to be happy, free, and trusting like a child, but You also want me to let go of the lies that keep me clamoring for love in ways that dishonor me. And to act like I've got the good sense you've given me."

"It's a beginning."

"You don't despise, beginnings, do you Lord?"

"You know I don't."

I blink and the desert fills with angels. They don't look heavenly creatures. They look like Evette, and Erin, and Elysa, and Kristine, and Lisa. They look like Gina and Mystele, and Rhonda, and the other Mair. They look like Heidi, and Jen, and Terry, and Chip, Joni, and my Godbabies. I see my mother-in-law, and dozens of people I've worshipped with. There are so many angels crowding the desert, ministering to me like angels did Jesus in His desert. They are giving me strength.

Right there, are my children and husband. There are a lot of people I don't even know, waving my books in their hands. Some are saying, "Me, too." And I see Joe. And Mama, and Daddy. All these angels in their own way, for better or worse, are showing me something about love.

We are frail. We make awful mistakes. We sin, big time. Sometimes we don't know how to love. Sometimes we don't know how to be loved. People fail us, but we forgive them. Again and again. We are forgiven by them. Again and again.

We are healing, if we wish to be. If we'll go to the silence and let God love on us. None of us are quite whole, at least not those I see in this desert. We are healing.

And then my angels all disappear, and there's no one left, but me and Jesus.

"Now how do you feel?" He asks.

"Like You did in the desert after you confronted the devil. I'm really, really hungry. I'm famished!"

"It's a kind of hunger only I can fill. Do you trust Me?"

I pause. I want my answer to be true."Pretty much."

"We've still got a ways to go."

"It's okay, as long as You're with me," I say, and it is.

Together Jesus and I walk away from that place, my stomach growling as we depart. See, I'm still hungry, but my hand, empty before, a cup waiting for Him to fill, rests firmly in His.

I'm healing, a day at a time.

He's got me.

desert by night photo by serge anton

www.minimalinterior.be/index.php?id=174&L=2

Wilderness Training

2009-03-26T06:58:00.003-04:00

I wake up at six am, and my head still hurts. It's cold, and the humidity is high. I'm having trouble breathing. I'm a little miserable, but I feel God's presence hovering over me, brooding like He did upon the face of the deep in Genesis.

I'm trying to be brave. I'm trying to get ready. Last night was a huge breakthrough. Already I know we'll face the wilderness. Jesus is going to go with me.

"I'm ready," my soul whispers, but I wince because the light coming from the computer screen hurts my eyes.

"Just one thing," Jesus said. "What did you read last night?"

"It's a little vague I say," my lungs burning, "But there was something about you giving me just enough for the day. Like, I'm supposed to hold out my hands, like an empty bowl, and trust that you're going to fill them."

"With?"

"Healing."

"How much healing?"

"What I need for today."

"Will you do that for me?"

"Sure." And I take my hands, and hold them up, still a little breathless and weary. I don't even speak. I just trust that the act of holding my little cupped hands is asking enough. Trust. My mind is too tired to fight, and I wish I had the inhaler.

"Good," Jesus says simply.

I think of how we are suppose to be preparing to go into the wilderness. How I'm going to get in there, just like He did, and face the devil. And I'm going to be, just like He was, famished, aware that my hunger is something else, entirely.

It occurs to me that I should tell Jesus I'm ready, and before I think it He's telling me to find and inhaler and get some rest.

"But I have to face my temptations."

"There's plenty of time for that. You've still have enough Lent left to do the work."

"I'm Lent's biggest failure."

"Isn't that the point? To see what you can't do on your own. The real rock stars of Lent are the humble. The contrite, and sorry for their sins. And lets not forget the poor in spirit, those completely reliant upon me."

"Nothing is like I thought it'd be."

"I am."

"Yes. Yes, you are, Jesus."

"Now, about that inhaler...."

One bit of healing at a time.

"We are ever but beginning... The most perfect Christian is to himself but a beginner, a penitent prodigal, who has squandered God's gifts, and comes to Him to be tried over again, not as a son, but as a hired servant." John Henry Newman

On the Rock

2009-03-26T00:06:00.008-04:00

This time we're sitting on a long flat rock. Like last time the white foamy waves crash against the sandy shore, but we're on my harder ground today.

"The whole rock thing is a little cliche, don't you think?" I say.

"You have to admit it's effective. You understood what I was getting at right away, didn't you?"

"It doesn't make me feel any safer."

"I'm here."

He is. He really is my foundation. My strong place. My stability. My rock sure isn't my knowledge of scripture or theology. It's simply Him, and I realize despite how fragile I feel, I'm safe. But I want to act childish anyway.

"You were with me back in the day, and look what happened."

And before I can even get it out of my mouth I'm right back there, in that empty old house on the dusty, bare mattress covered by the yellow blanket. I hate that blanket. Let's just say it failed to cover my shame. I go back to the rock. Fast!

"It's not the blanket you hate," Jesus says, reading my mind. The breeze tousles his hair.

(...)

"You don't hate him, either."

And it's true. I don't. Sometimes I think it'd be much simpler if I did, but we don't talk about who I really hate, or even who I love right now, Jesus and I. He won't make me say that. It's been days getting me here. He's actually trying not to run me off, as if I could escape His presence. I'm the one who joked, "I made so many beds in hell they thought I was the chambermaid down there." But God was with me. It isn't funny today. At all.

