Anna's act of kindness

I have a picture somewhere that was taken when my son Aaron was a baby. We are at my brother Maurice's house, and my sister-in-law Debbie is holding Aaron. I am sitting next to her and we are laughing about something. Every time I see that picture it brings me so much joy. It reminds me of our carefree days as a young couple with a new baby.

Our son is now 28 years old. This past August, he married a lovely young woman. Our daughter-in-law Anna is wonderful. It is like God has blessed us with another daughter. She loves our son unconditionally, and that means the world to us.

February 2 marks one year since they were engaged. Shortly after their engagement, Anna came to us and said she wanted to do something at the wedding to remember and honor our daughter Lauren. It was not something she had to do, it was something she wanted to do.  She decided she would have one less bridesmaid than Aaron had groomsmen. She was leaving open the space that Lauren would have filled had she still been here with us. We were overwhelmed at this gesture, but more so at the heart of this young woman who was to become our daughter-in-law.

The day of the wedding came, and Anna surprised us yet again. In the wedding program she had our daughter Lauren listed as "Bridesmaid in Memoriam" along with the other bridesmaids. After I was escorted down the aisle, Lauren's groomsman (my son Aaron's oldest friend Gene) came back to bring me a bridesmaid's bouquet. Attached to the bouquet was a locket with Lauren's picture in it.

Anna did not have to share her special day in this way. I venture to say that not many young women would. But she did. That little act of kindness spoke volumes to what kind of woman our son was fortunate enough to marry. It tells you the kind of family she comes from, and it tells you what kind of heart she has. She has already proven to be a wonderful wife to Aaron and I know that she will be a great mother to our grandchildren one day. I know Lauren would have loved having her as a "sister" as much as we love having her as a "daughter."

DO sweat the small stuff?

Ever known anyone who loves to make a mountain out of a molehill? Sure, we all have. Maybe we still do. Are those little bitty things really that important?

When my daughter died 7 1/2 years ago, my perspective and priorities changed forever. I began to realize that those little things were not that important. My priorities became different.  I was determined to do the things I thought Lauren would expect me to do: take care of her dad and her brother; attend Mass and participate in the parish through our music ministry; continue to be a part of our community; take care of myself... All of that was understandable. I knew she would expect no less. 

What I didn't expect was my reaction to other people when they went on living their daily lives. When others made mountains out of molehills I got restless and angry. I could not fathom how, in the midst of my grief, others could talk about "having a bad day." Once I told someone who said that, "You have no idea what a bad day is." I know now that God did not want me to act that way. 

As time went on, I realized my attitude needed to change. I began to thank God that people did not have to live my grief, and that being able to sweat the small stuff was actually their blessing. They did not have to experience the feeling of things being so out of whack and so surreal that you could hardly make it through the day.  On top of it all I knew in my heart that Lauren would not have wanted me to be bitter and angry. She loved life. She was not that kind of person, and neither, thankfully, am I. 

The "recovering" me knows that sometimes sweating the small stuff is normal. Its ok, to a certain extent. The "Catholic" me knows the truth: God is in control whether we make mountains out of molehills or sweat the small stuff.  No matter what, he is in the driver's seat. He expects us to minister to others, to forgive people of their shortcomings, as he does ours, and to treat all his children with respect, love and care. He expects and longs for us to strive for one thing: to have a heart like his. 

My Universal Family

I resisted the urge to tag this post with something like outer space, extraterrestrial, or aliens, although it would have been funny. On the other hand, it may have brought some traffic I didn't want. When I say I have a universal family I mean it. 

If you look up the word universal, you might get a definition like this: Of, affecting, or done by all people or things in the world or in a particular group. You will also see that one of the synonyms for universal is catholic. That is what I am talking about. I belong to the universal or Catholic Church, and my family includes over a billion people at any given time. 

My exposure to my "family" was for a long time limited to the people I knew in my parish, relatives and maybe a few I might encounter along the way. On a few occasions I would be made aware of our universality: attending Mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York, a retreat at Christian Brothers with our youth, watching the coverage of John Paul II's visit to the U.S.  

About 2 years ago, I discovered a new way to connect with my family: Catholic media. I started listening to the Catholic Channel on XM. I connected with people on Facebook and Twitter though one of the shows on the channel. I joined Facebook prayer groups. All of a sudden, I have a network of people outside of my local parish to share my faith with and it is awesome. They keep me accountable, they make me laugh,  and they share my triumphs and sorrows.

We all come from different places, we are different ages, we have different vocations, and we may even speak different languages, but we have one thing in common: we all belong to that universal church and share Jesus at every Mass. 

American Idol memorial?

In a week or so, the 11th season of American Idol will begin. In a week or so, my husband and I will be watching it. We will watch until the winner is announced.

I have heard people talking about how boring it has become, or maybe how cheesy it has become, but we watch it for a different reason than probably any other viewer in the entire world. We watch it in memory of our Lauren.

Lauren was here for the first season, which ran from June 11-Sept. 4, 2002 as a summer replacement. She saw the 2003 shows, and we were in the midst of the 2004 season when she passed away. She did not see who won that year, although she had her favorites. She really loved the show.

The next year, when AI returned, we decided to watch it for Lauren. And we have watched every season since. In a strange way, it brings us closer to her. It is, of course, only one of the ways we remember her. But we think about her when the show is running, wondering what she might think about the silly antics of the host and judges. Who would she chose as the winner? What would she think now that Simon and Paula are gone? Thinking of that brings us joy.

