Forgiveness, Being Grateful and Playing in the Line to Confession

      For the first time in over forty five years, I went to confession. It's a long story but in a nutshell; I was raised Catholic, practiced my faith as a Protestant for many years, then returned to the Catholic church a few years ago. Almost every Catholic has a funny story to tell about confession. Despite the anxiety-producing wait in line to have your chance at purging your conscience to the priest, it's really not that bad. As kids, we hated it and tried to avoid it like the plague. We agonized over what to confess. We agonized over rehearsing the prayers taught to us by the nuns so we wouldn't mess them up in the confessional and embarrass ourselves.We shuddered at the thought of Father Reilly's booming voice yelling at us from his hidden presence in the confessional. I recall the time he yelled after my younger cousin, "Come back here, you're not done yet!" We were all waiting our turn in the pews and Rich didn't hear the Father calling to him. We all waved our arms and whisper-yelled to Rich to, "Go back, go back! You're not done!" Oh Lord, good times, good times.

     Nowadays, I openly admit to my priest and fellow Catholics that I struggle with the Biblical case for confessing to a priest. I speak up in Bible study. I share the way I understand things and I seek answers for those things I do not know understand. I think everyone appreciates the lively discussions and we all come out learning so much more when we ask questions. The main thing I have learned about myself in studying the Christian faith is that 99% of the time I overthink things. I am so intent on finding the Truth, with a capital "T" that I do not allow faith and trust to lead me. When I do take a step of faith and fully trust that God has His hand in this, I am almost always blessed. So that is what I did for confession yesterday. Even though I may not agree with or understand the scriptures backing this practice, I figured I have decided to follow this Catholic faith so, I am going to trust.

     Once I made this decision, the rest was a piece of cake. As with all anxiety situations, it is best to run at it head-on and embrace it. So, I imagined myself eagerly rushing to the confessional, smiling with excitement at this opportunity to put my faith into practice. Instead of old Father Reilly sitting in there, I imagined God was waiting for me, smiling down at my child like faith. I spent the morning making a list of my sins for which I wished forgiveness. It was easy. I typed it up in Microsoft Word. This was serious. 

     I have been confessing and repenting of my sins directly to God all these years without ever typing them out. This process really gave me an opportunity to reflect on how I felt about these transgressions and how I would like to change. I would be verbally presenting them to someone else, a representative of Jesus, and allow another person to verbally forgive me. It was humbling. 

     Standing in line at St. Gerard's in Roanoke gave me time to get nervous again. There was choir music playing from a large speaker and the stained glass windows were beautiful to reflect upon. I heard french horns in the music and I imagined the angels blowing their horns because Leonora was going to confession. As each person before me emerged from the confessional room door, I glanced at their faces to see if anyone was crying. No, they all looked fine. I had no idea who Monsignor Golden was but his was the line I was in. Was he a yeller? Did priests even yell anymore? Was there a confessional booth in there or did I have to sit face-to-face with him? Would it be too dark to read my typed notes? Was I allowed to read my typed notes? I thought I best review them and try to memorize my sins while I waited in line. I told my friend who was in line with me to watch for smoke exploding out from the cracks of the door while I was in there. I hummed a death dirge under my breath.

     Finally, it was my turn. I opened the door and walked in with confidence. Monsignor Golden was sitting right there in a bright little room with an empty chair facing him. He was dressed in proper priestly attire with a beautiful purple shroud across his shoulders. He smiled and motioned for me to sit. 

     And I was forgiven! 

     As light as I am making of this matter, my faith is something that I hold dear and take very seriously. The sins upon my soul were a weight that God, my Father, always wants me to unburden to Him. Technically, I knew God had already forgiven me but this was a new step of faith on which I had embarked. 

    I must make note that this is my personal journey into my faith and I hold no one else to this standard nor do I expect anyone to hold me to theirs. We each have our own walk of life to take and this is mine alone and this is how I choose to do life and practice my spiritual faith. 