No, we don't talk about who I hate or love.

"So, why do I keep doing it?"

"Doing what?"

I sigh. "You know exactly what I'm talking about, Lord."

"Tell me."

"Why do you have to drag me through this?"

"Because you don't listen."

"Must you be so blunt? I'm listening now."

"I don't want you to listen now. I want you to talk to me."

It's futile to argue with God, though he tolerates me. But sometimes I get tired of myself. In fact, I'm tired of me a lot. "Okay, I made some kind of contact with him. It's not as bad as usual, but it was something. A little thing. A tiny thing really. You do realize all my girlfriends just rolled their eyes and groaned, "Not again!"

"No, they'll be praying. Well, a few are thinking it, but they love you. They know you're wounded."

"I'm sick of being wounded. I want to be a lioness. ROOOOOOOOOOAR!!!!!!!!" Did you know he taught me how to do that? It was one of the best memories I have with him."

"That wasn't a very pleasant sound, coming from you. You don't roar, my love."

"Why not?"

"It wasn't authentic. You're more like a kitty cat. You make sad, lonely people happy. I love kittens, you know."

"You seem like a dog person, " I say.

"You're suggesting I don't love you?"

"Of course not."

"Then act like I do. Don't romanticize what he thought you should be. What is your favorite scripture?"

"Blessed are the poor in spirit."

"You don't have to roar. Being you is good. What did I tell you earlier?"

"You said when I make contact when I'm upset, I'm going right back to the source of my woundedness. And honestly, I never thought about that until you said it. It's like I'm more comfortable with the wounded me, than the healed me. But, you know, not in a good way." Then I think of something else interesting. "You know, I heard in some Latin American countries, in the place somebody dies they throw up a big, white cross."

He chuckles, knowing what's coming.

"What if I just put a big cross in his yard? I won't set it on fire. It'd be, like, a memorial thing."

Now Jesus is really laughing. "First of all, what happened didn't kill you, although sometimes you act as if it did. And it didn't happen at the house where he lives now. You'd go to jail. If you have to go to jail, it should be for a better reason than that."

"I wouldn't go to the crazy house?"

"You aren't crazy, love."

"You called me love, again. I like that."

"Me, too. I'd have called you that all week, but you've been avoiding Me."

"Way to call me out on my blog, Lord."

"It's what I do. So tell me about the cross you won't be putting in Joe's yard."

"It's just a thought. Maybe I need to mark the spot. But I had the wrong spot in mind, apparently. You know, when you started telling me you wanted to heal me, I thought you'd want to deal with that Gabriel stuff. Opps. I said his name."

"They don't know him."

"I don't even know him. Thank God. No pun, intended. Anyway, and I told Carly what I realized I was doing--what You told me I was doing--and she said maybe it all started with Joe. Like the whole thing with Gabby wouldn't have happened if the Joe thing hadn't have happened first."

And just like that we're not on the rock anymore listening to the water. And I'm back at that damned house again, on that mattress with him, and Jesus is right there.

"Will this ever end? Like, seriously, Lord!" I yell from the mattress. "Didn't I go there--or here--five years ago with You? I've thought you healed me a thousand times. Why isn't this over?"

"A lot of damage was done, love, and consider this: most of it is over. There's just a little residue I need to clean up."

"I'm not up for this."

"You don't have to stay here." And we're back on the rock again. And I'm a little salty with Jesus.

"Why did you make me do that?"

"I didn't make you. You went there, but that was all you could do today. Tell me about what you read today."

"I read in the Sue Monk Kidd book about a little bird that crashed into her window. She and her kids went outside with it. The bird was stunned, but not broken, and she just needed to sit with the pain for a little while. But I'm not like that bird. I'm broken in a million pieces, and you know it!"

"You're not as bad as you think. I've done a lot of healing on you. You don't see it because you've been stunned since Lexington. You didn't think I'd move. You've hoped and waited for so long, and now it looks like I'm giving you all that you asked for. In fact, you see I've been giving it to you all along, and you don't know what to do with that. You still have pain, but I've done wonders in you."

That's why I'm not in his arms screaming. That's why I'm not throwing myself in the water. He takes my wrists in His hands and tenderly, with such exquisite deliberateness, kisses the two words over my scars: love on my left wrist, and love on my right. All I do is sigh, but it's a deep cleansing sigh full of relief and pleasure.

"My head won't stop hurting."

"It will soon."

"Are you sure I'm going to be all right?"

"You can trust me on it. We're just going to sit here together with this pain."

"Until when?"

"Until it's time to do something else."

"Okay," I say, and He lets me have the last word. I look at the water. The waves crash before us, a violent ebb and flow, but that's the way of things. A lot happens, the sea seems brutal if you're
fearful and don't understand nature. If you don't respect it, but it isn't scary. It's just water, rising and falling, tide going in and out.

I breathe in and out, and don't think about a think.

I don't think about a damned thing.

The Wilderness and the Desert: Lent '09

2009-03-25T17:26:00.003-04:00

Emilie Griffin on Lent:

"We begin this forty-day journey by remembering when Jesus went into the wilderness to be tempted of Satan. In fact, the Spirit drove him there. Now our task is to imitate Christ in His journey, to walk with him, to let the Spirit drive us into a desert place where Satan may confront us." Small Surrenders, Paraclete Press, 2008

I've been meaning to tell you about Lexington, and I promise I will, but once again, lovies, I'm feeling icky. Migraines for a few days, and that makes everything, but sleeping and dwelling in darkness hard. Pray for me, please.

