We have a prayer corner, which we call a home shrine in the tradition of the Schoenstatt Movement to enthrone the Blessed Mother in our homes. It’s placed in a prominent position in our open-concept home and has many of the symbols and sacramentals of a real church. It’s the center of our lives and because we’re around it all the time, it’s a normal part of our household – at least to us. Apparently, it wasn’t at all normal for the remodeler. He stopped talking mid-sentence when he entered the house and gave the home shrine a long, horrified stare. I was tempted to briefly explain our tradition, but I sensed that he wouldn’t be open to it. Rather, I decided to be very cool about it and let him have his space. I offered him a seat, and he haltingly accepted. He was sure to sit as far away from the home shrine and possible, and twisted himself so he’d be facing completely away from it. He couldn’t have been comfortable. I tried desperately not to smirk.

Granted, the remodeler may not have been Christian or perhaps he had a bad religious experience earlier in his life that caused his aversion to our devotion. If that’s the case either way, I feel sorry for him and pray that one day he’ll be able to open his heart to Christ. Still, his behavior reminds me of the way many of us live our marriages; any blatant demonstration of piety seems out of place and uncomfortable.

In fact, what our marriages need to be is a constant display of religiosity with a marked openness to the in-break of the divine at every moment. Our married life should be a reflection and continuation of holy Mass. During Mass, we offer sacrifice with Christ to the heavenly Father, we become intimately united with Christ and each other, and we receive life-giving grace and strength. In Mass, the Father is the center of all, as he should be in the rest of our married life. Every aspect of our day (yes, even the most private ones) should be a reenactment of the offertory, consecration, and communion of Mass. All that we have, are, and do, we offer to the heavenly Father. All that we have, are, and do is consecrated to him and thus made holy. Everything we have, are, and do becomes a means of unity with him and with each other.

Not all of us can attend Mass every day, but we can begin our days by spiritually attending Mass through prayer and spiritual communion. We can recall the offertory, consecration, and communion of the Mass and offer, consecrate, and communicate spiritually ourselves, our spouses, and our marriage, including all that we’ll say and do for the rest of that day. Perhaps we can stop here or there during the day to re-offer, re-consecrate, and re-communicate. This can be done quite simply, with a brief, spontaneous prayer such as, “Father in heaven, we offer all we do and say today as spouses to you, please accept it. We consecrate all we do and say as spouses to you, please bless it. We ask you to unite with us throughout this day and grant us grace and strength for our marriage. Amen.”  In this way, our marriages become a holy, sacrificial union that gives glory to God.

At first, this level of devotion may seem out of place and uncomfortable. If we’re serious about our striving, the discomfort will melt away and be replaced by genuine joy and fulfillment. The more we practice, the easier it will be and the more normal it will seem. Eventually, it will become an integral part of our lives.

We thank Fathers for Good for their kind permission to reprint this column.

Copyright 2012 Marge Fenelon

We were excited to join the program, because we wanted to start things off right. We thought we were doing great, until we met with the older couple to discuss the results of our pre-marital inventory, a questionnaire designed to evaluate the couple’s compatibility and project their potential for forming a viable marriage.

According to the couple, we’d completely bombed the questionnaire. Mark and I disagreed on many items – too many to assure them of our compatibility – and the couple was concerned. Not only that, but also they recommended that we not get married! We were certain of our vocation to marriage and to each other, so we protested their assessment. With trepidation, they agreed to discuss the matter with the pastor and schedule a meeting for the five of us afterward. When we met, the pastor recommended against our marrying, too.

What ensued was a considerable amount of head shaking, eyebrow raising, and sighing. That’s not to mention the excessive nervousness on the part of Mark and me. Finally, and obviously reluctantly, the pastor agreed to marry us. We were ecstatic and eager to proceed with our wedding plans. That was twenty-nine years ago.

What made us so convinced that the apparent lack of compatibility was not an issue?

We were well aware of our differences. Yet, we also were aware of the power of the graces given to married couples through the Sacrament of Marriage.  Husband and wife are privy to God’s grace in as much as they need, whenever they need it, and God’s grace has unlimited ability to change, transform, and purify.

Based on that, Mark and I added a private dimension to our marriage vows beyond “love, honor, and obey,” that that secured our desire and commitment to change for each other. We’d been (repeatedly) told the old cliché “you get what you marry,” meaning you have to accept the other just as he/she is, without further expectations. We felt that was true, but only to a degree. We believed that “what you marry” is only the starting point. We were convicted that the sacramental graces would help us to change for the sake of the other in order to become the individuals and couple that God had in mind for us to be from all Eternity.

Change, in this context, doesn’t mean becoming a completely different person. It means accentuating and improving on the qualities God has given us and working to achieve and develop others. It means opening ourselves to the other’s point of view and squelching the bad habits, annoying behaviors, and obnoxious attitudes that threaten our closeness as man and wife. It means humbly praying together for God’s guidance and persistently seeking Truth.

