Category: Personal Blog

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The Gentle Touch of God

I have never doubted the existence of God nor have ever questioned His sense of humor.

Let me share one of my stories that support my belief.

The summer before my senior year in high school, my friend, Laura, asked if I could take over a week of in home babysitting so she could go on vacation. I was beyond thrilled. The family lived in Iowa City but would come get me when they brought Laura home. The catch? Convincing my parents.  The only way this would ever happen was to pray for a miracle. That was no exaggeration.

I prayed and, to my surprise, God granted the miracle.

Norma, the mom, picked me up and I was on my way to Iowa City for a week. The best part was there were two days at the end of the week when Laura and I would be at the same time.

The first night we were together we decided to go out and explore the neighborhood. As we walked, we discovered a Goodwill box that was crammed full of clothes. It was too tempting to pass up. We crawled inside and started trying on clothes–it was like having our very own fully stocked dressing room. We found everything we needed. We could not wait to show Norma at breakfast the next day.

She was not pleased. In fact, she told us in no uncertain terms that we were thieves. Not only were we thieves, but we had stolen from GOODWILL. She was so angry with us. She was so deeply disappointed in us. We needed to take it all back immediately. She told us we should be ashamed of ourselves.

We were ashamed. Very ashamed.

Sobbing, we gathered up all our treasures and headed back to the donation box. On our way back we walked past the Catholic Church. I was still very upset so I asked Laura if she minded stopping.

We walked up the few steps and through the front doors. The air was cool and the wide open floor plan of the church was dark and comforting. As our eyes adjusted to the dim light, we found our way to the altar. Sitting close together, we talked to each other and to God. The tears started again as we told Him we had not meant to do anything wrong. For whatever reason, we did not see what we had done was stealing. In all honesty, we explained, we felt the two of us needed those clothes as much as anyone else did. We were sorry and asked for forgiveness. But most of all, we cried, could he please help Norma find a way to forgive us, too?

Time passed. We talked. We prayed. Slowly we noticed that the air in the church felt warmer, the silence less pressing. Smiling, tears drying, we shared an emotional hug. Turning to leave, a ray of sunshine topped the trees and illuminated the large stained glass window over the entryway of the church. As that beam of light angled towards us, a gust of wind caught the heavy front doors, slamming them open.

Holy Cow.

We each jumped off the altar, down the aisle, and out the door! We did not stop running until we were about a block from the church.

At the time, we did not know what had happened. Had God visited us in the church in Iowa City?

My heart says yes and my heart is so blessed by the memory.

I am…

B…simply being…

Peace

 

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More From the Confessional

I shared my First Confession story yesterday. I’m not sure why I remembered so much about it. I think it was  because it happened during a very short time span when my life was “normal”. We were a typical Catholic family for the time. My Dad converted to the Catholic religion when he married my Mom. Mom helped me learn my prayers and made sure I had that special dress along with the extra special hair style for my all-important day. Father Lana was the first priest I was old enough to remember and was our parish priest for several years. Looking back, our parish must have been one of his first, if not his first assignment. I say this because many years later, he was the principal of the Catholic grade school my niece and nephew attended in Waterloo. This fact is just one example of how certain people have always been in my life–even if it has been very tangentially.

My other memorable confession story happened not long after my First Confession/Communion. We went to my grandparents for Easter. As every good Catholic knows, you have to go to confession before Easter. I was so excited because I was part of the “adult” group. Everyone got in the car and we drove to Sacred Heart, my grandparent’s parish, in Fort Dodge, Iowa.

Okay–here’s the little detail I missed. It is one of the first and one of the most blaring examples of not knowing what you don’t know. I had only gone to confession at my little church. You remember, our little church that had one side for the priest, one side for the confessor. At this much bigger church, there were two sides to the confessional. It was like there was one “active” side and one side “in-waiting”. I never noticed. I was so nervous because I was about to tell some new priest my sins. What if he thought I was really bad? My whole entire family was with me–along with at least a hundred other people. I had to really get this one right.