     The penance I was given by Monsignor Golden was to read the Bible passages about the Passion of Christ. He gave me no "Our Fathers" nor "Hail Mary's". I didn’t feel like reading the passion was penance and I will gladly do it! My only regret is that I wish I had asked Monsignor Golden why this was my penance. I would like to know the significance of how that ties will n to my sins. But there I go again, always needing to know the why's.

PS. I include this experience as ‘play’ because it fits the parameters for play. I felt safe, I had a connection to the others alongside me and I felt a belonging. There was also risk (Hell!). My friend and I quietly laughed to tears while we waited in line and I shared all my thoughts with her. I recall all of this with joy. After all these years, confession still does not disappoint.

    

     

    

Gratitude, Joy, and Play

A happy spring quilt mat that I am finally getting around to finishing.

     A randomized study in 2003 at UC Davis's academic lab studied gratitude. It found, "Those who kept gratitude journals on a weekly basis exercised more regularly, reported less physical symptoms, felt better about their lives as a whole, and were more optimistic about the upcoming week." 

    Gratitude, joy, and play have an important affect on our brains. Of those three, play can become lost for many adults. We get busy with life, jobs, child rearing, etc. It's easy to let go of play because we don't realize how important it is. Technically, play involves a feeling of safety among friends along with feelings of connection and belonging. You then throw an element of risk into the mix. If you think about childhood games like Dodge Ball, Hide-and-Seek, Tag, etc., there was a risk involved in being 'found', being 'It', or being hit with a ball. Those risks brought about excitement. Happy excitement does good things for the brain.

     I have been thinking about the joys of play after spending a day last week with my four year old granddaughter. She initiated a day of outdoor play that was sublime. We chased after bubbles, climbed a little tree, swung on the tree swing, climbed rocks, and made flower nests. All the while, she narrated what we were pretending and what my role was to be. Soon, I was completely caught up in the play and when the day was done, I slept soundly. There was only the slightest element of risk; as much risk as a Nonni will allow a four-year-old in a tree. But there it was. : )

     In 2009 I began this blog in the model of a blog called, "Three Beautiful Things a Day". It was intended to help me move through the grief of losing my sister Charlette to cancer. Recently I learned that, "Practicing gratitude does not erase difficult emotions and grateful people do not deny the difficult aspects of life. However, practicing gratitude helps us access the positive side of the spectrum, moving our brains back into a neutral position." (Curable)

     So, my intention is to use this space to bring back around Gratitude, Joy, and Play. The first two will be easy. Play will be a challenge because at this point the scope of my playing revolves around the Scrabble board. But considering my age, most play will involve risk. Heck, walking down the stairs involves risk! So, I trust the age factor will make it easier to come up with ways to play.

 

Oh This World...

     Some days it is a struggle to go about our business when the news of the world is so disturbing. I purpose to keep busy and lose myself in the day at hand but my heart aches beneath it all. Most days I am 'making' something; making dinner, making the garden, making something from fabric and thread, making a sick friend more comfortable, making someone laugh, and so on. When we create or minster to others I think we are attempting to turn our emotions into something tangible and beautiful. Whether it's music, painting, sculpture, or some stitching, we can't help but take the raw materials God provides us and fashion them into something expressive and wonderful. And then there are those who tear down. I won't describe those people because we all have known someone like that or have observed them in the news. There are a multitude of reasons for why people tear down, you can imagine. Builders up and tearers down, this is my oversimplified version of things right now.