To some, it might seem silly, but to us, it is just one of the ways we remember our sweet girl.

The Samaritan Towel

Mama loved that towel. It sat in a place of glory along the back dash of her baby blue 61 Ford Fairlane and we were not allowed to touch it. Even on cool summer nights sitting in the back seat when she drove with all four windows down. We better not touch that beach towel.

It was all different shades of blue set in a mosaic pattern. Blue like her eyes and like her car. Her favorite color. For some reason, she thought it dressed up her car.

Mama was a waitress in a small, but popular diner in Spartanburg. In those days, waitresses wore starched white uniforms that made them look like nurses almost. Mama never left the house unless her uniform was bright and clean, her hair was all in place, and her make-up was immaculate. She looked like a million dollars when she left for work every day.

One day as she drove along Hwy 176, she was past Pacolet, and approaching Glendale when she noticed a figure lying on the opposite side of the road. People were passing him by and not stopping. Not being able to stop in time, she turned around and went back to see if he was ok. When she got there she realized why no one was stopping.

There was no blue on the man lying there. Only the brown of his chocolate colored skin and the red from the blood that had soaked through his clothes from the wounds. She knelt down and realized he was still alive. In a flash, she decided what to do. She ran to the car, grabbed the beloved towel and covered him with it. Telling him to hang on, she ran across the road to her cousin's roadside stand and called the police and ambulance. She called her boss and told her she'd be late. Then she went back to wait with the man. Her towel was no longer clean and blue, and her uniform no longer starched white.

Once the ambulance came, she turned back, went home changed clothes and went on back to work. As the months went by, she never worried about her towel anymore. We did wonder what happened to the man.

That could have been the end of this story, but it wasn't. A few months later, there was a knock at the back door. When I went to the door, there was a family standing there. The lady held a beautiful chocolate cake, and the man held a towel with all different shades of blue set in a mosaic pattern. The two kids looked scared to be there. I called for Mama to come.

The man started to thank her, and Mama stopped him short. "Our friends come to the front door," she said. When the man started to protest, she repeated her statement and closed the door. A few minutes later, there was a knock at the front door and there they stood. She invited them in, and made a pot of coffee for the adults to enjoy with their chocolate cake. The kids all had milk and cake.

I never knew the man's name. I never saw him again that I can remember. The only thing I remember is that my mama loved that towel, but not so much that she would not stop to help a stranger, no matter who he was.

My personal debt crisis

All this talk about the debt crisis got me to thinking: to whom do I owe a debt?

Of course, the first "person" to come to mind is God. Actually I owe a debt to the first, second and third person (of the Trinity). He has been so good to me. In addition to having parents, siblings, and an extended family who loved me, I ended up with a wonderful husband with whom I share the vocation of marriage, and two great kids. I am about to gain a lovely daughter-in-law that is a gift from God to our family. I have a network of loving friends who bring me joy every day. God has been so good to me. I owe him a debt of gratitude each and every hour of every day. Too many times we take the things He gives us for granted and we forget to thank Him for those things. We just end up taking them for granted.

The debt I owe that I find most important is the one I owe to Jesus. He gave Himself and gives Himself to me every day. He loves me enough to say, "Take and eat, LaJuan" even though I know in the bottom of my heart that I am certainly not worthy. Just in the last year have I fully began to realize the significance of the Eucharist and what it truly means to me. I guess it is better late than never. But that is how He rolls, isn't it? He loves us anyway, and gives Himself to us fully whether we appreciate it or not. I just love Him so, I cannot fully express it. But He knows my love is true.

The new missal changes or would you like some cheese with that whine?

This Advent, some changes are coming to the English speakers in the Catholic Church. We will begin using the Third Edition of the Roman Missal. In this edition, the English has been translated to be much closer to the original Latin, and we (and the celebrants) will be learning some new parts to the mass.

I will preface this by saying that I am no Catholic scholar or theologian. My understanding is that when they translated the Missal from Latin to the vernacular, we ended up with what I like to refer to as the "Kum by Yah" version. It's a wee bit soft, compared to the real translation. It's ok, but it's just not exactly right. I'm not saying that we have been saying something wrong, I just think we are going to be saying it better in relation to the Mother Tongue of the Church. So here we are saying things our way when the rest of the Church is saying it the right way? How is that Universal again?

I love the folks who like to complain about it. You know them. They are probably in your parish, among your friends, or even in your family. They are flapping their gums in Catholic Facebook groups and on blogs. They say things like, "This is not going to be easy," or "This doesn't make sense to me. Why do we have to go backwards?" (We're not going backwards, we're going back. Big difference.) They say, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." (It is broke and they did fix it.)

How about those Irish Bishops who are just flatly refusing to comply. Really? So, when you guys went to Bishop School, you just missed the class on obedience? (Catechism 101, fellas). I'll just bet you expect your priests to be obedient to YOU, don't ya?

Then there are the folks who whine and ask, "Why do we have to learn something different?" Or, "I am comfortable with Mass the way it is. I don't like it." (You don't get a vote)

Hey, it's not like you are a member of the Church founded by Christ himself or anything. Oh yeah, and last week when you were at Mass, your priest (and mine) was in persona Christi and he offered you the Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity of Christ in the Eucharist.

Personally, I don't want to be "comfortable" at Mass. I want to jump for joy when I receive the Eucharist! I want to speak to the Lord using the same words as the rest of the Body. So, teach me 10,000 new words and I will learn them all gratefully.

"Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed."

And with your spirit.