MyOneWord.org

As an extremely goal oriented person, New Year’s is a great time for me.  I love the idea that the New Year is a blank page and I can write whatever I want on my page.  So for years, I would take the entire month to come up with my goals.  At one point I even had categories for my goals; personal, financial, career, health, home, etc.    I know it sounds obsessive, and I suppose it was, but it really worked for me.  Probably because I didn’t stress on the goals, I simply dreamt them up and then tucked them away. The way I figured it, I would do my best and whatever happened, I still came out ahead.  So I always enjoyed at the end of each year, pulling out my year’s goals and seeing how much I had accomplished.

A couple of years ago, I heard a new idea being shared about New Year’s resolutions that really intrigued me.  The idea was that most of us make a New Year’s resolution based on a problematic behavior (or two or three) that we have struggled with for years.  So we resolve in January to fix this behavior and by February,  we have long forgotten this resolution.

The suggestion was that our resolutions seldom work because they focus on the type of person we want to become rather than who God wants us to be. So, what if our hopes for the year centered on who God wanted us to become, instead?

The concept being offered by My One Word organization is, rather than a litany of doomed resolutions, you simply choose one word that is your vision for the year.  When you choose a single word, you have a single focus. You are moving toward the future rather than swearing off the past.

Hmmm.  One word.   I decided to give it a try.

To begin, you envision yourself at the end of the year.  You invite God to assist you in this vision. What kind of person do you want to be, does God want you to be?  This process took some time, as I mulled over all the characteristics that I wanted in my life and in my soul.  When you have the vision of the person you want to be at the end of the year, you choose your one word.

In my overly obsessive way, I gathered my children and grandchildren together and asked them to choose one word for their year as well.  After all, the journey is always much more fun together!

I loved the words that my family chose.  My oldest daughter, a single mother, was just ending a tough year.  She, like many Americans had lost her job, her oldest son had a bicycle accident that resulted in a serious head injury,  (he is fully recovered, praise God!) and she was trying to get back on her feet.  She chose abundant as her word.

My grandson Christian, who was just entering high school, chose courageous.  What a great word for a young man embarking on this part of his life!

Madelyn, eight years old at the time, chose trustworthy.  When I asked her why she chose that word, she said because she really wanted to be “Student of the Month” and you had to be trustworthy.  She didn’t know what trustworthy meant, so I was happy to help her look it up in the dictionary and talk about ways she could be trustworthy.

My sweet husband chose cultivate. What a great word.

As for me, after much consideration and so many great words to choose from, I chose the word, light.  My personal mission for many years has been “to be a blessing.”  So I thought my word would be blessing.  But as I meditated and prayed and spent time listening to the Lord, I felt called to go deeper.  And soon the word light came to me.  Jesus is the Light of the World.   I want to carry that light and share it with everyone, everywhere.  Fear, shame and the enemy live in the darkness, but they can not survive in the light.  I wanted the light of Jesus to always shine through me to everyone.   Light became my word.

It was amazing to see how God worked in our lives after we chose our words.  At a parish mission, Father Dominic Briese (same last name, no relation) offered a CD called “You are the Light of the World.”  A woman I work with began to seek me out to inquire about her Catholic faith, which she had left. She has now reconciled with her Lord and her faith. Praise Jesus!  Madelyn became “Student of the Month.”  Christian had a terrific freshmen year and is such a courageous young man.  Candice found a great job, and her life truly was abundantly blessed as many things turned around for her that year. Our parish has a beautiful rose garden loving cultivated by S.H. (sweet husband).  Wow.   Thank you Jesus, for your unending support and affirmation. If you would like more information about how to choose your one word or support for the journey, visit http://myoneword.org/

 What will be your one word for 2013?

Copyright 2013 Jean Briese 

Unexpected Christmas Gifts

It was Christmas Day, and we planned to attend the 10:30 Mass. At 9:45 we were in our bedroom getting ready for Mass when the doorbell rang. Since we live off of a dirt road and are fairly far from most folks, it is rare that the doorbell rings unexpectedly.

It was my sister, with whom I had not spoken for five years. I raised her children, and now I have her biological granddaughter, 16-month-old Allie.  Allie has been in my home for the last three months. My sister is standing on my doorstep with her arms full of presents and she wants to see the baby.

Needless to say, we are late getting out the door. The trip to Church is silent, as we are stressed by being late and by all that has occurred in a few short minutes. Much later I will reflect back and realize that this was a grace to be offered reconciliation on Christmas, and certainly an acceptable reason to be late.  And interestingly enough, reconciliation offered because of the birth of a baby.

But right now, all that escapes me as I dread walking in the door after Mass has begun on Christmas morn. I am just stressed.

I convince myself that my only alternative is to go home, and so decide that God (and me) would prefer I be late to Mass. We walk in after the procession has begun. The Church is full. A familiar face smiles and motions me to a seat… not in my usual section, of course, that is full. I am directed to where the choir would normally sit during their “breaks.”

The reading centers me. It is about the shepherds in their fields. It was just a few months ago that I sat in the shepherd’s field outside Jerusalem.  I entered a grotto in the field, decorated to memorialize the event we are hearing about in this reading.