One thing I will say about my life changing journey (I never thought I'd say that about a trip to Kentucky) I found myself doing what I do a lot of: telling stories. Most of the time I love to tell a good tale, but I found myself increasingly horrified by the things I was saying. It was a little surreal at some point, listening to myself, and I think I even said, "What a drama queen!" Or something like that, because the stories, which are totally true, sound so remarkably full of crazy that if I didn't know they happened I may not believe it myself.

One story I told--and do not even think I'm going to touch it again. Not right now. With a migraine!--was about an incident of abuse. It involved my baby, and I could not believe I'd allowed somebody to treat us so terribly. I was ashamed. I burst into tears, lovies. I had to leave the room, and tell myself that it was over. We survived. We got through it, and I'd talked to my baby on the phone that very day. He was okay, too. We got through it.

Back in the day, when I first returned to Michigan from my descent into the hell that was my life with the man I used to refer to as "demon lover." I do not call him that anymore, but I'm not sure what I want to call him. Baby steps. Okay? Anyway, when I first returned home I'd have periodical flashbacks. They were awful, and I never knew what would trigger them. Once I saw a hanger and was reduced to a weeping mess because in a moment I was reminded of having the hell beat out of me with one. Another time, and it wasn't when I first returned, it was about three years ago, I was watching 20/20 and had a complete meltdown as I listened to a woman tell her story of abuse. It was like I was plunged right back there, and I was powerless, once again. In full panic mode.

But most of the time, I'm okay.

Or so I thought, until I found myself crying in Lisa's kitchen and trying to talk myself into believing the safety net was beneath me and I wasn't in grave danger. My life with "you-know-who" was years ago. I left him in 1993. And since that time I've been diagnosed as bipolar, endured crippling depression, been chronically under employed, had a hospitalization in a mental institute, a suicide attempt, a brother who was murdered, another who died waaaay too soon, I had a spouse with a really bad addiction, I lost three babies, crap piled upon crap, and I really did try to be a good sport. I know how to grin and bear it. I just kept going, though admittedly, sometimes I went painfully slow, but I crawled on bloody knees toward Jesus and He always took care of me. But does that mean I don't have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, just the same? I have no idea. I read Lisa's newest book (it's not out yet, lovies. Nice work if you can get it, but you can't get it.), and it hurt! I really did see some similarities between me and her hermit, wounded protagonist, that kinda confirmed I'm not as well as I want you to think I am. Not as well as I myself want to think I am. Lord, have mercy.

So, when I got back home from Lexi, Jesus kept bringing to mind these really negative feelings I had about my stories. I mean stories from my life. We ain't talking my fiction here. And He, in that gentle way He has, asked me to let Him heal me. He said I needed healing.

I guess I stuffed things down so long that I forgot they were still there. And as I've been taking this walk with Jesus on the way to His cross, He's been gently reminding me that I am carrying a cross of my own, and He's been helping me bear it, but don't I want to stop for a bit to deal with my wounds?

Haven't I dealt with them enough??? I'd rather deal with His. His wounds are safer, and Lord! His wounds are dangerous, but they feel safer than mine. But He loves me. And isn't it just like Him to overthrow the tables, clear out the junk I've been telling myself, so that He can make me a house of prayer.

Of course, I've been avoiding Him ever since this little revelation, but He has a way of drawing me, despite myself. Do you know that when the Bible says the Spirit draws us to God, that word draws is more akin to drags us, kicking and screaming. I'm being drawn and my throat is sore, and heels battered. But I'm going. And I don't know what is going to happen. But I trust Him.

It's time to heal. At least a little more.

To the wilderness I go.

How 'bout you? Any healing taking place. Any desert places? Any confrontations with Satan you'd just as soon avoid?

love,
mair-francis

Lent: Not for the Faint of Heart. Seriously.

2009-03-23T19:38:00.001-04:00

My Godbaby, Dusty, sent me this, and it says what I seem to be struggling to articulate today. Enjoy, lovies. I'll yak at ya tomorrow. And Dusty, much obliged.

mair-francis

Lent is not for the faint-hearted

Lent is not for the faint-hearted.
It demands that we, like Thomas,
put our hand into the side of the crucified Christ.

Lent is a journey towards the cross,
a journey of enlightenment:
from wilderness to feast,
from desert to oasis.
It’s an attempt to identify with the powerless
and the suffering in the world.

***

Lent is not tidy.
The days grow longer,*
the ground thaws, there’s mud and dirt everywhere
and the windows need cleaning.

Lent is a journey.
So at the end of Lent
we should expect to find ourselves
somewhere different from where we started.

Lent can be an opportunity
to explore what is the nature
of the promised Kingdom of God on earth
that we long for;
a time to discern
how we are called to work for it.

No, Lent is not for the faint-hearted!
*‘Lent’ means lengthen.

Kate Mcllhagga

From The Green Heart of the Snowdrop, Wild Goose Publications

Zora and Nicky is a Christy Award Finalist!

2009-03-21T14:04:00.008-04:00

I guess it won't be my hooker heels garnering me attention at this Summer's Christy Awards.

I'm so freakin' happy!

Can you believe it???

And Lisa Samson, my bff lovies, is a finalist for her rawkin', amazing book Embrace Me.