Let’s take, for example, our daughter’s pre-mature birth and month-long stay in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. The day before Monica was to be released from the hospital, she contracted a systemic staph infection which literally killed her. After three tries, they were able to revive her. Instead of celebrating her homecoming, we spent the next days wondering whether or not she would live.

I was angry. I’d cry and beat the daylights out of my pillow each night over the agony of watching our baby suffer with the tubes, wires, needles, and restraints. Mark was silent, going about his day as normally as possible in between hospital visits. I took his silence as unaffectedness, which added to my anger. One day, I could take it no more, and I exploded.

“What’s wrong with you? Don’t you care?” I screamed at him. The discussion that followed was one of the most important of our entire marriage. Now I know that Mark’s initial reaction will be silence; he’ll work through it internally, piecing it together in his mind and trying to make sense out of it before responding. Knowing that, I’m content to give him some space before we tackle a hurdle. In turn, he tries to indicate where he’s at so I don’t go berserk while I’m waiting to discuss. He also tries to be more expressive when we do talk.

A couple can be so incompatible that they shouldn’t marry, and I don’t recommend serendipitously casting off a pastor’s advice. I do recommend calling on the grace promised through the Sacrament of Marriage and commitment to change for the sake of the other. It’s a great way to both start a marriage and continue one.

Friday, January 20, 2012, the Obama administration announced that faith-based institutions must cover free contraception for employees. While mainstream media tries to pass this off as merely covering “the pill,” it also includes sterilization and abortifacients. (See the AP story here.) Regardless, Catholics (and other religious denominations) are being forced to accept insurance coverage for procedures and chemicals that are mortally dangerous, both physically and spiritually. What’s more, we’re being forced to pay for others to accept such coverage also, or go without health care coverage ourselves. Of course, the administration attempted to soften the blow by allowing faith-based entities until August 2013 to make the necessary changes to their insurance packages.

The Obama administration timed the announcement perfectly – right smack in the middle of the United States Bishops ad limina visits with the Holy Father during which the threat to our religious liberty is a primary concern, and just before the March for Life in Washington, DC.

On Thursday, January 19, Pope Benedict XVI remarked about this in his address to Region IV of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB):

“In the light of these considerations, it is imperative that the entire Catholic community in the United States come to realize the grave threats to the Church’s public moral witness presented by a radical secularism which finds increasing expression in the political and cultural spheres. The seriousness of these threats needs to be clearly appreciated at every level of ecclesial life. Of particular concern are certain attempts being made to limit that most cherished of American freedoms, the freedom of religion. Many of you have pointed out that concerted efforts have been made to deny the right of conscientious objection on the part of Catholic individuals and institutions with regard to cooperation in intrinsically evil practices. Others have spoken to me of a worrying tendency to reduce religious freedom to mere freedom of worship without guarantees of respect for freedom of conscience.” (Read the full text here.)

The Holy Father cited this as a “grave threat” in which we’re being forced to cooperate in “intrinsically evil practices.”

Well, the USCCB isn’t going to take this lying down. They’ve vowed to fight this order as “literally unconscionable.” “In effect, the president is saying we have a year to figure out how to violate our consciences,” said Cardinal-designate Timothy Dolan, USCCB president in a LifeSiteNews interview on January 20. “To force American citizens to choose between violating their consciences and forgoing their healthcare is literally unconscionable,” he continued. “It is as much an attack on access to health care as on religious freedom. Historically this represents a challenge and a compromise of our religious liberty.” (Read the entire story here.)

Cardinal-designate also spoke out about the HHS ruling in a web video in which he urged Catholics and the public at large to speak out in protest. “Let your elected leaders know that you want religious liberty and rights of conscience restored and that you want the administration’s contraceptive mandate rescinded,” he said. (View the entire video here.)

Absolutely we have to do that, but we also have to do more. This is both a political and a spiritual battle. We need to educate ourselves about this issue so that we’ll really know what we’re talking about and how to fight it when it rolls out. Even more, we need to prepare ourselves spiritually by receiving the sacraments often and deepening our relationship with the Triune God. We also need to step up our prayer life, praying not only for ourselves and our loved ones, but also for our bishops in their part of the fight. We have to pray for the administration to change its ways, and for a new administration that will be able to undo the harm caused by the current one. Yet, there’s even more we can do. We can fast, make spiritual sacrifices, do works of mercy, increase our self-discipline, and offer it for a moral and acceptable resolution to this crisis because this is just a next step in the persecution of the Catholic faith in our country.

There’s much we can do, and we need to begin now. We simply can’t take this lying down.

Copyright 2012 Marge Fenelon

This morning began as any normally abnormal one around the Fenelon Clan abode – with me taking my handful of horse-pill vitamins, one agonizing swallow at a time. They say you can’t buy health in a bottle. Maybe so. But, I figure it’s like taking out an insurance policy: You go for years wasting your money because you don’t want to find out what would’ve happened if you hadn’t paid the premiums.