Over the arch of the cave as you enter are the words “In Excelsis Deo.” This simple hole in the rock standing in the field, where even today you see shepherds in the outlying fields, is simple and in many ways, not unlike any other cave on a mountainside. We walk down into the cave and there is a manger scene of the babe, Mary, Joseph, the shepherds and angels. I seat myself on a rock that seems to have eroded away into a bench. The space is small, and we fill it standing shoulder to shoulder. And then spontaneously, we break into song, “Gloria! In Excelsis Deo.” The music is absolutely beautiful; it is as if the angels are singing with us. Really. I am overcome. I can’t sing; I can’t speak. I feel as if I have stopped breathing and time is frozen. Tears are rolling uncontrollably down my face.

I ask myself, “Why, Lord? Why here? Of all the places we have gone and we are to go, why am I overcome in a cave in a field?” And of course, the answer comes to me. Because I, like the shepherds, have been called to find Jesus. I have spent years coming to my current relationship with Jesus, and I have been called to hop on a plane and travel thousands of miles to see where He was born. To walk where He walked. To see where He died for me. And I am near. Like the shepherds, I am overcome with the glory being presented. I realize that I am just a shepherd in the field, come to find the King, worship, honor, praise Him, and to share the Good News that He has come for all. My second Christmas Gift.

As Mass continues, the incense is lit. As the aroma and smoke fill the room, I am transported back to Bethlehem. I am kneeling at the site where our Lord was born. I am kneeling at the site where His manger was believed to sit. The incense burns here all the time. I never thought I would appreciate the incense as much as I do now.

During the Liturgy of the Eucharist, the Eucharistic Ministers gather around the altar. I am on my knees watching as Father Lopez prays the words of the consecration. Because of the way the EM’s are standing, I have a very narrow, limited view. It is as if I am looking through a telescope; there is a small opening between two EM’s where all my attention is focused. While I peer through this opening, all I can see is the bread and Father’s hands. Hands are over the bread. They move up and down, blessing the bread. Hands lift up the transubstantiated bread that has become Jesus as I hear the words, “This is my body, given for you.” I am struck by this view. I see nothing but Father’s hands and bread that have become Jesus. It is as if they have united together, human hands and divine grace. I will receive communion with Jesus today because Father has given his hands to be used for this grace. I realize that if Father had not said, “Yes, Lord, I give you my hands to do your Will,” I would not be able to have this great grace I am about to receive. All over the world, there are hands offering this grace that would not be available without the ”Yes” of God’s servants called to priesthood.

I am struck with the simplicity with which our Lord offers greatness. I am struck by the faith given to our priests, who said “Yes Lord, my hands are yours. My thoughts, my body, my heart-all of me is yours.”

I am filled with gratitude that you said  ‘yes” and gave yourself to our Lord and His will.

It was truly a blessed Christmas, and the best gifts I received were not wrapped or sitting under a tree.

This Christmas, let us be open to the gifts of the Holy Spirit and let us remember with gratitude, our priests, who bring us Jesus.

Copyright 2012 Jean Briese

Grandma’s Wrinkles

As I lay on my bed with four-year-old Madelyn, we gazed lovingly into each other’s face.  I looked deep into her eyes with a love that only a grandmother can understand.  I was overcome with awe and the power of a Lord who allows me to be so blessed with a beautiful family created out of the love that Don and I have for each other. That love and our awesome God created a beautiful little girl.  She took that love and went on to create another beautiful little girl.  And here we lay,  gazing lovingly into each other’s faces.  “Grandma?” 

“Yes, Dear.”  I smiled back, thinking what a wonderful moment we were sharing.

 “Your face is getting a little old.” 

Okay.  Back to reality.

“Why do you say that?”

Madelyn grabbed my hand and said, “See your face looks like the back of your hand.”

Sorry I asked.

“Yes Madelyn.  Grandma’s face is getting a little old.  See this wrinkle here, right under my left eye.  The one that is just a little more pronounced than the others?  That is no wrinkle at all. “

“When I was a very little girl, not much older than you, I accompanied my mother on a shopping trip.  The beautiful dresses, with their long swaying fabric, hung from the rack all the way to the floor.  A small girl like me could go under the dresses inside the rack and hide.  I jumped up to the rack and hung by my arms, just like the dresses, and with my legs I pushed myself back and forth so I swayed like the fabric.  And then as every mother would predict, I fell, catching the corner of my eye on the base of the rack.  Our shopping trip abruptly ended, as we left for the emergency room and a couple of stitches to the corner of my eye.  That is no wrinkle. That is the curiosity of a bright young girl, just like you.”