    Spring is in full swing in Virginia and I don't take one bloom for granted.  Wednesday was the darkest, rainiest day and even that was a wonderful day, turning everything greener. It was a good day to craft and sew. I alternate between hobbies and lately I have been sewing clothing. Last year I found some basic, wonderful patterns from 100 Acts of Sewing. I enjoy sewing with natural fibers like linen and cotton and these patterns were a great success with those. I am expanding my wardrobe with a few new pieces of color this year. I am also trying out a shirt dress pattern that is new to me and a little bit fussy to make with a collar. I am nervous about making this one a success mainly because I want it to work out so badly. Before I use expensive fabric on a new pattern like this, I sew a mock-up out of muslin. I have tried many patterns over the years that either didn't fit right and need adjustments or were not flattering at all. Making them up in muslin gives me a chance to make adjustments where needed or to scrap the pattern altogether. I do need to force myself to take this extra step because it is time consuming but, it is well worth the time spent in the long run.

    When I was a teenager, I embroidered designs onto my clothing and I thought it would be fun to do a bit of that again. Recently, I made a cell phone carry bag out of a piece of linen that I embroidered (Embroidery pattern by Blackbird Designs). It turned out nicely so I decided to sew embroidery onto the pockets of the next tunic I make. One thing about handcrafts is that there is a lot of time to think while making things (or pulling weeds!). Sometimes I fill the quiet with an audio book or podcast and other times I just let it be quiet so I can think and pray. 

     Today at noon the Pope will consecrate Russia and Ukraine. To non-Catholics this won't mean much but in the Catholic faith this is an historic, meaningful event with the hope of bringing peace to Russia and the world.

 

Breathing

   Six years ago today my mother passed away. She died in my home, in my bedroom that we made into her bedroom. I am frequently reminded of her life and death there just for the fact of it being there. Everyone loses their mother and I'm not different than anyone else. But the baggage of childhood, the love of mother, the connected spirit and flesh that we share with our mothers makes that relationship, and loss of it, especially poignant. For my own sanity and self preservation, I push those memories aside because they are too sad and painful for me to recollect. I cope in ways that I am still learning and I focus on the good and I try to stay in the present. Now and then it is a little harder, like on anniversary days like today. For the final three days of her life my mother was unconscious. I sat by her bedside, held her hand, prayed, sang songs, and talked to her. But mostly, I listened to her breathe.

   I learned long ago, when studying Genesis, that when God created man he breathed life into him. Man's first breath was God's breath. In Exodus God tells Moses who he is by simply saying, "I am". God was was telling Moses his name and his name is existence itself.

    These days, I am learning how important it is to breathe. I have learned that when we are in fear or under stress, or extreme anxiety, we tend to hold our breath or we breathe fast and shallow. Part of meditation is to find "the breath" and ground ourselves simply by breathing. If our mind is going haywire, our heart is racing, and panic fills our head, these can all be brought under control by our conscious breathing, among other things. 

     A friend shared this writing today and it was timely for me on this day. It brought me great comfort and something to ponder.

 written by – Sandra Thurman Caporale

There was a moment when Moses had the nerve to ask God what his name is. God was gracious enough to answer, and the name he gave is recorded in the original Hebrew as YHWH.

Over time we’ve arbitrarily added an “a” and an “e” in there to get YaHWeH, presumably because we have a preference for vowels.

But scholars and Rabis have noted that the letters YHWH represent breathing sounds, or aspirated consonants. When pronounced without intervening vowels, it actually sounds like breathing.

YH (inhale): WH (exhale).

So a baby’s first cry, his first breath, speaks the name of God.

A deep sigh calls His name – or a groan or gasp that is too heavy for mere words.

Even an atheist would speak His name, unaware that their very breathe is giving constant acknowledgment to God.

Likewise, a person leaves this earth with their last breath, when God’s name is no longer filing their lungs.

So when I can’t utter anything else, is my cry calling out His name?

Being alive means I speak His name constantly.
So, is it heard the loudest when I’m the quietest?

 In sadness, we breathe heavy sighs. 

In joy, our lungs feel almost like they will burst.

In fear we hold our breath and have to be told to breathe slowly to help us calm down.
When we’re about to do something hard, we take a deep breath to find our courage.

When I think about it, breathing is giving him praise. Even in the hardest moments!