As I stood at the kitchen counter trying to down the supplements as quickly as possible, I dropped one. I knew because I heard it drop, but didn’t know which one it was because I wasn’t keeping track of which ones I’d taken and which I’d not. I was pretty sure it was a big white calcium tablet, so I scoured the floor for it. It was nowhere in sight. I checked under the wine rack. Nope. I fished under the stove. Not there, either. Between the frig and counter? No. Under the rug? Niltch. At this point, I was fairly irritated, which made me all the more determined to hunt that derelict down. Surely, I’m smarter than a horse-pill vitamin! (That’s a rhetorical question, by the way.)

After a pout or two, I decided to try thinking out of the box. What if it wasn’t a calcium tablet that dropped, but rather one of the other supplement tablets that had fallen instead?

I decided to run my search and rescue from another perspective, so I moved to a different corner of the kitchen. And then I saw it. There, right under the spot I’d been standing before, was a neutral-colored (read puke-brown) multi-vitamin! It had blended in with the color of our hardwood floors, and so I overlooked it. Just for spite, I scooped it up, brushed it off, and downed it in one swoop.

I’d missed seeing the dropped vitamin on the first search because I’d stubbornly locked myself into thinking that it was a white, not brown, tablet for which I was looking. I missed the “right” vitamin because I was looking for the “wrong” one.

Isn’t that what so many of us do during the Christmas season? We lock ourselves into thinking that we only can discover Christ in a particular way – in a white tablet, if you will – when he might actually be revealing himself to us in a completely different way. Often, he appears right under the spot on which we stand, figuratively speaking. We miss him because we’re determined that he should meet our expectations.

We race through Advent, doing all those Christmas-y things that we think will lead the way to him, like shopping, decorating, baking, and partying. We might do some charitable works, which are noble and needed and give us a sense of worth.  The tree is lovely to look at, the music lifts our spirits (at least for a while), the lights are enticing, and the goodies make our tummies feel satisfied (temporarily). Family gatherings are a riot (sometimes literally), and giving and receiving gifts gives us a real high. The concerts warm our hearts and the liturgies elevate them to heaven. It’s all good and wonderful, and all of it is important.

However, if we look for Christ only in that – only in the white tablet of the Christmas glitz and activity – we risk missing him as he wishes to reveal himself to us, in the less conspicuous brown tablet. I’ve spoken with countless people who relate that, each year after all the Christmas hoopla subsides, they find themselves feeling somehow let down or sad. That’s because they’ve missed the subtle coming of the Babe in the quiet moments and small, unexpected happenings around them. More importantly, they miss his subtle approach within their own hearts because they continue to search for him outside of themselves. When all the exterior goings-on are over, they’re left feeling empty and alone.

We can change that, beginning right now, by stepping to another corner and looking at the layout from a new perspective. It’s fine to participate in all the holiday traditions and excitement; we just can’t let that be our only way to search for the Newborn King. We need to find creative, meaningful ways to observe his coming. Perhaps it means a new prayer routine, some concentrated Scripture reading, or a pilgrimage to a holy place. Maybe it means a daily ten-minute break to meditate on the miracle of the Word Incarnate, opening our hearts to whatever he has in store for us.It matters less what we do as it does how we do it – with love, humility, faith, and genuine desire.

When we stop looking for the big, white tablet and allow our eyes to rest on the less obvious brown one, we’ll discover more than we’d ever hoped. We’ll discover our Lord in all his magnificence – a magnificence so grand it won’t disappear when the decorations do. And we’ll have found it right under the spot on which we stood.

Copyright 2011 Marge Fenelon

Editor’s Note: We congratulate Marge Fenelon on the release of her wonderful new book Strengthening Your Family: A Catholic Approach to Holiness at Home. With the approach of the upcoming holiday season, this is the perfect time to treat yourself to Marge’s book. Watch for her guest appearance soon on the Catholic Moments podcast. LMH

In an effort to grab a bigger piece of Holiday Shopper Pie, major retailers have altered their “after Thanksgiving” hours such that they’ve begun to cut deeper into the Thanksgiving Holiday itself. In recent years, chains such as Target, Kohls, Macy’s, Wal-Mart, and Best Buy had opened their doors to customers in the wee hours – anywhere from 3 a.m. to 5 a.m. – starting a trend that has continued. Last year, the sales began at midnight.  This year, Wal-Mart will open at 10 p.m. on Thanksgiving Night and Toys R Us will open at 9 p.m. The movement to roll Black Friday into Black Thursday has met with mixed reviews from employees and shoppers. Some wonder whether the same trend will begin with the “after Christmas” hours, by cutting into Christmas Day. What about Easter and other religious holidays?

I’m actually delighted to see retailers dropping prices and promoting sales. In this economy, we all can use a price break. Additionally, it shows that retailers can sell items for far less and still turn a profit! Sales (even holiday sales) are fine in and of themselves, but they become a danger to society when they encourage consumerism above family tradition.