It was my favorite Lisa Samson novel until her incredible The Passion of Mary Margaret came out.

How much does this rawk? Seriously. And we're in two different categories, so you can hope both of us will win!

Here is a list of all the finalist:

Contemporary Romance category are:

* Beyond the Night by Marlo Schalesky (WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group)
* Finding Stefanie by Susan May Warren (Tyndale House Publishers)
* Zora and Nicky: A Novel in Black and White by Claudia Mair Burney (David C. Cook)

Contemporary Series, Sequels & Novellas category are:

* Sisterchicks Go Brit! by Robin Jones Gunn (WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group)
* Summer Snow by Nicole Baart (Tyndale House Publishers)
* You Had Me at Good-bye by Tracey Bateman (FaithWords)

Contemporary Standalone category are:

* Dogwood by Chris Fabry (Tyndale House Publishers)
* Embrace Me by Lisa Samson (Thomas Nelson)
* Tuesday Night at the Blue Moon by Debbie Fuller Thomas (Moody Publishers)

First Novel category are:

* Blue Hole Back Home by Joy Jordan-Lake (David C. Cook)
* Rain Song by Alice J. Wisler (Bethany House Publishers)
* Safe at Home by Richard Doster (David C. Cook)

Historical category are:

* Shadow of Colossus by T.L. Higley (B&H Publishing Group)
* Until We Reach Home by Lynn Austin (Bethany House Publishers)
* Washington’s Lady by Nancy Moser (Bethany House Publishers)

Historical Romance category are:

* Calico Canyon by Mary Connealy (Barbour Publishers)
* From a Distance by Tamera Alexander (Bethany House Publishers)
* The Moon in the Mango Tree by Pamela Binnings Ewen (B&H Publishing Group)

Suspense category are:

* By Reason of Insanity by Randy Singer (Tyndale House Publishers)
* The Rook by Steven James (Revell)
* Winter Haven by Athol Dickson (Bethany House Publishers)

Visionary category are:

* The Battle for Vast Dominion by George Bryan Polivka (Harvest House Publishers)
* Shade by John B. Olson (B&H Publishing Group)
* Vanish by Tom Pawlik (Tyndale House Publishers)

Young Adult category are:

* The Fruit of My Lipstick by Shelley Adina (FaithWords)
* I Have Seen Him in the Watchfires by Cathy Gohlke (Moody Publishers)
* On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness by Andrew Peterson (WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group)

mair-francis

For You Women's History Month Enthusiasts

2009-03-20T21:41:00.002-04:00

Check out this fun gallery I wrote for Beliefnet:

http://www.beliefnet.com/Faiths/Christianity/Bible/Life-Lessons-from-Women-of-the-Bible.aspx

much love,

mair-francis

Friday, Third Week of Lent '09: The Gathering and the Scattering

2009-03-20T20:48:00.007-04:00

"He who is not with me is against me, and he who does not gather with me scatters." Luke 11:23

Look at us, lovies! We've made it to the half-way point between Ash Wednesday and Easter Sunday! I suspect it's gone like much of the spiritual life. We've gathered, and sometimes we've scattered.

We like to mull over the gathering days, when our commitment is strong and sure. Ash Wednesday was a gathering day. For the most part. I've had several of those, and I believe our Good, Loving Father honored my efforts to make Him more important that food, and cola. And He honored every moment I spent trying to learn, pretty much on my own, to pray the Divine Offices. Every form of alms I gave He blessed. He's pretty good that way.

Let's face it. You don't have to observe Lent. No one is going to come to your house and check to see if you've given up something you don't need, increased something you do, or are walking the way of the cross with Jesus. For Catholics, it's a private devotion. We're asked to fast and abstain on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday, but the rest is up to us.

I gave up red meat for Lent. I had it once, when I ate what was lovingly set before me. My kind host didn't know I was going meatless. I had it again, when I became ill and no longer prepared my own meals. When I was well again, I had a particularly self-pitying, faithless day and ate a BLT with my hubby. I also gave up soda. I had a soda with that BLT. I think, in fact, I had two. And I felt horrible, but it is what it is.

I suspect that, like my spiritual life in ordinary time, the Lent journey is just that: a journey. There are times we walk with all the swagger in us. And times when we slouch toward Jesus bone weary, and maybe with an attitude. I've noticed it's hard to look my sins, I mean truly. I find ways to take the sting out of the word, but sin is an ugly little thing, isn't it? Though it can pretend to be pretty and shiny. And I don't do myself any favors when I pretend it isn't what it is.

Sometimes I'm weak. Sometimes I'm wrong. Sometimes my heart is hard as stone. Sometimes, instead of gathering the things of God to me, I'm tossing them out of my sight, carelessly, foolishly. And when I look around and see nothing but emptiness around me, I wonder where all the goodness that was just right here has gone. Scattering sucks, even if, for a season, it seems like a lot of fun.

So what do you do if you've had chocolate, or cola, or over-eaten? Of if you've refused to give when you could have? What if you were short with your kids, or insensitive to your spouse? What if you did something you'd hoped you were done with, like had sex with your boyfriend? Or looked at porn again? What do you do with your big ol' sin?

Or what if you didn't do anything wrong, but you could have done right a little better than you did? What if you got weary doing well? What if you're doing great, but are proud of it?