“See these wrinkles around my eyes.  Those aren’t really wrinkles. When I was a young lady, eager to fall in love and full of romantic notions, I met a very handsome young man, a dark-haired fox we liked to call him.  His name was Don, and I sat on the steps of the front of the school reading my Romeo and Juliet English lesson, waiting for him to come outside.  Eventually he came outside, noticed my reading and suggested we study together.  I asked him if he would like to accompany me to my band picnic.  He did! We went to Encanto Park, and after a day of picnicking and canoeing in the canals, we shared our first kiss.  As I smile now remembering it, I can feel the corners of my eyes turn. Yes, dear Madelyn, grandma’s eyes get all squinty remembering the laughter we shared.  Four years later, we went back to Encanto Park where your Papa proposed.  It has now been 35 years or more since that day on the front porch of the school, and your Papa still makes my eyes sparkle and the corners crinkle. Those aren’t wrinkles, Madelyn; those are the marks of love, from young romantic love to a content, satisfied love.  Those are the marks of a lifetime of shared love and laughter.”

“See these wrinkles around my mouth? Those aren’t wrinkles at all.  When your mother was just a baby of less than two years, she too was full of youthful curiosity. She climbed up onto the hearthstone of our brick fireplace and tried to balance and walk across.  She made it about halfway before falling and splitting her face open under her eye.  As I waited in the emergency room with my tearful, bleeding baby girl, I pursed my lips together in worry.  This, of course, was only the first of many times I pursed my lips together as Candice, Matt, Dan and Megan spread their wings, learning to fly and sometimes falling.  These aren’t wrinkles, Madelyn. These are a mother’s concern and care for her little ones as they grow up. “

See this one in the middle of my forehead? You can only see it when my forehead is scrunched in an almost frown.  It is rare, but pronounced when it comes together. That is not a wrinkle.  When your Great Grandpa Hill passed on to heaven, when your Great Grandpa Briese was lost unexpectedly, these were times of deep sorrow.  The tears flowed and the brow furrowed as I struggled to come to terms with loss of those who were the strong leaders of our family, those who made us feel safe.  That torch has now passed, and that awesome responsibility at times brings my forehead together in deep thought.”

The trend today for youth is to tattoo their bodies, leaving a permanent symbol to reflect their uniqueness, their individualism. Some choose foreign symbols to represent a value or character they deem important.

I have nature’s tattoos.  These aren’t wrinkles at all, but the badges of my life; the curiosity, the happiness, the worry, the loss, the laughter, the care and the love.   A life lived fully with passion and integrity, each wrinkle is a reminder of a life richly blessed.  I have earned each of these wrinkles, and I wear them with pride.  “Yes Madelyn, in a world obsessed with surface looks and to a young eye, I am starting to look old. “

“My prayer is that as you grow you will learn to look beyond the surface and see the inner beauty in yourself foremost and in others as well.  I know you will.  You have a great God and a good mother.  And someday my dear, I pray you have your own wrinkles to commemorate your life and loves as you raise my great grandchildren and future generations.”

Copyright 2012 Jean Briese

Blessed Francis Xavier Seelos

Hurricane Katrina was the deadliest and most destructive Atlantic hurricane of the 2005 Atlantic hurricane season. It was the costliest natural disaster, as well as one of the five deadliest hurricanes in the history of the United States.

In February 2007, 18 months later, HIMSS, the Healthcare and Information Management Systems Organization held a conference in New Orleans. I attended for work to support a client who was demonstrating a solution I had sold to them.  I was filled with pride to support New Orleans in their efforts to rebuild their economy and their city.  I asked my husband to fly out there with me and stay the weekend to see the city.

The trip did not go quite as planned. There was still a lot of cleanup in New Orleans needing to be done.  We walked around Jackson Square to  find street lights still lying in the road as passersby stepped over them to cross.  We read warnings and were advised by locals to stay within a few blocks, as there was still much crime outside of the main tourist areas.  We headed out with optimism, eager to spend money with local business owners, and were greeted immediately by a street con man who swindled money from us.

Prior to leaving, a dear friend of mine had recommended, a “place I had to go while in New Orleans.”  She wrote the name and address on a slip of paper which I tucked in my bag.  I pulled it out our last day in New Orleans, and we decided to check it out.  Leery after our earlier experiences, S.H. (sweet husband) decided we could walk, and we grabbed a local map and headed out.

As we walked along the roads, we passed the Convention Center and the industrial district.  I don’t remember exactly how many miles we had to go, but it sure seemed like we were walking for a long time.  I inquired again as to if we should just take a cab.  No, S.H. was sure the destination was not that much further, and suggested a short cut.  The short cut took us through a residential area.  As we walked down the street, we saw many open doors; I could feel eyes peering at us.  I began to feel afraid, which reached its peak as we approached the end of street and it was a dead end!  At this point, folks were starting to wander out of their homes to stare at the intruders.  I was overwhelmed with fear as they gathered.  It was clear that we didn’t belong here.  We turned around to walk faster just as it began to rain, catching us with no umbrellas.  Now I was frightened, my adrenaline was racing, and I was getting soaked.   “I am getting back to the main road and getting a cab,” I said and began to walk so fast, I just might have been running. With adrenaline racing for both of us, it was about as far from a pleasant conversation as you can get.   My mind was racing with thoughts such as, “How can you put us in danger, in order to save a few bucks?  Who cares if the cab driver goes around the block?  At least we would be safe!”  I can only imagine what S.H.’s mind was thinking as I walked about 10 paces ahead of him.

Finally, we reached the main road and I hailed a taxi.  S.H. wanted to go back to the hotel, but I was adamant that I was going to my destination. Even though we were barely able to speak to each other, we hopped into a cab, and I gave the cabbie the address.

