Flowers for Mary

Once, several years ago now, we bought our first house. The previous owners had cultivated a beautiful backyard, which, in the course of the four years that we lived there, I did not manage to completely ruin. Each spring, I would look on in awe at the beauty that was popping out of the ground, unbidden by me, but which was undoubtedly planned and labored for by my talented predecessor.

Having grown up without fresh flowers in my life, my new backyard was an embarrassment of riches. Such wonderful things as "volunteer" tomatoes, fresh chives, lilies, and hostas flourished in that sanctuary. But I will never forget the sweet-smelling, colorful roses.

When the first rose of the year would appear, we had a tradition in our little family to cut it and bring it with us to church. At that time, All Saints only had two Mary statues (I think we're up to five now!) We would go to the statue where the votive candles are lit, and offer the "first fruits" of our garden to our Lady.

Each week, throughout the growing season, we would look to see if there were blooming lilies or roses or other beauties we could set before our Mother as an act of love to her. We did not plant those flowers, but they were still fruits of our garden, and we were happy to offer them as a gift.

Those days, however, are long gone, and unfortunately I still do not have a gardening bone in my body. It has made me sad that my younger girls do not remember that little gesture, because we moved before they were born, and alas, all that's growing in our back yard is grass.

Yet last Sunday, I noticed my Leah (8) running back and forth in the front of the church while we were preparing for the Fire and Mercy musical inside. I saw her skipping and running back and forth from the statue of Mary. I realized she was gathering blossoms from the blooming trees, and dandelions, and whatever else she could find and laying them there at Mary's feet.



So many things about this touched my motherly heart as she completed her task. It was pure joy to see the happiness in her heart as she saw the beauty of the spring and was moved in her spirit to bring that beauty to her Mother as a gift. So simple. So humble. So perfect. Even without a garden, little Leah can find flowers to offer. Flowers for Mary.

Happy Good Shepherd Sunday!

A prayer from a 7 year old in the atrium for you as we celebrate the 4th Sunday of Easter!

Jesus said:
“My sheep hear my voice;
I know them, and they follow me.
I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish.
No one can take them out of my hand.
My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all,
and no one can take them out of the Father’s hand.
The Father and I are one.” John 10:27-30

Living Out the Answer

I remember being a teenager. I wish I could forget sometimes.

It's especially tough to be a teen when an adolescent tornado of hormones and emotions leaves you estranged from your friends and sometimes even your parents.

I remember being made fun of in the lunch room, betrayed by my friends for no other reason than just because they thought it would be funny, and being the target of a group of boys who nicknamed me "Ugly." They didn't call me that, they named me that. I remember driving my parents crazy with my moods and attitude. I could almost say that I barely survived adolescence.

I could almost say that. But it wouldn't be true.

Yes, I thought about suicide. Sometimes, in spite of the fact that I was loved desperately by so many people, I even thought about how I'd do it. But something always stayed my hand. Two things in particular come to mind: Hamlet and a photograph.

I must have studied Hamlet for a short period in the 8th grade, because this line stuck fast to me and wouldn't allow me too much room to contemplate that horrible act:

"O that this too too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!"

So that was one thing. God wanted me alive for some reason, even if I hurt like the blazes at the time.

But the second thing gave that first thing its power. You see, knowing God is against something wouldn't have meant much if I didn't deeply believe that God was for real. That second thing was a miracle that ultimately saved my life and made me who I am. It was a photograph.

This image was given to my father decades ago by his boss's wife. She discovered it after she developed her photos of a recent trip to Yugoslavia. She wasn't even Catholic, but the mysterious story of Mary, the Mother of God, appearing to children in Medjugorje, Yugoslavia (present-day Bosnia Herzegovina) was enough to prompt a pilgrimage to the site and to see for herself.

At the end of the trip, this woman took the final exposure of her film: a picture of the mountain where the supposed apparition was taking place. She was quite surprised when she arrived home to find the "woman" had appeared to her as well.

That simple picture of a beautiful woman with a dress of fire and rosary beads coming down from her hands looked to be superimposed over a mountain in the background. It came into my life when I was 7 or 8 years old and has since disappeared. But it was a secure confidence, a strong mooring to the existence of God and His love for little old me. In the dark times of my adolescence, when I couldn't even stand to look at myself, I still felt His loving gaze, and His strong hand holding me steady.

Many years later, when I graduated college, I took a job as a youth minister at a parish near Ames, IA. My job (among other things) was to prepare 10th graders for Confirmation. As part of the process, I interviewed each young person about their faith and understanding of God. One thing I asked each one was this: "If you could ask God one question, what would it be?"

One particular young girl (her name was Whitney), moved me deeply with her response. She said,

"Well, if I can ask Him a question, I suppose that answers the most important question of all: Do You exist? So..." Then she paused and added thoughtfully,

"I guess I'd ask the only thing that mattered:

'How do you want me to serve you?'"

Whitney's insightful answer helped me to realize just how much the powerful knowledge of God's existence had saved my life and given me purpose. I didn't wonder if God existed, because I knew it with my whole heart, mind, soul and strength. Therefore, only one question remained for me to ask Him: "How shall I serve you?"

I've been striving to live out the answer ever since.