I'll tell you what you do, what every sinner who became a saint did: get honest with God, and honest with yourself. If you are Catholic or Orthodox, go to confession. Don't try to clean it up, or make yourself look good. Let it out, and let it go. If you are Protestant, um, go to confession. It won't be look like it does when I'm before a priest, but it should look like it does when you go to a trusted brother or sister and say, "I'm struggling here." Choose someone who will love you, won't judge you, and who'll help you be reconciled to God. Deal with it, lovies. We don't do ourselves any favors feeling bad about ourselves and doing nothing. There is too much love in God to stay away because we're human. Let the first thing you gather be your "stuff," and take it to Jesus.

I was so comforted when in my readings I came open this simple statement: Often [God] is most active when He seems far away (Fr. Benedict Groeschel). Yeah, it's not rocket science, but I was glad to hear it.

The scripture I shared today wasn't the reading for today, but I thought it'd be good, half-way through, to talk about how in this Lenten journey I've both failed and achieved, gathered and scattered. I'm hoping we can take courage from one another. Those who have been more disciplined, share something in the comments that will strengthen your brothers and sisters. Those who have faltered, remember that you aren't alone, and we can always begin again. God really does have mercy.

Like I said, you don't really have to observe Lent, but if you do, there are so many gifts you receive. Every time you say 'no' to your flesh, you say 'yes' to God, and it's just good to deny yourself a little something. Don't you think?

So be encouraged. We're almost at the Resurrection. But there are crosses, and sometimes you'll find it's hard to bear them. Remember you're not doing any of this alone. It's Christ that's enabling you. You wouldn't even have the desire to please Him if He hadn't given you the grace to feel that. Lean on those everlasting arms.

Much love,
mair-francis
Photo: A Pomo woman demonstrates traditional seed-gathering techniques, photograph by Edward S. Curtis, c. 1924.

Feast of St. Joseph

2009-03-19T23:27:00.003-04:00

So, right in the middle of Lent is the feast of St. Joseph. In years past, even after becoming Eastern Orthodox, I never much got into him. He's a quiet sort. Unobtrusive, but some of the saints I love were very devoted to him, such as St. Teresa of Avila.

I had this experience last year during Lent. I'll admit, I watched a LOT of EWTN at that time. It was half my catechism, for heaven's sake. So, at a certain point they're all talking about St. Joseph, and showing programs about him, and I think, "Wow." He really was pretty cool. But it was more of an afterthought than anything. I still didn't get it until the enemy of my soul began to buffet me with a sin he finds particular effective: obsessing with Joe.

Isn't that ironic? Joe's name is Joseph.

So, I get discouraged, and here comes the enemy dangling bright shiny Joe before me. I'll just say, for my fascination slash obsession with that man, he really did suck, and most of my experiences with him, from losing my virginity and more, well, they pretty much sucked, too. And still, the enemy returns with the same old lie, that if someone that beautiful and fabulous ever showed any interest in me, then I must be okay. And I need to keep him in my life to keep assuring me I'm okay. I do know how flawed this logic is, but I can't even tell you how often it returns, which just goes to show you. The enemy really doesn't haven't many new tricks. Frankly, he doesn't need many. We fall for the same dumb sins, again, and again.

Last year, the same old stinking thinking cropped up, and once again, Joe dazzled in my thoughts. I got pretty sick of Joe. Thinking of Joe. Wanting Joe's approval, and worse! Suddenly there appeared on my television Fr. Benedict Groeschel. I love him. I mean love him like I love Brennan Manning. Seriously. So, there's Fr. Benedict, and he's talking about Saint Joseph, and he says he's the patron saint of unrequited love. It was as if a light came on in my soul. I'm not ashamed to admit I asked for St. Joseph's intercession. I wanted to stop thinking about Joe. I was embarassed and discouraged that he plagued me so often.

Today's reading said, "When Jesus' mother Mary was betrothed to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found with child through the Holy Spirit. Joseph her husband, since he was a righteous man, yet unwilling to expose her shame, decided to divorce her quietly... an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, "Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary your wife into your home. For it is throught the Holy Spirit that this child has been conceived in her."

I needed someone to pray for me that was familiar with my kind of pain: unrequited love. Imagine what it was like to be in love with God Made Flesh's mom. It's like being in love with the Ark of the Covenant! Seriously. What better choice for me to ask for help than St. Joseph, the patron saint of unrequited love? Who happened to share Joe's name. Righteous Joseph wanted to hide Mary's shame. But lovies, Mary, in truth, had nothing to be ashamed of. I did. I'd given the gift meant for a man who loved an honored me, uniquely, as his wife, to Joe. I had a raging, deeply painful, emotional affair with him years later, and long after that was over he still haunted me.

Thank God for saints. The communion of saints are a gift for a reason. God knew we'd struggle, so he gave us a whole community of overcomers, both alive in the natural and alive in Christ, to help us. It's an act of extraordinary generosity. The Holy Spirit connects us all, and the saints still pray. They pray with all their experiences behind them.

You know what? I stopped thinking about Joe after that prayer. It was as if I inexplicably received a grace-drenched respite in my mind. It was no doing of my own, I assure you, and I thanked my heavenly friend, St. Joseph, and the Great and Good God who connects us, for the gift. I think of that experience when St. Joseph comes to mind. To me, it was a miracle.