For about 15 minutes, we had a tense, silent ride as I calmed myself down. Then it became apparent we were driving around in circles, passing the same locations and going through more residential districts that didn’t look anything like what we were expecting.  Finally, after the third pass of the same place, the cabbie came to a stop and said, “Here’s your address.”  We got out, and it was clear this was not our destination.

Honestly, I don’t remember how we made it to the Seelos Center.  I think it involved more walking, which is why I have probably blocked it from my memory.  When we arrived, the doors were locked. We had come all this way, and it was closed for the day!  Unbelievable!  I looked up toward heaven and said, “Really God, really?”  Just then, the gate opened and a lady with  purse in hand, clearly ready to leave for the evening, asked, “May I help you?”

“We wanted to visit the shrine to Blessed Father Seelos,” I stated.  “We are closed for the evening, can you come back tomorrow?”  “Our plane leaves tomorrow for Arizona,” I said.   She paused for a moment as if she was considering any other options.  “Okay, come in, I will stay a little late and let you visit.”

Our guide took us into the church and explained that she was the assistant to the pastor.  She began to give us a tour of the building.  As it turned out, she took us into the church, which, had we been there when it was actually open, would not have been available to visit, as construction workers were present repairing damage from Katrina.

If you don’t know the story of Blessed Father Seelos, visit the web site at http://www.seelos.org/   An amazing man, Father Seelos is most known today for the many healing miracles credited to his intervention.  You can purchase relics at the Seelos Center for those who are ill and in need of healing.  He was also known as an expert confessor and spiritual director, with folks lining up for the sacrament of reconciliation.  The web site tells us Father Seelos’ constant endeavor was instructing the little children in our faith. He not only favored this ministry, he held it as fundamental for the growth of the Christian community in the parish.

Of course, as we walked in, we knew none of this.  Since it was after hours, our guide led us through the church and told us about her own healing miracle.  Her daughter, born and pronounced severely mentally challenged, blind, deaf and dumb, not expected to live through her first year.  Her daughter, when we were there, was a young woman in her twenties, not blind, deaf or dumb and, although still challenged, a functioning beautiful young lady.  Her passion and faith were evident as she patiently took us through the church.  She left us at the shrine, where people come from all over to pray for their intentions.  Although her day was over and she was eager to return to her family, she graciously offered, “Take as much time as you need.”

Don and I silently offered our prayers.  My mind wandered to my daughter and to my grandchildren.  A single mother, she has done an amazing job supporting her children.  I prayed  for her and my grandchildren to find their way back to their Catholic faith.  Desperate for my daughter and grandchildren to have the peace of Christ, I bargained with God.   “Father, please bring my children back to their faith and, when I get home, I will get Children’s Liturgy started in our parish.”  I have no idea where this thought came from, but I was suddenly passionate about the children.  “Father, take care of mine,  and I will help take care of yours,”  I bargained.   I wrote my intentions for my daughter on a slip of paper and left it in the box provided.

The return home was almost as eventful as the trip to the shrine.  However, we made it safe and sound.  I later discovered that my husband’s intentions, although we had not discussed or even been prepared for, were the same as mine.  The next morning we boarded the plane to return to Phoenix.  As our plane landed, I received a phone call from my daughter.  “Mom, I am thinking of going back to church,” she stated.  “I was driving by St Patrick’s and I stopped in and talked to someone. I signed the kids and I up for classes and I want to go back to church.  The reason I liked St Patrick’s was because they offered Children’s Liturgy of the Word at all the Masses and they seem so welcoming to children.  My kids need that since they really haven’t grown up going to church.”

Wow, talk about an immediate answer.  Thank you, Blessed Father Seelos!

As I had promised, I called our Director of Faith Formation and inquired, “What would it take to get Children’s Liturgy started at our parish?”  Her response was, “I am all ready to go, I found a great assistant who can help with lesson plans,  I have the materials, would love to launch it.”  “What is stopping you from moving forward?”  “ I need volunteers,“ she said.  Volunteers!  That is all that’s needed?”   “Consider it done,” I said.  “Tell me how many you want, and let’s set a date for the training class and launch.”   And we did just that.

Looking back now, five years later, what an amazing chain of events that all came together.  Only our God could have known how our parish in Arizona was in need of the intervention of Blessed Father Seelos.   I didn’t know until this writing of his passion for teaching children our faith!   “God you amaze me every day. I am humbled and honored to follow wherever you lead.”

Are you in need of a miracle?…Believe.

Copyright 2012 Jean Briese

Father, will you hold me?

It was a Monday morning like every other, and I was very focused on getting everything “ready” for the busy week ahead. Get Alli’s breakfast ready, get ready for work, prep food for dinner, and make sure the house is picked up before I leave. “Alli, are you ready to go?” I called.

“Grandma.”

“Yes, Alli,” I responded, as I looked down to gaze into the eyes of now four-year-old Allison.

Alli stood next to me looking up expectantly and, when her eyes caught mine, she asked, “Grandma, will you hold me?”

