by Liz | May 22, 2012 | main
Wisdom observes that the rain falls on the good and the evil. Bad things and good happen on the say day. What looks to be a blessing now may be seen as a curse later and that which is seen as a curse or great misfortune now may later turn out to have been the best thing that could have happened. My mother always told me that “life isn’t fair.”
My friend went to bed Saturday night and never woke up. At this point, I have no idea why she never woke up. She was only 51 (several years younger than I am); she was energetic, full of life and love for her God, her children and her grandchildren (not to mention so many others in her life). She gave a lot, and gave up a lot, to be my setups boss for the most recent Women’s Cursillo in the Mobile Archdiocese. We disagreed about many things and, I believe, held each other in great respect and love through our different approaches. We agreed on many more things in this life. She frustrated me at times, and God knows I frustrated her. And we laughed and laughed and laughed in each other’s company.
She helped me to know that while I don’t have a strong personal devotion to the Rosary or to St. Joseph, what I can truly appreciate is the fact that she did. I will always treasure the special rosary she gave me this spring… the one crafted from one that I believe was her mother’s at one time. The one with the missing/broken bead and the St. Teresa of Avila medal carefully added by her (St. Teresa was our “Patron Saint” for the Women’s Cursillo this time around); Yes, she gave it to me with the missing bead, and pointed it out — we are not perfect, and it was so perfect in it’s imperfection.
There is a part of me that is screaming “Why?” and a part that is yelling “This is NOT RIGHT!” and an even bigger piece that is just downright mournful about that gaping  hole that has been ripped in the fabric of my daily life by her untimely departure. I think of our discussions over the past few weeks and wonder about some of the things that we talked about: uncertainties about the future, not being sure which way we were being called to go, pain and hurt in some relationships, and healing that seemed to be happening almost in spite of us. I need to talk to her and share with her the pain of losing a friend and ask her help in dealing with it — and then it smacks me between the eyes that she can’t be there for me because she is the one that I’m missing.
Time will make this bearable. Time will bring perspective. It always does. One must walk through the loss and learn to love all that it has to teach. But, forgive me for wanting to jump ahead and skip this part.
‘Manda — I love you, and I miss you.
by Liz | May 15, 2012 | main
Maybe this should be titled “Gratitude” or perhaps “Reflections by a Skeptic.” Â However, I think “Gift” works as that is what I’m reflecting on.
There are some relationships that of late have seemed strained and distant. I believe I have some understanding of why this might be. The misinformation that gives rise to  it is painful. The desire to jump up and shout “You’ve got it all wrong!” and proceed with a defensive stance is strong but probably not a useful response.  So I sit with the situation, and I wrestle with understanding and forgiveness. And I am seldom of a mind to believe in the Divine Intervention.
On Sunday, in the midst of much disorganization and chaos, I pulled a dear friend aside and asked her to pray over me. She obliged, calling the Spirit to bring healing and wholeness to the immediate situation. I felt a bit of calm, a bit peace and a hope that I would be able to work through the babble and chaos with grace. That was good enough.
Good enough until I was face to face with a couple of people that had exuded a coolness in my direction of late. In every case, there was warmth and peace. An unspoken  closing of distance surfaced. Over and over I noticed these flashes. And I marveled. It seems that the Holy Spirit decided that my expectations set the bar a bit too low. The Spirit was not in to simply meeting my expectations – Her vision went far beyond.
Thanks to my friend for her presence in prayer. Thanks to the Spirit who breathes out healing and peace. Thanks for the gift that was, and is, so much greater than expected.
by Liz | Apr 21, 2012 | main
I’m taking a class this term with OLLI – “Writing Our Lives.” One of the questions posed in the reference book we use for the class (The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing, Sharon M. Lippincott) is “Why are you writing?” Obviously there is no right answer to this question. But, it caused me to struggle a bit as I reflected on the “Why?”
My writing is not to tell my story for my children and grandchildren. If they find my writing interesting, that is wonderful. But, I write to tell my story to myself. Â I write to sort my memories which are dominated by the emotions of the moment/event instead of objective observances. Often, I can recall how I felt, but not what caused me to laugh or cry. This is strange, since I overtly make decisions by thinking through things. This is not so strange when I recall that big decisions are made based on my gut.
Writing is a way to walk back through a memory and put flesh on it. Writing forces me to not just have an emotional response, but to sit with it and hear what that emotion is telling me. It might be telling me about myself or about another person. If I remember fear, writing about it helps me to sort through what made me afraid [or sad, happy, content] and learn not only what I fear, but why. Writing is helpful because it helps me to name my fears and joys and sorrows. And, if have found that in real life, just as in magic and fantasy and folklore, if you can name something, it loses a lot of it’s control over you.
I suspect that the unpronounceable name of God, YWHW (or whatever those letters were) was affirmation of the fact that we can never truly name or tame God. We can however name and take some control over other things and relationships in our lives. Writing is my way of doing that.
by Liz | Feb 8, 2012 | main
Anyone who knows me is not surprised that I find the current English mass translation to be rather poor. In general the translation seems poor, cumbersome and does not invoke a sense of beauty or better understanding of what we celebrate. I find it distancing.
There is an exception: one of the responses I learned, and repeated, Â from the beginnings of my journey within the Roman Church went this way:
Lord, I am not worthy to receive You, but only say the Word and I shall be healed.
The current translation is now:
Lord, I am not worthy for You to enter under my roof, but only say the Word and my soul shall be healed.
(OK, I’m not positive I have the words exactly correct, but I think I do.)
It’s the “enter under my roof” and “my soul will/shall be healed” that have had the impact. When I heard and said the former version, I was focussed strictly on the Host — that little wafer that I received. Not that this is a bad thing, but the “enter under my roof” and the addition of the word “soul” seem to broaden my understanding. I now reflect on allowing God to enter into my “house” – into my “home” — into my life in general. My house is the world, the heart and the mind where I live. Â When I say the words “under my roof” it calls up a vision of welcoming God into that space where I live. And, the grounding for where I live, day to day, in physical terms or in emotional or spiritual terms is my soul.
Now, I’m not sure what the intent of the change was. For me, this opens doors. It gives me something more concrete to work with. It points to the places where I live and to the reasons and forces that empower me to move day by day. What a beautiful surprise!
by Liz | Dec 20, 2011 | main
Today’s gospel is one of those where the angel Gabriel comes to Mary:
The angel Gabriel was sent from God to a town of Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the house of David, and the virgin’s name was Mary.
And coming to her, he said, “Hail, full of grace! The Lord is with you.”
But she was greatly troubled at what was said and pondered what sort of greeting this might be.
I have to admit that I’ve had this reaction — someone greets me with a smile and a message that is sooooo positive. And my first reaction is one of suspicion. What does she want from me? Anyone/anything that happy to see me must want to eat me for dinner. The list goes on from there, but you get the idea.
And so, I look to Mary for the followup. She hears the rest of the story and ponders it a bit. And then she simply asks – “How can this be?” That is where I fall short, it seems. I hold my questions and suspicions close and don’t reveal my hand most of the time. I can only ask for Mary’s simple courage as she wonders aloud “How?” She doesn’t try to sidestep the issue, she doesn’t play at false humility — she just goes with it.
It seems I must accept that the questioning is essential, but so is the acceptance.