It was my turn. I had my sins tallied and in order. I walked into the confessional, knelt, looked at the window, and began my confession. Sure, it all looked different but I expected that–that screen in front of me must be a lot thicker because I could not see the priest at all.

Silence.

Oh no.

I looked up. I could now see a dim outline of the priest. He cleared his throat and asked me if I was ready to say my confession. Well, I thought to myself, hadn’t I just done that? They must do things differently here in Ft. Dodge. I told him I couldn’t think of anything.

Silence.

He sighed. He told me that I needed to go back and examine my conscience some more so  I could come back and make a good confession.

I walked out of the confessional and back to the pew where I had just been a few minutes earlier. I thought and thought and thought. I was very confused.

I looked around to see my Dad looking at me. He came and sat beside me, whispering why I was still sitting there? I began my detailed story.  As my words spilled out, I could see him beginning to smile.  He was beginning to see exactly what had happened.

He put his arm around me and slowly turned me around, showing me the two sides of the confessional. He explained how it was different from what we had at home.

As an adult I can see this must have created quite a dilemma.  Does he send me back in line or does he tell me to say three Hail Marys and three Our Fathers and be done so we could all go home? He left the decision to me…

I scrambled back in line, completing one of my first lessons on how somethings are the same but different.

Yes, God certainly does have a very wicked sense of humor.

I am…

B…simply being…

May God continue to bless us all.

Love and peace, y’all.

 

 

 

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Bless me, Father…

Memories. Lately they have flooded my head. Last night I woke up thinking about my First Confession and First Communion.

I was thrilled to see a picture of my First Communion survived all the moves I’ve made over the years. I’m thinking that in itself qualifies as an honest to God miracle.

This picture was taken at our house on first street in Traer, Iowa. My two sisters are standing with me, Beth on my right and Susan on my left. I was so proud of my beautiful dress, vail, and shoes! I felt like a princess, ruling the day to the max because I was literally the center of attention.

Growing up Catholic is a source of stories for many of us. My first confession was such a serious thing for me. I was going to have to remember all my sins, tell them all to the priest, and then try to not do them again. I agonized over how many times I disobeyed my parents. This was my first confession so this covered a LOT of time. How do you even count that many times? How many times had I been unkind to my sisters? I’m not sure I could even count that high.

Our parish Priest, Father Lana, talked with us that day as we formed a line beside the confessional. Father told us to do our best–that the number of times we sinned was not as important as being truly sorry for them. And, he said, with the grace of God, we needed to work hard so we did not sin again.

Well. That took some of the pressure off. I could ease up on the number deal and concentrate on my future. Still, I was thinking, this is going to be hard.

Father Lana lead our pre-confession prayers. He gave us all a final review as he entered  his side of the confessional. In our little church, there were only two doors, one for the priest, and one for the person making their confession. This was a detail I did not appreciate until I was much older.

The line progressed, each of us making our confession. While we waited I could see that some kids were super fast, others not so fast. This began to bother me. If I said all I had planned, I’d be in there a pretty long time–a lot longer than most of the kids ahead of me. I’d have to talk fast or change my confession. My mind was spinning and it was almost my turn. I could come back, right? If I’d forgotten something, I could say it next time–when there were not all the other kids watching…waiting.

It was my turn. I walked in and knelt before the little screened window. I heard the window open and I was asked if I was ready to make my first confession. I began, as I had practiced, bless me Father, for I have sinned. This is my first confession…

I told Father my sins and all the times I could remember committing them. When I’d been quiet for a few seconds, he asked me if I was done? Had I searched my soul and was this my best confession?  I hesitated. Had I forgotten something obvious? After some thinking, I replied, “Yes, Father.” He gave me my penance, three Hail Marys and three Our Fathers, and told me to say my Act of Contrition.

I completed my prayer. I’d done it! I’d made my first confession. My sins were forgiven. Three Hail Marys and three Our Fathers and that’s it. Much easier than I’d expected.

I thanked him and stood to leave. As I turned I heard Father Lana say, ” That was a very good first confession, Barbara. God bless you.”

Wait a minute.

My young mind was so surprised. How had he known who I was? I mean, confessions were top-secret. He was sworn to secrecy, right?