“Yes, Alli, yes I will. Let’s sit down and let me love on you.” A wide smile crossed her face as we headed over to the couch, and I scooped her into my arms.

Oh, the embrace. What a wonderful gift it is. As I wrapped my arms around Allison, I gave thanks for this little girl who gives me pause and helps me on a daily basis to remember my true priorities. What is more important than love? As we sat, my world, my day became calmer. A peace swept over me, so that I too felt embraced in love.

As I drove in to work later that day, listening to KLOVE radio, the DJ read their “encouraging word” for the day, from Mark 10:14-16, “Let the children come to me;  do not prevent them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.   Amen, I say to you, whoever does not accept the kingdom of God like a child will not enter it. Then He embraced them, placing His hands on them.”

I need to go to Christ as a child?   My mind flashed back to Allison, gazing up at me, with full faith that I will provide whatever she needs.  Breakfast, no worries, she knows she will be fed.  Clothes and shoes for school, no worries, she knows they will be provided.  Home with her own place to sleep, provided.  Toys for playing and growing, yes, provided.  All of her needs, many of her wants are provided.  She never worries that these will be provided.  She trusts fully.   Loved unconditionally on a daily basis, yes, of that she knows.  And when she needs an embrace, she asks, without hesitation, without fear, “Grandma, will you hold me?”

Her request is rewarded with a few special moments on my lap, wrapped in loving protective arms.  She can feel my breath as I whisper “I love you” softly to her, and I feel her breath when she responds.  This intimate embrace brings us together, brings us to peace.

Father in heaven, will you hold me?  I want to come to you like a child.  Take away my worries and let me know that you will provide all I need. Father, let me sit in your lap. Let me feel your arms around me. Let me feel your breath whisper to me, “I love you.” Let me whisper back, “I love you too.”   And let our breath mingle and bond us together and bring us both the satisfaction and peace of just sitting in love’s embrace.

Give me, Father, the gift of coming to you like a child, in full faith.

Copyright 2012 Jean Briese

He suggested I dance. After meeting with my new spiritual director, he said I mentioned the word “struggle” 13 times in my conversation with him. So instead of struggling to follow the Lord’s will for me, he suggested that I dance.

I have to admit, the vision was lovely. I pictured graceful dancers, beautifully attired, gliding across the floor. That didn’t seem like a struggle at all. In fact, the vision is beautiful, rhythmic and flowing. Okay, I will try to dance.

I left our meeting encouraged at the thought.

The Tango

As the idea of dancing settled into my soul, my mind grabbed hold and started to analyze. Thank you, God, for this great mind You gave me, truly a gift from You. My intelligence has been a blessing in my life. It also works non-stop, my mind constantly analyzing. And so I began to analyze how to dance with the Lord.

As I began to embrace the dance, the beautiful vision again entered my mind. Wait a minute, those beautiful, rhythmic movements are the result of knowing the steps, of years of practice and athletic ability. I looked up dance in Wikipedia and found this helpful information:

“Every dance, no matter what style, has something in common. It not only involves flexibility and body movement, but also physics. If the proper physics are not taken into consideration, injuries may occur.”

Great. Flexibility? Yeah, I need more of that, a lot more. Body movement? Okay I move, but I am not the most coordinated person out there. Physics? I can embrace physics. Injuries may occur? I clearly am not ready to dance.

At this point, I believe it was the Holy Spirit that interrupted me as my mind said, “Wait a minute. Have you managed to turn dancing with the Lord into a struggle?”

Hmmm. Okay. Breathe. I am pretty certain this is not what my spiritual director had in mind. So let’s just spend some more time in meditation.

The Swing

The next morning hope was renewed as God had spoken to me and said, “I will lead the dance, you just follow.” I smiled at the thought. This was Fat Tuesday.

That night we went to a Mardi Gras celebration with friends at a local restaurant. As the Dixie band played, a young couple entered the dance floor. Man, could they dance! Every movement was synchronized as they seemingly effortlessly jumped, kicked, twirled and danced to the music. They were beautiful. They were joyous! I loved this new vision of dance and the sheer happiness of this dance. Allison, my four year old, ran out onto the dance floor. She began to watch their movements and mimic them. And when she tired of mimicking their dance moves, she carefreely danced as she felt the music. Sometimes she simply skipped around the dance floor in circles. The entire restaurant was charmed by these young dancers and by little Allison. Their joy was contagious. Oh, to have faith like a child and joyously dance!

The Waltz & The Salsa

Ash Wednesday. Uhmm, Heavenly Father. You know how You said You would lead the dance and I will follow? Well, have You seen me dance? I am not good at following. I step on feet. I push when I should pull, and I go the wrong way a lot. I have a great desire to be a good follower. I am just sorry to tell You that I really am not good at it. I stand here before You afraid that I am going to fail. Afraid that as much as I desire to follow Your lead, I am not good at it. Father, I want to dance with You, I am just not sure I can.

That morning before Mass, I wrote a blog. Usually my blog ends with a connection of the story to our faith. I had the words of the story, but I didn’t have the end, the connection. I just had a strong desire to write the words. So I thought, maybe this story doesn’t need the connection. And I headed out the door to Mass.