One would argue that no one is forced to shop on those days, and I agree. However, when retailers offer outrageous deals on limited quantities for a specified amount of time, they put the panic on consumers who are trying to stretch their dollars as far as possible. What’s more, doing this on holidays (as opposed to other times of the year), manipulates consumers – especially parents convinced that Susie and Johnny will be happy on Christmas morning only if they get THE toy all their friends are talking about – and plants false notions into their hearts. Consumers who fall for this propaganda come to believe that they ARE doing good things for their families by buying them the “perfect gift,” which they now think they can afford because of the sale. Sadly, most of it is purchased on credit, which only increases their financial difficulties, but that’s fodder for another column…

With this mindset, families are being pulled away from the family table on holidays and toward the outlandish world of competition and merchandising. Instead of spending focused time together during which they can foster unity and tradition, relish a relaxed meal, and share real affection, concern, and interest in one another, they’re riffling through sales flyers, plotting merchant routes, piling into the car and heading out to get in on the best deals in town. Worse is when the family is divided, with Mom heading for the department store, Dad heading for the hardware store, and the kids either off to the mall or left behind at home.  Even if the sale begins after the usual celebration time for most families, they’re anticipating the big holiday sale and adjusting schedules and activities in order to participate.

By digging deeper into the holidays with their holiday sales, retailers are digging deeper into what should be sacred time for families, and we’re letting them. If we didn’t attend the holiday sales, retailers wouldn’t hold them. If we weren’t willing to cut Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner short for them, retailers wouldn’t open their doors for us at those hours. They’re only giving us what we seem to want.

Do we? The key is to form ourselves and our children into not wanting it, and that starts by forming strong families in an atmosphere that stands firm against the current. When it’s our time together, it’s our time together. Period. That takes guts and self-discipline, but it can be done. This is something I talk a lot about in my latest book, Strengthening Your Family: A Catholic Approach to Holiness at Home, just released by Our Sunday Visitor. When our homes are places of joy and belonging, when we obviously value our times and traditions together, and demonstrate true commitment to one another, the current outside rushes past without dragging us along with it.

Oh, sure. We might save $100 on that new gizmo the kids want for Christmas if we rush out the door in the middle of the night…or right after the pumpkin pie’s been wolfed down. But is that really worth missing the laughs and stupid (sometimes very stupid) family jokes? How about the knowing glances between siblings over the memory of a childhood prank?  Is it really worth diminishing the satisfaction of lolling around together after having enjoyed a great meal? Or the chance to savor all the beautiful holiday experiences and impressions? Is it worth deterring the asides and inflections that spontaneously surface when we’re all together and no one’s in a hurry to get anywhere?

The word “holiday” is derived from the word “holy day,” a term coined in the early Church to represent sacred festivals, days of special significance during which people rested from usual activities. Holidays were meant to be times to commemorate and celebrate the themes and symbols that mean something to us, and that help make us who we are. Let’s show the retailers that our families are more important to us that their holiday sales. Who knows? Perhaps it will help them to realize that the families of their employees and their own families are more important, too. The family table simply cannot be replaced by a shopping cart, no matter how good the deal. When we turn holidays back into holy days, not only will our individual families benefit, but all of society will benefit as well.

©2011 Marge Fenelon

Perhaps you remember that the Battle of Lepanto was fought on October 7, 1571 between the Turkish fleet and Catholic naval forces primarily from Spain, Venice, and Genoa under command of Don Juan of Austria. In this last battle of oar-driven ships, the meager Christian force defeated – against all rational odds – the Moslem force, which was the most powerful navy in the world.

How was this done? It was done through the power of the Rosary! St. Pope Pius V, then the holy pontiff, knew that the Christian forces were at a serious disadvantage, materially speaking, and so he called for all of Europe to pray the Rosary for victory. They got it. Not only that, but also the victory was a decisive one, preventing the Islamic invasion of Europe. It’s said that, although St. Pope Pius V was at the Vatican hundreds of miles away from the battle, he suddenly received the conviction that the battle had been won. He rose from his seat during a meeting, went to the window and radiantly exclaimed, “The Christian fleet is victorious!” and shed tears of thanksgiving to God.

The Christian fleet is victorious! Those words have rung in my head ever since I first read them umpteen years ago. My heart zings when I imagine ships filled with big burly sailors battling it out on the open seas, flags snapping on the masts, cannons booming, guns firing, fires blazing, knuckles white, nerves steadied, sweat trickling down the brows. My spine tingles at the exceptional maneuvers, the ingenious tactics, the exceptional courage, and the unexpected results of the battle. But what gets me most is the fact that the real power behind this astounding naval victory was our very own Blessed Mother Mary.

Whenever I face an apparently unbeatable foe, I grab my Rosary and tell myself, this is a Lepanto moment! Just having those beads in hand makes me feel as though the victory already has begun. I imagine myself at the bow, wind blowing in my face and the ravages of a sea battle around me. At the center of it all is our Blessed Mother, with all the power the heavenly Father has given her to achieve the victory. Whether it’s a mere skirmish of trying to get through a rotten day, the seemingly insurmountable battle of family discord, or the all-out war of a loved one with terminal illness, I’ve got my beads at the ready. I may not have exceptional maneuvers, ingenious tactics, or exceptional courage, but I have the privilege of invoking Mary’s help in achieving the victory. Whether I pray with clarity and determination, or simply rote-recite the prayers in numb desperation, I know she’s listening, accepting my plea, and taking the upper hand for me in the conflict. If I surrender all to her, she will be victorious no matter what the odds.