This is so beautiful and fills me with emotion every time I grasp the thought. God chose to give himself a name that we can’t help but speak every moment we’re alive.

All of us, always, everywhere.
Waking, sleeping, breathing, with the name of God on our lips.

Coconut Cravings

 

   I have been craving coconut custard pie for two weeks. I tried an online recipe last week that called for a fancy butter crust. I made the pie and shared it with friends only to be dismayed at the tough and soggy crust. Not to be deterred, and still craving coconut custard pie, I made another attempt last weekend. This time I used my plain, tried and true Crisco pie crust that my mother taught me to make decades ago. It was my intention to halve the recipe and make three small pies because this time only Steve and I would eat them. But then I got thinking that I was craving coconut custard pie pretty severely so why not make the whole batch of filling and cook the extra as custard. 

I haven't made custard in years but I knew it needed to cook in custard cups placed in another pan of hot water. I got out my mother's cook book for the cooking directions for custard and went to town. It felt really good to have the kitchen in full baking mode. This was something I did almost daily years ago when all the girls were young and we had lots going on. Now I mostly bake only if someone is coming over to help eat it or if we need desserts at church for something. The little hand pie in the photos is made from a leftover scrap of crust, not to be wasted. I filled it with a spoonful of raspberry preserves and a few frozen blueberries. It was a success it in own right and held up strong in competition with the coconut custard. Everything was delicious and four days later only one pie and one custard remain to be eaten. We will take care of that today.

    For instructions on baking the custard, I referenced this thick and heavy cookbook which was my mother's. She once told me she received it from the publishing company for selling magazine subscriptions sometime around 1942. This cookbook has everything you need to know about cooking anything. There are things in here that most of us would never cook today, like Pheasant Soup, Boiled Oyster Plant, or Sweetbreads Supreme. Clam Juice Cocktail anyone? However, this book is a wonderful resource and some of my happiest childhood food memories came from this book, like the recipe for Brown Beef Stew. Years ago I spotted a copy of this cookbook at a yard sale in Massachusetts and bought it. My mom was still alive at the time and still used her copy and I wanted one of my own. I think my sister has one copy and I have the other now. I know most of us don't bother with cookbooks anymore when you can quickly look up anything you want to make on the internet. I search recipes all the time that way. But when it comes to the old tried and true foods like coconut custard pie, mom made it best.

At the Bird Feeder

   

Everyone gets along for a moment

    Steve and I are entertained every day by the bird activity outside our kitchen window. For years we have had a birdbath next to the patio and we often laugh at the birds' antics in the water. This year, Tess and Blake gave us a bird feeder which we hung on a tree a couple of yards away from the birdbath. Both of these items are on the patio right outside our big picture window in the kitchen. From here, we can see the comings and goings of the birds all day long. In addition, the girls gave Steve a trail camera for Christmas. He has gotten creative with it by setting it on the ground beside a tray filled with birdseed in order to capture photos of the birds. The camera is motion triggered and takes a photo every so many seconds. By the end of the day we have hundreds of bird photos. Between the birdbath, the feeder, and the camera we have quite a thing going on. Who needs TV?

     We have observed that there is definitely a pecking order with the birds based on their size. It goes like this; crow, woodpecker, blue jay, red wing blackbird, cardinal, finch, titmouse, sparrow, chickadee. We have mocking birds and bluebirds here but they don't seem to visit the feeder, although they enjoy the birdbath. The littler birds all get along and are very sweet about dining together. The bigger birds, not so much. 

Look at those red feathers!

      Two weeks ago we saw huge flocks of robins in the field. Their numbers could be heard every morning from a quarter mile away. There was chatter all over the county about sightings of these flocks. As quickly as they appeared, they seemed to be gone. I assume they briefly stopped here on their migration back to the north. Yesterday was especially exciting because we saw red wing blackbirds at the feeder. As a young child, my father taught me that these birds were the first harbingers of spring in upstate New York. Each March my father would stand at the open front door and listen for them. He would get very excited when he heard those first calls of, "Cock-a-ree!" I can recall huddling by his side at the door straining our ears to catch their call. After those long winters up north, that call was a welcome sound to be sure!