Sitting in Mass, as soon as Father began to speak, it was the connection to the words I had written only minutes before. My morning story now had its ending. This was the second time I wrote my blog entry, to have the connection finished later at Mass. Writing this right now, I can see God was trying to show me that I could follow His lead. At the time, I completely missed this connection.

At the time, I thought to myself, I am trying to write and get my story finished. I have deadlines. I am trying to dance with You Lord, and appreciate that You gave me the end of story, but we are waltzing here and I want to salsa. Let’s pick up the pace a little, will ya? Maybe I am not so good at following His lead.

The Dance

It is two days before my next meeting with my spiritual director. This will be my second meeting. Will he ask how the dancing is going? How will I answer? I had better read my Bible and spend some time in meditation.

As I am spending my time in silence today, my dancing journey flashes in my mind. Why am I still struggling, Lord? I want to dance, I really do. What do I need to do?

And the answer comes to me that makes the tears roll down my face. “My child, stand on My feet and hold onto My hands. You do not need to know the steps. You do not need to be coordinated. You need not worry about following My lead. Just hold on, and we will dance.”

I can picture my toddler Allison standing on her Papa’s feet, holding on to his hands as he danced her around our living room. I can see her smiling face looking over to me, as if to say, “See, Granma, see, I am dancing.”

Lord, I am so humbled and so grateful that You would dance with me. So grateful that You have been patient with me. So grateful that You allow me to come to You as a child, and You extend Your hands and Your feet to me. I absolutely accept this dance with You.

“See, see World, I am dancing!”

Copyright 2012 Jean Briese

We sat snuggled on the couch with our bowl of popcorn between us as the movie began, and I couldn’t help but think that one of the great blessings of having a four year old is the chance to relive again all the great childhood moments. It has been over 40 years since I saw “Bambi” at a drive-in movie. I was excited to watch it again and experience it with Allison. Not having been tainted by 40 years of life, Allison colors everything with her view, one of complete awe, wonder, innocence and joy for life. It is truly a gift to have this moment and see “Bambi” again through the eyes of a child.

The movie begins and we are laughing out loud together as Allison meets Bambi, Thumper and Flower for the first time. And then appears a scene that lasts just a few seconds, one I barely remember. The edge of a mountain, rising high to the sky upon which stands The Great Stag, Bambi’s father. It can’t be on the screen more than a few seconds and no words are spoken, but the message is clear. The Great Stag is majestic. The Great Stag is respected and wise. The Great Stag is someone special. And I hear Allison whisper to herself, “Just like my Papa.”

So touched at her obvious respect and adoration for her Papa, I was reminded of a particular day sitting in Mass when I was distracted by a young father with his infant. All through Mass the father was gazing at his tiny child, and the look of love on this young dad’s face was simply beautiful. A few rows over sat a family I know, the mom happened to be out of town, but there was Dad with his two young children. His daughter had her arms wrapped around his right arm, and his son had his arms wrapped around his left arm. In our 112 degree heat, I am sure this made Dad sweaty and hot, but his face said, “I’m comfortable.” Across from me, a toddler began to get restless as they do in Mass, and the father reached down to pick her up and calm her by holding her close in a tight embrace. Behind me, a woman my age sat next to her father. As they stood to receive Communion, I noticed he walked with a cane. Along with his family, slowly but steadily, he made his way to receive Jesus.

I was dazed with the images of all the fathers here in Mass. What great love I saw on their faces, in their eyes, in their arms and hands as they gently guided their children, as they showed mercy for those who had not yet learned to control their impulses. I consider all the fathers sitting in Mass today, who are doing the absolute best thing that any father could ever do for their child, loving our Lord Jesus and trying to live their life according to His will. I am flooded with gratitude and hope for our world.

Allison’s Papa is her best playmate. Allison is her Papa’s best helper. The two of them can usually be found together, either engaged in some “pretend” game, or as she trails him around helping him work around our home and yard. They water flowers together in the afternoon and, after dinner, she puts on her dress up clothes and he is her dance partner. When it’s time for bed, he is her horse and carriage, riding her on his back to bed.

The Catechism tells us that our family is a “domestic church,” a community of faith, hope and charity; assuming a singular importance in our church. It is in this role that the men in our lives pass on the gift of faith and teach us of unconditional love and mercy. This Father’s Day I am reminded of all the men in our lives, those who have biological children and those who have chosen not to have children or have been unable to have children but, like our Heavenly Father, have offered paternal care. I think of my own life and the men who have been my protectors and mentors-my step-father, uncles, priests, friends and fathers of friends. Today I honor and ask God to bless all men who have offered their faith, wisdom, guidance, protection, mercy and love.

“Just like my Papa. “

Copyright 2012 Jean Briese

And so too, in her room, she has a picture of her two year old self, taken with her great-grandmothers. One of these grandmothers has since passed away. Next to her picture of her grannies is a prayer card with a smiling Jesus, laminated for little hands. She will take both of these down from time to time and kiss them, her grannies and her Jesus. Next to these, she has a statue of Mary (which she always wants to sleep with) and a statue of a young Jesus. We start our day with “Good Morning, Jesus. Good Morning Mary.” We end our day with “Good Night, Jesus. Good Night, Mary.”