Granted, I have a pretty active imagination, but the point is that we can and should keep the Lepanto spirit throughout the year, not just on the feast of Our Lady of the Rosary.

“The Church has always attributed particular efficacy to this prayer, entrusting to the Rosary, to its choral recitation and to its constant practice, the most difficult problems. At times when Christianity itself seemed under threat, its deliverance was attributed to the power of this prayer, and Our Lady of the Rosary was acclaimed as the one whose intercession brought salvation.” Blessed Pope John Paul II tells us in his in his apostolic letter on the Holy Rosary, ROSARIUM VIRGINIS MARIAE.

We all have seemingly unbeatable foes; they come in many forms and from many directions. Sometimes we can feel as though they’re coming from all directions! Regardless, we have recourse to defeat them, perhaps not as in a physical battle, but in the battle of our hearts that often arise when we’re seeking to understand and accept God’s will. The battles in our lives may not be decided according to the way we want them to be, but they will be decided according to the way God knows they must be and against all rational odds. By entrusting them to the Blessed Mother in confidence, we allow her to work in and through us in unimaginable ways.  When we put her at the bow, she’ll use the power given her by the heavenly Father to achieve the victory. Then we’ll be keeping the Lepanto spirit.

Copyright 2011 Marge Fenelon

I set everything out just right, so proud of my handiwork. I even gave our son a little hug and a sweet peck on the cheek. And what did I get in return? A sigh and a pair of rolling eyes. Alas, I do believe that my traditional first-day-of-school breakfasts are losing their charm! But…I just don’t understand. What 15-year-old wouldn’t want little suns staring up at him from his breakfast plate?

By now you realize it was a joke – both the sunshine theme and the eye rolling on the part of our son. I really did make those things, but it was just to tease him about having to get up early today after a summer of, well, summer schedule. If I hadn’t had a radio gig this morning, I wouldn’t have wanted to get up early, either! Of course, having been up already for three hours and downed four cups of coffee perked my imagination (Fine. It was six cups). But I would have done something special anyway.

The start of the new school year is important for more than academic reasons. It signals a fresh start, a new beginning. It also is a reminder that we’re growing and developing – even those of us who are no longer in school. How many of us get the urge to go shopping for new clothes, books, or office supplies at this time of year? That’s because it’s ingrained into us that September (or late August for some) means change. The air is cooler, the leaves will soon turn color, even the paths of the sun and moon are different.

This is reason to both look back – how did we do last year? – and ahead – how would we like to do this year? We all can and should be doing that; we need to stop from time to time in order to access where we’ve been and where we’re going. Are we progressing intellectually? Emotionally? Spiritually? Often, we’re so snarled in the same old grind that it doesn’t seem like we’re moving ahead at all. But, we are, and we should take time to make note of that.

Before each important step in his life, our Lord took time out. For example, he spent 40 days in the desert before being baptized by John the Baptist and beginning his public ministry (Mt 4:1). He went up the mountain and prayed the entire night before choosing his apostles (Lu 6:12), and he withdrew to Gethsemane after the Last Supper to pray as he awaited the arrival of the soldiers to arrest him (Mt 26:36). If Jesus took time for meditation and contemplation before moving ahead, then shouldn’t we?

The school year is starting, and that’s cause for reflection and celebration, whether it’s a serious or frivolous one. The sunshine may be getting older around here, but it still heralds the start of something new and exciting.

©2011 Marge Fenelon

Louis Hall is one of them. Together with his six children, Hall has written, illustrated, and produced Angelic Twaddle Comics, a 90-page collection of “fun and insightful single-panel comics for ages 10 and up.” Hall and his children describe the book as humor with a conscience, an accurate, if not understated, term. Angelic Twaddle is humorous, playful, and well done.

What started as an excuse for a dad to spend more time with his kids ended up being an artistic enterprise. Hall drew the comics, but his children scanned them, conducted digital file management, and assisted with editing, proof-reading, and marketing. Along the way, they learned an awful lot about the world of visual communication.

Hall, a native of Minnesota, graduated with honors from the University of St. Thomas with a BA in Studio Art and completed undergraduate studies at St. John’s University (Minnesota). He has 15 years experience as a professional designer, illustrator, photographer, and artist. No wonder his kids are so talented.He and his wife homeschool their children.

The book’s introduction is a sample of the flavor of what readers will find inside:

“My children and I take no responsibility for this comic series; we were compelled by  unseen forces that we could not resist. We blame this book entirely on our parents, God, and the angels.

“WARNING: The world-view and framework presented by Angelic Twaddle is tantalizing for constructing a complete infallible belief system; please consume moderately.”