Maybe you're stuck on somebody who is impossible. Or maybe your situation is dire. Imagine having to be the guy who is Jesus' other father. Imagine having to protect Him, love and guide Him, and keep His mom happy. Imagine the flight to Egypt, and Rachel's children's blood flowing while you hide your little one with the big destiny, with fear and trembling, daring not fail. Joseph had bad things happen. He can be trusted to pray for your bad thing.

If you having a time of it, it's okay to say to your friend in heaven, "Say a prayer for me." God really did give us each other. It's right there in the creed, "I believe in the communion of saints." You don't have to worry about God being mad at you. You are no more "praying to the saints" as you are praying to me when you ask for my prayers. I guarantee you'll find a friend in St. Joseph. And I think Jesus is kinda soft when it comes to His dad.

I really do.

In love,
mair-francis

Wednesday, Third Week of Lent '09: Jesus and the Law

2009-03-18T23:38:00.005-04:00

Okay, so today I read:

"Jesus said, "I have come not to abolish the law, but to fulfill it. Amen, I say to you, until heaven and earth pass away, not the smallest letter or the smallest part of a letter will pass from the law until all things have taken place. Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments and teaches others to do so will be called least in the kingdom of heaven. But whoever obeys and teaches these commandments will be greatest in the kingdom of heaven.'"

I'm sad to say I don't spend a lot of time thinking on this passage of Scripture. Sure, a lot of my time is consumed meditating on Jesus, but there's a big disconnect when it comes Him and the law. So when I hear, "I have come not to abolish the law, but to fulfill it," the words startle and sober me.

What can they mean? I mean really? What about those of us who embrace grace (thank God!), but--uh oh--aren't particularly careful about how we live? Have we become so free in our thinking that we choose to live our lives in God cafeteria style, picking and choosing only what tastes good? In The King, Crucified and Risen, Fr. Groeschel's meditation today suggested that many are doing just that. Am I? I wondered. Have I passed over Jesus' words, "If you love me keep my commandments," the way I'd skip the spiritual equivalent of steamed Brussels sprouts in the cafeteria of the soul? I don't care for Brussels sprouts at all!

I'm grateful that Fr. Groeshel, after his smackdown, offered an effective remedy for apathy to the law Jesus came to fulfill. He said the Christian conscience is informed by the teaching of the Gospels of Christ, and the scriptures in general. He suggested a long look at the Sermon on the Mount. Go ahead. Read the whole thing, Matthew chapters 5 through 7. Read it with all the devotion you can muster. I know I'll be doing so in the days to come. I'd be pretty lost if left to my devices in the Old Testament, but I've always loved the Sermon on the Mount. That, I can take to heart, Lord, have mercy on me. That, I can try to live.

And the sermon is nothing to sneeze at!

I guess what I got out of today's meditations is that it all points to Christ. The entire Bible, from Genesis to Revelation. All I believe and do should be rooted in Him. I love that moment in Mass when the priest holds up the Body and Blood of Christ and says, "For it is through Him, with Him, in Him, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, all glory and honor is Yours Almighty Father, forever and ever." Through Him, with Him, in Him. The words make me swoon.

The best thing I can do is be like John the Beloved, and lay my head upon the Lord's breast. I'm certain there I'll hear his heartbeat for the poor, the forgotten, and the disenfranchised. After all, Jesus himself was all those things. And I'll hear His heart to love, love, love you, and even myself.

I don't know about you, but I needed the reminder.

in love,
mair-francis
http://www.zazzle.com/jesus_holding_the_torah_fulfillment_of_the_law_poster-228288244100693478

God to you! And Happy St. Patrick's Day

2009-03-17T12:53:00.004-04:00

Dia Duit, lovies! Which is supposed to be "God to you!" I love Irish greetings, and this one has to be my favorite of all!

It's St. Patrick's day, and I'm feeling all my Irish blood. It's gorgeous, unseasonably warm outside, and the flu is gone (mostly). I'm grateful to God.

I thought you'd enjoy some St. Patrick love, today. He's so cool. It was he who used the clover to explain the Trinity. What he did when a rare four-leafed clover popped up is beyond me. Legend also has it that he banished snakes from the Island. Love that his feast day rear emerges during Lent. I won't hesitated to ask his intercession for the many snakes that pop up in my life. I need all the praying friends I can get. Many people are familiar with his breast plate prayer, and I found it in this amazing prayer my friend Donna Ellis sent me.

Enjoy, and have a bit '0 corned beef and cabbage like we Burney's (nice Irish name. We really are Irish! I'm Thomas Kinkaid's cousin. Yes! That one!)

And don't forget the beer! Color it green if you wish.

Donna, thanks for the great prayer.

~HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY~

St. Patrick's Breastplate Prayer ("The Lorica")

I bind unto myself today the strong Name of the Trinity, by invocation of the same, the Three in One and One in Three.

I bind this today to me forever by power of faith, Christ’s incarnation; His baptism in Jordan river, His death on Cross for my salvation; His bursting from the spiced tomb, His riding up the heavenly way, His coming at the day of doom, I bind unto myself today. I bind unto myself the power of the great love of cherubim; the sweet ‘Well done’ in judgment hour, the service of the seraphim, Confessors’ faith, Apostles’ word, the Patriarchs’ prayers, the prophets’ scrolls, all good deeds done unto the Lord and purity of virgin souls.

I bind unto myself today the virtues of the star lit heaven, the glorious sun’s life giving ray, the whiteness of the moon at even, the flashing of the lightning free, the whirling wind’s tempestuous shocks, the stable earth, the deep salt sea around the old eternal rocks.