Allison is now four years old. Most work days my schedule allows me to not worry about getting into my office at a certain time, so the morning “get out the door” routine is not rushed. However, there are exceptions, mornings when I do need to leave by a certain time. One particular day, when I needed to leave early, Allison wasn’t in the mood to be rushed. “Allison, go get dressed,“ I said. “Okay, Gramma,” she responded. A few minutes later, she returned from her room, pajamas still on, arms overflowing with toys, talking about something that happened at school yesterday. “Allison,” I cried in frustration, “we are going to be late.”

“You are going to be late, Gramma, I’m not.” Well, I guess that put things into perspective for me. She was right about that. She doesn’t have to be anywhere at a specific time. “Let me go with you and help you get dressed,” I responded, as we headed to her room.

As I was standing in the bathroom, waiting for her to choose her hair barrettes, I noticed the empty toilet paper roll. I took the empty roll off just as she cried, “Gramma, I want braids.” Setting the toilet paper holder down on the bathroom counter, I braided her hair for her. Concentrating on the braid, I didn’t notice that she had picked up the toilet paper holder and pulled it apart so the spring came out and it was in pieces.

Now Allison is a curious girl, and very smart. I get that and, trust me, she gets plenty of opportunities to explore her curiosity. This, however, was my last nerve. “Allison!” I exclaimed in a loud enough voice to startle her. Why do you insist on taking everything apart? How many times have I told you that you need to ask before you take things apart? That’s it! I need a time out,” and I stomped out of the bathroom.

Papa went in while I calmed myself down. He fixed the toilet paper holder and when I walked back into the room, Allison was hugging Papa. When she saw me, she came running over to embrace me and said, “I’m sorry, Gramma.” “ Yes, Sweetie, I know.” After explaining to Allison the importance of taking care of our home and our things, Allison nodded in agreement, saying she understood.

I left to get my shoes and told Allison to get her sweater for school. As I came back into the bedroom, I caught Allison attempting to scrape stickers off the wall of her bedroom. We had that discussion yesterday when I came into her room to find stickers everywhere: on the walls, the furniture, and on her stuffed animals. I thought we had removed all of them, but we missed some and Allison was busy trying to remove them. I was so touched that she understood what I said. She was trying to make up for disappointing me and trying to do what I asked of her. As I walked closer to her, I noticed she was using something to lift the stickers from the wall…. what was it? It was her Jesus prayer card.

“Allison, are you using your prayer card to get the stickers off the wall?”

“Yep, Jesus is my great helper.“

“Yes, yes he is.” Thanks, Sweet Baby, for reminding me of that today.

Sometimes we stumble, let us fall on Jesus. Let Him be our great helper in getting us back up and staying on our path. We may need to face the difficult things in our life that we don’t want to hear, that may even startle us. We may need our Heavenly Father’s embrace to find the strength to apologize for our transgression.

Will you let Jesus be your great helper?

Copyright 2012 Jean Briese

Miss Emily was her pre-school teacher for the past six months.   She was a loving, compassionate young woman who guided a class of preschoolers every day.   Allison spent eight hours a day with Miss Emily.  About two weeks ago, she left Arizona to move to Alaska.
When Alli responded,  “Bring Miss Emily back,”  it was a wake-up call to me.  While my life is relatively unchanged since Miss Emily left, I see now that Allison’s has been greatly affected.   So I tell Allison that,  while we probably aren’t going to have Miss Emily back, maybe we can get her e-mail address and write a message to her.  She smiled and was happy about this prospect.

That evening, I sat with Alli and typed out an e-mail to Miss Emily.  I read to Alli what I am typing,   “Dear Miss Emily, how is Alaska?  We miss you.”   At this point Alli responds,  “I love you.”   So I tell Miss Emily that Alli wants me to tell her that she loves her.

As I sat in my daily meditation the next morning, the events of the last couple of days played over in my mind and I became overwhelmed.

Miss Robyn is the new teacher in Room 9.  Allison hugs Miss Robyn and seems to get along with her just fine.  However,  Alli recently began to cry every day when I dropped her off at pre-school.  She has begun to have “accidents” at  nap time, even though she has rarely had an “accident” at home. It dawned on me that my little Allison is grieving the loss of a beloved friend and caregiver.  Not unlike any loss, it is taking its toll on Alli.  And Allison, at three years old cannot articulate her feelings to tell the adults in her life that she is grieving.

But Wow, God!  You know our hearts and our innermost desires. You know exactly what we need.  And in our morning prayer time, you answer a little girl’s heartfelt prayer.  You give the adults in her life the awareness to help her through this first of many transitions and losses she will weather in her lifetime.  You alone saw her pain. You alone felt her loss.  And now in a moment of prayer, you bring to Allison what she needs, even when she doesn’t have the words to express it or the knowledge to ask for it.  You bring her loving parents with awareness and knowledge to help Allison in her three-year-old suffering.   You are so amazing.

I am overwhelmed at this witness of how you work in the life of someone who’s suffering and innermost need was hidden, and who literally did not have the ability to communicate her needs.