Hogwash. Consume all you like, and once you’ve consumed all of it, go back and re-digest it because it’ll strike you a new way each time you open it. From the slippery slope of angelic interference as a toddler builds a block tower to the regrets of Black Beard’s guardian, Anglic Twaddle explores “Girl Power”, ”Google Hell” and “Plumber’s Butt” all from a wacky guardian angel perspective, andwill get you thinking – and laughing at – the antics of angels as it simultaneously pulls you into the reality of their existence.

The best part of the book, of course, is that it proves that dads and kids can and should work together. Obviously, the Hall children have enjoyed doing this project with their dad as much as their dad has enjoyed doing it with them. With Angelic Twaddle, the Hall Family makes a true statement: Dads are not mythological creatures; they’re real human beings who can do wonderful things for and with their children, and Louis Hall is witness to that existence.

Angelic Twaddle will be a fantastic gift for friends and relatives looking for the lighter, more celestial side of life, as well as a blessed indulgence (pun intended) for yourself and your family. At just $9.95, it’s also a heavenly bargain.

Hall and his children have a website: www.angelictwaddle.com. They also will accept mail orders; the eBook version is available on Kindle at Amazon.

Copyright 2011 Marge Fenelon

In our prayer corner, we have a gray slate shingle that once belonged to the roof of the original Schoenstatt Marian shrine, the founding place of the International Schoenstatt Movement in Schoenstatt, Germany, by Father Joseph Kentenich in 1914. Some years back, local movement members salvaged the old shingles when the shrine was given a much-needed new roof. Our shingle was given to us as a gift by some dear German friends who are members of the Schoenstatt Movement, just as my husband and I. It’s an important reminder to us of our roots and a meaningful link between the original shrine and our prayer corner, which we call a home shrine, because we’ve enthroned the Blessed Mother there in the tradition of the Schoenstatt Movement.

While the shingle isn’t part of the original roof (the Schoenstatt Shrine, a former cemetery chapel, was built in the 1100s), it is the better part of a century old, with cracks, crevices, and chips throughout. To most people, it probably looks like a shabby old piece of flat stone. To me, it’s a piece of my heritage, with each crack, crevice, and chip signaling an event, person or milestone that contributed to the history of the movement. Its presence in our home shrine reminds me that one day, I’ll be one of those cracks or crevices – a person long gone and likely forgotten, but who somehow contributed to the history of Schoenstatt.

We had just finished painting the walls of our dining room – the room in which we enthroned our Blessed Mother – and I wanted to clean and polish everything before reassembling the home shrine. I held the slate under the kitchen faucet, letting the warm water gently flow over it, swooshing over it with my sponge. Then I laid the slate on a towel to dry.

“There!” I signed with pleasure. “That’s that.”

I finished cleaning the rest of the home shrine items and set them aside. Then I went to retrieve the slate from the kitchen counter. It looked as dirty as it had been before I washed it!

I grunted in disgust, “Fine. I’ll wash you again, you nasty thing.”

I repeated the cleaning process, this time adding a couple drops of dish soap to my sponge and wiping with a little more vigor and deliberation. When I came back to re-examine it later, I saw that it was better, but still not completely clean. Stubborn, grimy dust still was nestled into the deepest part of each crack, crevice and chip.

“Argh!” I seethed, wanting to get on with the rest of my day.

I took the sponge, added a bit more soap this time, and meticulously wedged the corner of the sponge into each dust-laden corner of the slate, matching edge to edge and making sure I had just the right angle on the sponge. As I worked, I began to chuckle to myself.

“Ha!” I exclaimed. “I’m wiping the slate clean!”

As I continued to work, my pun started to sink in. It occurred to me that I have a lot of “slates” in my life; people and situations that became marred by the grimy dust of misunderstandings, misjudgments, misinterpretations, or even just stupid mistakes. Some of that dust was light enough to be swished away with little effort, or at least it was easier to fool myself into thinking it was gone. Some of it nestled deep enough to require serious wedging from just the right angle and with an extra dose of soap. On first pass, I’d think – I’d hoped – I’d swooshed it all clean, only to later discover that much of it remained, still caught in the cracks and crevices. Then I’d have to go over it again, this time digging deeper and with more care. I’d to go back and right the wrongs, or admit that there are some wrongs that can never be righted completely but must simply be let go.

Now the shrine roof slate has a new meaning for me. It reminds me that, no matter how much I’d prefer to wipe the slate clean in one swift pass, often I have to get out the soap – God’s grace and mercy – and go over those cracks and crevices with greater vigor and deliberation. Prayer, the Sacraments, and surrender to God’s will can help me to match the sponge – my humility – edge for edge, making sure I have just the right angle. Then I’ll have wiped the slate clean.