     In a short while the birds won't need our seed anymore. We have already noticed that on the milder days they don't take as much seed from the feeder. They will still be very active on the birdbath throughout the summer. We will be watching them from the screened porch rather than from inside the cozy warmth of a winter kitchen. Knowing Steve, he will find a way to photograph them in the bath. He will move the trail camera to some other locations on the property with hopes to catch pictures of the elusive bobcat that I saw twice last year. If we are lucky enough to spot it on the camera, I will share it. Fingers crossed!

Little bird waits his turn.

Book Reviews

 Who doesn't love a good book? I feel lost when I don't have a current book to read. Like everyone, I have my favorite genres and I get excited when I hit the jackpot and find a good book to read. I would say that out of every four or five books I read, one of them is really good. I don't read romance novels nor much fantasy. I also can't read  anything containing graphic violence or sex. I don't find it entertaining or enriching. I decided these past few weeks that I needed positive, happy, interesting subjects. So the following list will reflect that trend. Although I linked these from Amazon, I don't always purchase from them. I like used books, Kindle books, borrowed books, Audible books (which is Amazon), and library books. I have used Goodreads for years as a way to keep lists of the books I have read, what I want to read, and what I never finished reading. It's a great website for browsing book reviews, too.

Every Day is a Holiday by George Mahood

This author decided to celebrate each day, for six months, with whatever national holiday it was assigned. There was National Walk Barefoot Day, National Curmudgeon Day, and all kinds of other zany holidays. He gave each day his all and celebrated it in whatever meaningful way he could devise. Being a dad with three children and a wife, he would often include his family in those celebrations. I laughed out loud at many of his stories. I listened to this on audible and the narrator's English accent reflected that of the author's. It's definitely a happy, funny book. To note, there is a bit of swearing if your listening aloud with young children in the room or car.

Diary of a Bookseller by Shaun Bythell

The author owns the second largest bookshop in Scotland and he has many stories to tell about the everyday running of the shop, the customers he encounters and the townspeople he crosses paths with. Shaun is sarcastic and a bit ornery but his sense of humor had me laughing at his tales. The audio book provided over nine hours of witty, interesting topics and a peek into a life of bookselling that I never imagined. It will definitely leave you with a desire to support your local bookshop and shaking your head at the crushing power Amazon has over small booksellers.

Three Men in a Boat (Not to Mention the Dog) by Jerome Jerome

This book was first published in 1889. It is a jovial story of three friends and a dog who decide to take a float down the Thames. It's a simple story reflecting the humor of the time yet remains thoughtful, witty, and often very funny. The boaters get tripped up on many occasions and have interesting encounters with local folks. "The story describes the incidents of their river journey, along with a multitude of humorous digressions and anecdotes, and musings upon the historical associations of passing towns and landmarks." The telling of how girls tow the boat along the canal had me laughing out loud.

Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir

Steve and I listened to this book on our drive to Savannah and back. It was an amazing science fiction adventure that had us engaged at every minute. Weir is a meticulous writer of science fiction, describing that math and reasoning behind his characters actions and encounters. The main character, Ryland Grace, is just an average scientist and middle school teacher who ends up needing to save the earth and other planets to boot. A great book for all readers, not just sci fi fans.

Next up on my list is, "Journal of a Trapper" by Osborne Russell and "Fifth Business" by Robertson Davies. I'll let you know how they go!

I did read three other books between the above listed and they were OK but not close to being a favorite. They were, "The One Hundred Years of Lenni and Margot" by Marianne Cronin, "The Rose Code" by Kate Quinn, and "One Two Three" by Laurie Frankel.