Oh, the sweetness of these innocent childhood memories.

I am…

B…simply being…

I wish you love and God’s blessings.

Peace

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Stories

Stories–we’ve all got ’em.

I find it interesting so many are writing about their lives–the list of memoirs grows daily. My guess is they’ve always been there–I’ve just never noticed–I wasn’t ready.

The spark igniting my “getting ready” came unexpectedly. I was watching the Today Show one morning–actually paying attention instead of attempting to do something I am not good at–multi-tasking. One of the segments this particular morning was about Prince Harry and his support of Lady Gaga. They’re teaming up to help battle mental illness–Lady Gaga had recently gone public with her mental health issues as Harry opened up about the challenges he’s faced due to the tragic death of his mother, Diana.

I was quickly pulled into his story. If someone like Harry had such difficulty with the depth of resources he had, I suddenly had a very big ally and mentor. If he could openly discuss his mistakes and challenges, I began to believe I could, also.

Everyone knows the story of Diana’s death. As I watched and listened, I began to think about my life. I questioned if even I knew my story. This was the moment I began to write my story. It has not easy nor will it won’t be fast. It’s a tale that’s been buried for very long time.

As if to spur me on, I heard this morning that Prince Harry and his brother, Prince Charles, have done a documentary about the life of the Mom. This is the first time they have both talked openly about her. Yes. My mentors continue to cheer me on.

Katey Sagal talked about loss and grieving in her book, Grace Notes. She lost a baby very late in pregnancy. A baby she’d named, Ruby. Katey eventually found solace by way of a Buddhist teaching about young loss. Her words soothed me, comforted me, and gave me so much insight into many of my own struggles. I’ll share:

“Her purpose had been fulfilled in the short time she was here. 

Which meant I’d have to believe she was here for a “Purpose”. 

That we all are. 

I believe that. 

I don’t know that we always know what that purpose is, but I do believe we all have a destiny to be fulfilled. 

…it was explained to me that powerful souls come in and out of this life quickly, because their work here is done. They have passed on the lesson they were meant to pass on. Nothing left for them to do. With that concept in mind, I asked different questions. I had a shift in perception. 

Ruby was fierce. She did so much in her short stay.

She taught me I could hold more than I’d ever imagined I could. Her loss had let me revisit all that I had lost before her. My mom, my dad, my young self…They all showed up, unfinished, undone. 

I grieved. 

All of them.

All the sudden passings that I’d stuffed away.

She let me feel my strength. 

She confirmed my faith in something greater than myself. That God of mine got redefined, and my partnership renewed.”

Oh the teachers show up in the damnedest places sometimes!

I am…

B…simply being…

Love y’all.

Peace

 

 

 

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Happy Friday

I feel I’ve been very serious this week so it’s time to change it up a little bit. Here’s what I found to help start off the weekend.

I’ve shared a few of my favorite books and here is another: The Lonely Hearts Hotel, by Heather O’Neill. This is a wonderfully written book. The subject matter is not my usual choice and there were times when I thought I could not/would not finish it. I am very glad I did. I must warn you, note the emphasis used here, there are parts of the book that may be upsetting and plain out-and-out offensive to some readers. My advice, give it time. Let it set in your head for a while. I did. I found I needed to let the story evolve and I needed to evolve along with it. It’s a detailed and involved story, taking place in Canada during the depression. Ms. O’Neill introduces her list of characters to us as they age, expanding and developing each characters individual and unique story. These people–characters in the truest sense of the word, are all interwoven together in ways that reminded me of an O’Henry short story. Her word choice and phrasing are so refreshingly original I found myself caught off guard at times. Some sentences I had to re-read and roll the words around in my head for a few minutes so I could fully appreciate the imagery and the simple power of them all.

You know by now that I usually have examples, so here are a few lines:

“…what happens when an unwanted child has an unwanted child?”

“Every day the average person will witness six miracles. But it isn’t that we don’t believe in miracles–we just don’t believe that miracles are miracles. There are so many miracles all around us.”

“He didn’t want to read the newspaper or listen to the radio anymore. He didn’t want to be a grown up. There are some people who are just no good at it.”