©2011 Marge Fenelon

We were 84% successful, having found five of the six sets. I was excited and disappointed all at the same time. I wanted to perfectly pull off what I’d code-named “The Tea Cup Caper,” by presenting the cups to five women in my life who are vitally important to me. We’re not biologically related, although we may as well be, since we’re bound together for life as members of the same Association of the Christian Faithful. We’re members of the International Apostolic Federation of Schoenstatt Families, or Family Federation for short. We, along with our husbands, underwent a 10-year period of formation, the culmination of which is a lifetime consecration to the Blessed Virgin Mary and to each other, in terms of our fidelity to one another and to our common mission. All told, we’ve been together for 15 years.

When we began our formation, we all lived in the same general proximity. Now, job relocations have taken two of us out of state; we see each other twice a year – once for a retreat and once for a community workshop, but it never seems enough. As our families have grown, their needs increased, and we’ve become a bit older and a bit slower, it’s become more and more difficult to keep up with the girl chat in which we so love to engage, even for those of us who still live in the area. This is something that men perhaps don’t understand, but we women certainly do. Just watch us anytime we get near one another; we can talk circles around the guys even without directly using words. I wanted the cups and saucers to be a symbolic representation of our unity through our Blessed Mother’s heart, in spite of our physical distance. When we sit down to have tea or coffee with her, we’re having tea or coffee with all of us, because spiritually, we can never be separated.

Our annual workshop was fast approaching and without the sixth cup and saucer set, I figured The Tea Cup Caper would have to wait another year. As we were doing our frantic evening-before packing (also an annual event), my youngest son urged me to give the caper one more effort and try the thrift store down the road.

“I can’t go now!” I gasped. “There’s still so much to do.”

“Go, Mom,” John urged. “I’ll keep working on this stuff while you’re gone. Really, just go. You’ve got to at least try.”

Reluctantly, I went. I wasn’t very hopeful, though; this thrift store rarely had anything remotely like fine china, which is why I feel safe shopping there. I rushed over to the household section, all the way begging Our Lady to help me find (and not break) the last cup and saucer set. Amazingly, I spied a stack of beautiful chinaware – plates, bowls, sugar bowl, creamer, saucers…but no tea cups. Darn! I went through each row of cups, looking for one to match the lovely saucers, spouting prayers to the Blessed Mother as I searched. She’s a woman – of course she’d understand the urgency of the situation. My heart sank further with each row. I was about to give up. Then, I saw it. There at the very end of the row, was my prize. Eureka! The last cup in the last row matched. As I raced to pay for my treasure, the clerk chided me.

“Where’d you get that cup?” she exclaimed.

“Uh, over there,” I dumbly pointed to the shelves of dishes. I felt like a little kid who’d snitched the last chocolate chip cookie.

“I’ve been watching that set for weeks, hoping for the cups to show up!” she said, disgruntled. “Are there any more?”

“Uh, no,” I answered. I tightened my grasp on the cup and pulled it closer to me. I know I should have been more sympathetic toward her, but I had hunted too hard for too long and was not about to surrender set number six under any circumstances. She packed up my purchase, and I scurried home.

I washed and assembled the sets on my kitchen counter. They were all so pretty, that I simply couldn’t decide which one to give to which lady! So, I let Mother Mary decide. I gently wrapped each set, being careful not to pay attention to which set went into which box. I wrote an anonymous note to each of us, put our names on the envelopes, mixed them around, blindly drew an envelope for each box, and taped it in place.

The Tea Cup Caper was a success. We all were pleasantly surprised at the tea cup and saucer that had been chosen for us. Each one seemed to fit each personality, and I found it especially remarkable that the last tea cup I had discovered went to the woman who always puts herself last in lieu of other’s needs. The Blessed Mother did a far better job of matching the set to the individual than I ever could have.

As I write, my tea cup and saucer sit gracefully on my desk top, filled with my favorite tea, a reminder of my sisters in Christ. Suddenly I’m there with them, chatting away, laughing, crying, listening and encouraging and knowing that we are united forever in the heart of the Blessed Virgin Mary. I only wonder why I didn’t pull The Tea Cup Caper sooner.

Copyright 2011 Marge Fenelon

Or does he? Perhaps he doesn’t come swooping down on us, shaking us with his big, booming voice. But he does speak to us in the voices of the people and occurrences around us. He speaks to us through those who have authority over us and those over whom we have authority, through those who support us and those who defy us, through those who we admire and those who we disdain, through those for whom we care and those who care for us. He speaks to us in the wee, small voice deep inside that we often ignore.

Let me give you a very small example. On Wednesday nights, there’s a Mass at the Schoenstatt Marian Shrine closest to my home. I used to go regularly, rarely missing at week. For the past several months, it seems, something has come up every single Wednesday that prohibited me from going. In my willfulness, I’d often succumb to the grouchiness and pouting so characteristic of my temperament.

Yesterday I decided that I was going to make sure the way was clear for me to go. I pushed ahead on my work, prepared supper way ahead of time, and mentally readied myself to go. Then my husband came home sick from work. Really sick. Saint that he is, he told me to just go to Mass anyway but I knew that I couldn’t. If I went, he’d be home miserable and our youngest son would be stuck with the after-supper clean-up. Even though both of them insisted I should go, I didn’t. I couldn’t. There was a little “ping” in my heart that told me my place was at home last night. Yes, the Eucharist is the source and summit of our lives. Yes, there is no substitute for receiving our Lord in his Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity. However, my role first and foremost is as wife and mother. My job is to care for the Christ in my husband and children. My calling is to serve them first and then myself.