Here you are Good Shepherd, caring for your littlest lamb.  I am so humbled.  I have a whole new understanding of Isaiah 49:15; Can a mother forget her nursing child? Can she feel no love for a child she has borne? But even if that were possible, I would not forget you!  I love this child entrusted to me, yet I did not see her suffering.   I am so aware of how your love for us is so much more than any love we have experienced. And I pledge to raise this child up to know You and to walk in Your ways, and to continue to grow in her love and purpose for You.

Alli’s simple, “Bring Miss Emily back” was a key spoken during prayer that unlocked her needs. I am embarrassed that each morning as I prayed with Alli, I foolishly thought that as the adult, I was leading the prayer and teaching Alli the benefits of prayer, that some day she might be able to ask and receive blessings on her own.   I now realize that in our prayer,  you are leading each one of us.  All we have to do is make the effort.  You will do the rest.  No matter how foolish, no matter how small, no matter our ability.  It is You.  It is Love.  Lord, you humble me and show me your greatness.  I am awe-struck that you answered Alli’s prayer and gave me a visible witness to the great love that you have for each one of us.  Thank you for watching over Alli, and thank you for watching over me.

Make the effort today.  Pray.

Copyright 2012 Jean Briese

Editor’s note: Today, we welcome Jean Briese as our newest contributor to CatholicMom.com. Jean will join us each month here on the blog and I know you’re going to love her wonderful writing. Please be sure to pay a visit to her site at www.JeanBriese.com to enjoy more of her writing. Welcome to the family, Jean! LMH

Chaos on Mount Calvary

In 2008, I was so blessed to be able to take a trip to the Holy Land.  I was remembering this morning my visit to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the church built on Mount Calvary.

We began our journey on the day of our visit at 5:30 in the morning, as we walked/prayed through the Via Dolorosa (the actual Stations of the Cross.)  It was early dawn, before the markets were open.  We were there during the Muslim holiday of Ramadan, so in old Jerusalem, we walked underneath lights strung for the holiday. The cobblestone streets were quiet and it was quite beautiful as we walked Jesus’ last steps.   Here is the place where Jesus was scourged.  Here is the place he fell under the weight of the cross.  In the early morning hours as we prayed the Stations of the Cross, it was chilling to hear a cock crow.

As the sun rose, the streets came to life and we approached Golgotha. Throngs of people from all over the world are here at any time.  As you walk through the doors of the church of the Holy Sepulcher the first thing you notice is the strong aroma of incense.  The first thing you see is a stone, The Anointing Stone, where His body was laid and prepared for burial by Mary and the other women. There is a space in the floor where His cross once stood; an altar has been built over the spot. You can kneel and touch the mountain beneath the altar.  And inside this church is His tomb.

We line up to have our turn kneeling at the spot where our Saviour died for our sins.  In our little group, we stand respectfully back and give each other time.  Soon other groups arrive and crowd in front of us, pushing to get ahead and kneel at the altar.  It is my turn, Don and I go up together. We kneel and pray, and are interrupted by a priest yelling, “Move on, you can’t take that long.”  It seemed like only seconds.

It is time for Mass and we are to worship in the Holy Sepulcher.  To the right of the altar where His cross stood, there are pews and an altar for Mass.  As I wait to move into the space, a nun preparing the altar literally pushes me and says, “Make way.”  After I am out of her way, she apologizes.  I move into the small space and there are not enough pews, so I am sitting on the floor.  As we worship, the crowd gets louder and louder.  It is difficult to hear Father, even though we are only 10-15 feet from him. Every once in a while, you hear the priest in the next room shout, “Move on.”  The local clergy has placed ropes around our worship space, but some in the crowds break through anyway.  I see Father breaking the hosts into small pieces to accommodate all.

As I sit in prayer after communion, it is anything but silent.  It is striking to me that I have been to the Vatican and many churches, some even on this trip, where they stress silence and reverence, as you are in a Holy place.  At the Vatican, they had several folks who stood guard and constantly “shhhsd” the crowd.  Yet here, in this most Holy spot, it is noise, chaos and confusion.  All my senses are overwhelmed, I hear much noise in many languages and the clothing of all the people is so varied.  I want to be frustrated, to yell “BE QUIET, BE PRAYERFUL.”  But I am here, called to this Holy place and I find myself not frustrated, but filled with gratitude.  I am grateful that so many are here. That so many made the trip to find the place where our Saviour lived and died and rose for us. I am grateful to see Russians, Italians, French and others from all over our world gathered here.  Grateful that the Lord came for our world!

As I continue to pray, I realize that it is fitting that here in this Holy Place, as we try to worship, as I try to be alone with my Lord, that I am surrounded by noise, chaos and confusion. After all, isn’t that the way of our world?  There is so much noise, so much to distract us.  It isn’t easy to enter into a one-on-one relationship with the Lord; you have to work at it.  You have to be willing to find the silence in the crowded chaos of our world.  I realize it is up to me to learn to listen to His voice, because the world will drown it out, even those well-intentioned souls seeking Him.

This Lenten season, I wish for you that you find some silence and hear His voice.

Copyright 2012 Jean Briese