Have a great weekend. Take some time for yourself while staying safe and cool.

I am.

B…simply being…

I love you.

Peace

 

 

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Reading

I have been reading a LOT lately.

I’d like to think that I read to learn something. I know better than that. I read so I can delay doing my own writing. Lately, the words do not come easily and I fumble with what and where I begin this and every story.

I finished Katey Sagal’s memoir, Grace Notes, this morning. I did not know who Katey Sagal was when I began this book. Now, I feel like I found an ally–a kind and warm confidant who knows and understands so many things–one of those people I mentioned yesterday–people you don’t have to say much because they just understand–they get it.

I loved her book. I took my time reading it. She joined me for morning coffee and in the evenings, she came by to talk as I had a glass or two of wine. I read her words very carefully. So many things were shared so openly and honestly. The two of us had many one on one therapy sessions. The book may be closed but those stories seem to have a life of their own.

Ms Sagal, I wish I could sit on my front porch with you. Tell you, face to face, how much you taught me while validating so many parts of my own story.

Thank you for writing your book. Thank you for sharing so much of yourself. There are many powerful things I noted so I could think about them later. A few of the earlier notes/quotes:

“Growing up, I had found a way to survive the empty spaces in my family and in myself, to not look too closely at my external or internal circumstances.” 

“Act as if…God forbid somebody thinks I don’t know it all–constantly acting as if…”

“…I became a chameleon-like, morphing into what or who was in my world. Taking on the traits of others in hopes of bumping into me. As a result, for years, I thought I was you…”

“The cost of having a mother die too young and a father work too much. There is no one to mirror, and so you don’t know how to be who you are.” 

Yes, my friends, she pretty much nailed it.

I am…

B…simply being…

Love y’all.

Peace

 

 

 

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Thinking

Today has been a day to think. One that I think I’ll grab a tall glass of chilled white wine as I write about it.

Michael and I watched the first Cars movie a few days ago. I love that movie. Today we were on the way to an appointment and saw an old truck that looked just like Mater. Because Michael had just seen the movie, he pointed it right away. That just made me smile. It is just one of the best things about being with another person for a long time–you can share a lot of things without saying a lot of words. These days, I appreciate that more than I can even begin to share here.

Seeing the Mater look-alike made me think about my favorite quotes from that movie. Mater is talking to Lightening as he circles around him. McQueen is so impressed because Mater is going so fast and in REVERSE. The tone of admiration is lost on Mater. He replies: “Shoot, I don’t need to know where I’m going, I just need to know where I’ve been.”

Exactly.

I need to know where I’ve been. The more I remember, the more important remembering becomes to me.

I am enjoying looking back–most of the time.

The dynamic is very interesting–to say the very least. My working platform is based on memories from my very young and innocent self. This fact alone is a set up for some inner conflict because the so-called adult mind that is now working to de-code all of this is no longer young nor innocent.

Onward we go.

Day by day.

I am…

B…simply being…

Love and peace, y’all.

 

 

 

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The Fourth of July, 2017

I know.

I said I was taking the day as my own Independence Day. That was true until I found the two quotes I am sharing with you today. Both gave me pause so I felt the need to share.

By the way, both read just as well tomorrow as today…just in case you did a better job of staying true to you own Independence Day!

The first quote is very simple and spoke to me immediately:

We on this continent should never forget that men first crossed the Atlantic not to find soil for their ploughs but to secure liberty for their souls. ~Robert J. McCracken

The second, took a while to read and even longer to fully appreciate:

Have you ever read the Declaration of Independence…? If you have, you will know that it is not a Fourth of July oration. The Declaration of Independence was a document preliminary to war. It was a vital piece of practical business, not a piece of rhetoric; and if you will pass beyond those preliminary passages which we are accustomed to quote about the rights of men and read into the heart of the document you will see that it is very express and detailed, that it consists of a series of definite specifications concerning actual public business of the day. Not the business of our day, for the matter with which it deals is past, but the business of that first revolution by which the Nation was set up, the business of 1776. Its general statements, its general declarations can not mean anything to us unless we append to it a similar specific body of particulars as to what we consider the essential business of our own day.
      Liberty does not consist, my fellow citizens, in mere general declarations of the rights of man. It consists in the translation of those declarations into definite action. Therefore… reading its business-like sentences, we ought to ask ourselves what there is in it for us. There is nothing in it for us unless we can translate it into the terms of our own conditions and of our own lives….
      The task to which we have constantly to readdress ourselves is the task of proving that we are worthy of the men who drew this great declaration and know what they would have done in our circumstances. Patriotism consists in some very practical things—practical in that they belong to the life of every day, that they wear no extraordinary distinction about them, that they are connected with commonplace duty. ~Woodrow Wilson, Presidential Address at Independence Hall, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 1914 July 4th

My wishes for a very safe and jubilant 4th of July.

I am…

B…simply being…

Peace and love to y’all.

 

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Independence

Happy Fourth of July Eve!

I’m thinking that this week is probably either very easy or very difficult in the working world.  My hope is you all were able to take some type of extended break these past few days.

Our home network is working off and on–never on when I want or need it to be. After another few calls to Verizon, I’ve learned that they have a very high number of service calls at this time. Surprise! Once they determine the cause of our problems–maybe several days more–they will determine what type of credit to apply to our account. Well…what can you do? Every person I talked with was extremely nice as they delivered the news I did not want to hear. Did not help me or my cause to show my frustration–will see what the next few days bring our way. Until then we will work with the network we have when we have it. Crabby making, for sure.

After all of these network issues, I question so many things about our world and all the technical things we have at our finger tips. I am beginning to realize just how much subtle power I freely give this thing called the internet. I see this as a red flag for me to review this point the next couple of days. Right now, I am typing as quickly as I can, reviewing as I go, so I can get this written before I lose my connection.

I’m thinking tomorrow I’ll declare my personal Independence Day–a day free from technology.  Wouldn’t that be a great way to celebrate the holiday set aside to celebrate our freedoms? Make this a day spent in the moment, awake and aware of the beauty surrounding us while fully engaged with each other.

Why not declare your own Independence Day?

I am…

B…simply being…

God bless you and please, God bless America.

Love y’all.

Peace

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Erma

It certainly  has been a challenge working on my computer these past few days. For whatever reason, I have spent hours upon hours with Verizon trying to find the reason or reasons, we have very limited access to the internet. We seem to have connections to certain things for a very short amount of time. WordPress time seems to be especially short.

Our oldest dog, Bud, had a dental procedure done yesterday. As usual, my neurotic self was out in full-blown worry gear, anticipating any possible complication while creating a few thousand other scenarios. Oh the energy wasted! As predicted by everyone, he did well. By mid afternoon he was home–where he continues to recover peacefully–in spite of my hovering.

In case I continue to have problems,  I wanted to wish you all a very happy and safe Fourth of July. A few words of caution. Please be mindful of those who are sensitive to the sound of fireworks. This is a very hard time for them. Be kind. For you dog owners, check ID tags to make sure all the contact information is current. That old, disconnected land line number with an old address will not be helpful. We updated all our tags to just cell phone numbers. One other quick thought. Those tags won’t help you or your dog if the collar is lose and your dog pulls out of it when he or she is panicking. Make sure those collars are snug. This happened to us earlier this summer so it is fresh in my mind. That, and I had to re-tighten everyone’s collar after visiting the groomer. It always surprises me how much I have to alter the collars.

I’m leaving you with words from one of my favorite columnists. I read her column when I was a young woman–when I thought I knew so much about the world and my place in it. Little did I know how little I really knew about that or anything else.

I miss Erma. She had a way of pointing out that many things were pretty messed up but she found a way to make us feel okay–that we’d be just fine–because, after all, we were all in it together.

You have to love a nation that celebrates its independence every July 4, not with a parade of guns, tanks, and soldiers who file by the White House in a show of strength and muscle, but with family picnics where kids throw Frisbees, the potato salad gets iffy, and the flies die from happiness. You may think you have overeaten, but it is patriotism. ~Erma Bombeck

I am…

B…simply being…

I love y’all.

Peace