I bind unto myself today the power of God to hold and lead, His eye to watch, His might to stay, His ear to hearken to my need. The wisdom of my God to teach, His hand to guide, His shield to ward; The word of God to give me speech, His heavenly host to be my guard.

Against the demon snares of sin, the vice that gives temptation force, the natural lusts that war within, the hostile men that mar my course; Or few or many, far or nigh, in every place and in all hours, against their fierce hostility I bind to me these holy powers.

Against all Satan’s spells and wiles, Against false words of heresy, Against the knowledge that defiles, Against the heart’s idolatry, Against the wizard’s evil craft, Against the death wound and the burning, The choking wave, the poisoned shaft, Protect me, Christ, till Thy returning.

Christ be with me, Christ within me, Christ behind me, Christ before me, Christ beside me, Christ to win me, Christ to comfort and restore me. Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ in quiet, Christ in danger, Christ in hearts of all that love me, Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.

I bind unto myself the Name, the strong Name of the Trinity, by invocation of the same, the Three in One and One in Three. By Whom all nature hath creation, Eternal Father, Spirit, Word: Praise to the Lord of my salvation, Salvation is of Christ the Lord.

--St. Patrick, b. 387 A.D., d. March 17, 493 A.D.

with love,
mair
See you tomorrow for our Lenten journey!

Friday, Second Week of Lent '09. Nestled in Love

2009-03-13T14:26:00.002-04:00

So, I returned from my transformative trip to Lexington on Tuesday, as planned. What I didn't anticipate was the mild, blah feeling I attributed to travel and lack of sleep was the beginning of the flu. Three days of fever, coughing, sneezing, constant nasal drip, and a general misery, I'm left with scarcely a coherent thought. What does this have to do with Lent? Absolutely nothing.

All bets are off until I can get out of bed. Aren't you glad God is merciful. If it's one thing my Lenten readings taught me is how great and good God is, and how small and needy I am. I'm convinced Jesus loves babies, fools, and the sick. I feel like all of the above today. I'm trusting His mercy and providence to see me through the next few days. Thank God for Nyquil. Seriously. And soup. I have new respect for soup.

I have so many wonderful things to tell you. I just don't have it in me to share today. Hang in there with me, I'll be back, hopefully Monday.

For now, I'm nestled in the love of our Good God, and leaving you to your own Lenten devices. You may, however, feel free to tell me how things are going for you. Leave a comment. I'd love that.

May God bless us, protect us from all evil, and bring us to eternal life.

It'd be nice if he brought a little healing my way, too.

big juicy love,
mair-francis

Thursday, First Week of Lent '09: Tell No One Day

2009-03-05T12:08:00.003-05:00

Hello lovies,

For the last few days I've been whining about my weight and such. Today I stepped on an accurate scale at the doctor's office and was appalled at the number I saw. Let me tell you, I'm glad Jesus said, "Tell no one," about some things.

It's bad, honeys. Enough that I need to get alone and do some business with God. I'm going to Lexington with Lisa for a few days. I don't think I'll blog until I return. So, we'll see you on Tuesday.

Stay close to Jesus, and pray for me.

love,
mair-francis

Wednesday, First Week of Lent '09: The Sign of Jonah

2009-03-04T23:16:00.002-05:00

Today's reading was about the sign of Jonah, and I don't mean Thomas Merton's book.

"Jesus said to the crowd, 'This generation is an evil generation; it seeks a sign, but no sign will be given it except the sign of Jonah. Just as Jonah became a sign of the Ninevites, so will the Son of Man be a sign of this generation.'" (Lk. 11:29-32)

Jonah was a type of Christ, and his languishing in the belly of the whale for three days foreshadowed the time when Christ would face death for three days before His glorious resurrection. But what is God saying to me?

Am I looking for a sign? Waiting for the miracle that never seems to come? Sometimes I think I am. I've mentioned how hard yesterday was. Today brought its own struggles. It's easy to have child-like faith when everything is great and I'm the recipient of heavenly warm-fuzzies in spades, but on a day like today heaven seems to have moved without leaving a forwarding address.

I succeeded in abstaining from meat, but failed by overeating everything else in my kitchen. I showed up for the Divine Hours, but retained not a word of what I essentially read aloud instead of prayed. On a day like I had today I wish some messenger would come proclaiming that one day I really will act like I've got some sense. No sign was given.

Yet I, like Jonah, still hear the call to repent, and like the reluctant prophet, I resist my on-going conversion. It's much easier to be a big baby indulging in my oral fixation, food lust, and deeply ingrained habits, than to repent, and preach it to others, too. So what happens? I get swallowed up. My Jonah's whale is depression. It's a nasty, dark, stinky place, but it teachies me something. It's time to grow up and stop using food to fill the empty places inside of me. It's time to be a big girl and listen and respond to God's voice. "Repent," it says to me. And then, "Pass it on."

I ignored that voice today. The depression, despite my bravest efforts, consumed me. I hated the way my body looks, the things I did to gain so much weight, and the person I am to let myself go. Now, I am waiting for my rebirth, yet another conversion.

All I can pray is that the Lord have mercy on me, teach me to hear and give His message, and be ready to tell it before He spits me back out to my audience.

much love,
mair-francis

Tuesday, First Week of Lent '09: A Little Gratefulness

2009-03-03T23:45:00.003-05:00

Today was that day. The one that inevitably comes after you've tried so hard. I didn't want to pray the Hours. I was distracted and full of sorrow. Everything came hard. I needed help.

I guess I finally admitted how lost I feel. The job market is terrible in Michigan, like many other places, and I'm near the end of my advance money from books. Like many Americans I'm worried, and what's worse, I felt like I made all the wrong choices in my life. I don't feel very marketable in the big bad world, and although Ken's business has picked up exponentially, I still feel like it's up to me to be the provider, which totally isn't so.

If God hears the sighs that filled my hours today the way He hears me pray the Divine Office, He took pity. I languished in front of the computer for hours, seeking a little bit of direction. Finally I stumbled upon some You Tube Loyola Press Lenten retreats and heard a simple prayer, "Lord, remember the work of your hands." Or something like that. Vinita Hampton Wright is doing a series of videos for her new book, Deepening Days of Friendship. I think. I know I'm so vague, but I have company and can't link right now. Just search for them on the site. Anyway, she spoke so beautifully about trusting God to do the work of creating us. At least that's what I got out of it. Even if I got every other detail is wrong, I needed to hear that it was God making me, and not myself. Today, I'd given up on myself.

After I watched the video and prayed that prayer, my agent called. His words were like an antidote to my blue mood. He rooted me back in faith: in myself, in my future, and in God.

Later, my bff Lisa arrived with my Godbaby. I'm as content as a babe at her mamas breast. We've spent the evening with laughter and great joy. They are yet another tonic for my soul. Not much to say tonight, but that this Lent thing, and so much of the spiritual life gets hard. Today was that really crappy day.

And then there is our good God, showing up with a word here and there, smiling faces, and people that love you so much you just know you're the work of God's hands. And so are they. How could we not be with such grace abounding?

I'm one lucky--no, blessed--gal.

much love,
mair-francis

Monday, first week of Lent '09: A Little Lavish Love

2009-03-02T23:11:00.004-05:00

"And the King will answer them, "Truly I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me."

Today, I spent the better part of the day grocery shopping and cleaning house. I mean furiously cleaning. Literally. At one point I got so angry at Ken I pushed him in the chest. He thought my assault was hilarious, thank God, but I thought, "Okay, you went waaaaaay off the love track there, Lent girl." I was bitch with a broom (and dust rag) today. And I repent.

I also repent for saying bitch.

What is so striking about this frenzy is that I was cleaning to prepare for a visit from my bff. Said bff is coming because she knows I've been sick and she wants to help me clean. Only I don't want her to clean my terribly neglected house. I want to offer her hospitality. Aren't we a pair?

This year I've found a new dimension to Lent that I've never experienced before. I'm realizing that Lent is not altogether private. There is a wonderful communal aspect to it. Lent was about stripping away to see Jesus more clearly before. Now, not only is it about stripping away the excess, fasting, and being awareness of my sinfulness, but it's also about the joy of giving and serving.

Praying the hours is teaching me to see a big God involved in a small world. But as tiny as it is to Him, He's invested in it. It's like Saint Julian of Norwich and her hazelnut vision. She saw a tiny thing no bigger than a hazelnut. She asked the Lord, "What is it?" The Lord answered her, "It's the world and everything in it." This small thing in her hand. She said that's when she realized, "God made the world, He loves it, and He will take care of it. And we should take care of one another. Social justice, as it's presented in the Psalms and the Gospels, is for all God's Church. In fact, it's for everybody.

Today in one of my devotionals I read some reflections from Fr. Benedict Groeschel. I love that man like I love Brennan Manning, and y'all know how I love the Ragamuffin. Fr. Benedict said that people want to give for Lent to the destitute, but many of America's poor aren't really destitute. They may have most basics, but "...we all need frills," he said. "We need them."

I don't have much money, but a surprise $20 dollar bill made it's way to me. I was going to put it in my Lenten bowl for alms, but my daughter Abbie, who's been working, bought me a ticket to the local high school's production of The Wiz. Lately we haven't been able to have any entertainment. We don't even have cable anymore. After much wrestling I took the money and bought my little girls their own tickets. Yes, I felt guilty. In my head I was one of the disciples who thought the woman pouring expensive nard all over Jesus--worth a year's wages!--should have given the oil to them to cash in and distribute the proceeds to the poor. "Man!" I thought, "I could have sent an orphan to school for a few months or something." But Nia and Aziza enjoyed the night out with mom so much. Their happiness was my happiness. It was such a simple thing, and they've had so many losses in the last six months. So I let the poor children I served be my own Saturday night. There's a lot of Lent left. Together my babies and I can work to do something for a few orphans. I think God is big enough to provide for my girls and the less fortunate.

All that to say, we really do need frills. So, I'm blessing my friend with hospitality she won't expect, and she's blessing me with her humble service (I'll leave a corner in the basement for her to clean or something). Both of us get to be Jesus to one another, Matthew 25 style.

There are so many ways to show a kindness to someone. Go to a blog you visit in secret, and tell someone you're reading and you appreciate them. Bake a pie. Take a senior citizen to the doctor. Give a frill to somebody who doesn't get many. That's almsgiving too, and it's blessed, blessed, blessed. Like Fr. Benedict says, "You'll put a big smile on Jesus' face." After all, you're giving that frill to Him.

Much love,
mair-francis