So, I didn’t go to Mass.

Instead, I made a Spiritual Communion, cared for my husband, relieved my son of his duties, cleared the table, washed the dishes, and felt my heart lighten in knowing I’d made the right decision by listening to the voice of God through my spouse, my son, and within myself.

As I was working on dishes, we saw a car pull up in front of the house. With great joy, I saw that it was our daughter, who now lives on her own. Because of work and school, her visits are infrequent and often hurried, and so we appreciate every minute we have with her. Still, she makes the sacrifice to drop in whenever she can in spite of her over-burdened schedule. What’s more, last night she was feeling sick and dragged-out from the virus that’s been going around here lately and that gave me the opportunity to do a little extra “mommy-ing” for her. Not that I enjoy seeing my kids sick, but I do love to be able to offer them added TLC when I can, especially as they grow older and begin to need me less and less.

It seems God was rewarding my decision by affirming that I’d listened to his voice correctly. As I reflected on this later on, I was reminded of Jeremiah’s words:

Listen to my voice; then I will be your God and you shall be my people. Walk in all the ways that I command you, so that you may prosper.

When we put our own willfulness aside and listen to God’s voice, we will prosper. It may be something as simple as knowing we’ve made the right decision or it may be something much grander and far-reaching. Either way, we can be assured that, when we listen to his voice, he will surely be our God and we will be his people.

 Copyright 2011 Marge Fenelon

It’s been tough going on and off – the cancer, but also the founding of the community. All group endeavors have their unique challenges, and ours was no different. I like to joke about my Irish-German heritage by describing myself as “Irish enough for the temper to flare, German enough to keep it there.” Betty saw this in me, and so whenever I’d get myself in knots over a meeting or obstacle, she’d be the one to pull me aside in the hallway and gently admonish me.

“Get a grip on it, girl,” she’d scold, “Or you’ll do more harm than good.”

“Don’t let it get to you,” she’d encourage. “Stay above it.”

“No matter how bad things get,” she’d insist, “We have to act in all love and charity.”

Often – especially in the last couple of years – I’d feel as though I was at the end of my rope. Because of persistent sores cause by the radiation treatments and her overall fragility, Betty couldn’t give or receive hugs. So, she’d pull me aside, grab me by the shoulders, straighten me up and get me to look her in the eye. Then she’d clasp my hands in hers and say with deliberation, “Don’t you ever give up, girl!”

Today, as I stood looking down at our dear Betty lying so peacefully in the casket, I could almost hear her again saying, “Don’t you ever give up, girl!” The tears came, not in torrents, but in quakes from the deep-down pit of my gut. For Betty, giving up was not an option – not for herself, not for her loved ones, not for her community. She never gave up.

Betty, what will we do without you, I thought to myself.

The words of the priest at my father’s funeral more than 34 years ago echoed in my head. My older siblings were just entering their adult years and I was a mere 15 years old. Dad had suffered for years from a heart condition that limited his ability to be the father he had wanted to be. The priest said, “Dads are used to being the providers. It’s a great hardship for them when they can’t take care of their families as they’d like. Now your Dad can take care of you kids in a way he never could before.” Over the years, these words have brought me great consolation and helped me to develop a deepening relationship with my father, who I know works tirelessly to care for me and for my family.

As Catholics, we believe in the Communion of Saints and so we know that what the priest said about Dad applies to all or our beloved deceased: They’re able to care for us in ways they never could before. Now Betty can do so much more than admonish, encourage, and insist. She can intercede for me before God himself, and can keep the needs of not only me, but of all who she loves, present to him. Goodness knows I’m going to need all the prayers I can get to forge ahead. And so, Betty just has to keep on helping me from her new home and with her new faculties, and I’ll have to keep reminding her of my intentions. I’ll need her continued support, and I can be a pretty stubborn case. Perhaps it’s time for me to tell Betty, “Don’t you ever give up, girl!”

Copyright 2011 Marge Fenelon

The tears came to my eyes, and I quickly flicked off the clippers and scooped her up in my arms. “I’m so sorry, Daisy, I’m so sorry!” I kept repeating over and over again.

Even though it had been an accident, I still felt like the wickedest person in the world. I had been trying to shave the hair on her tummy extra-close and in my determination to get it the way I wanted it to be, I forgot that I was working on a living, breathing creature and snipped out a little furrow of skin. It was my own stubborn self-will that hurt Daisy, not the clippers.

Since I had started the haircut, I knew I had to finish it. Once she and I both stopped trembling, I set her back down on the table so that I could finish the grooming. She looked up at me with her big, brown eyes so filled with love that it brought tears to my eyes again.

“Oh, Daisy! How can you possibly still love me after I hurt you so badly?” I exclaimed.

I stroked the silky-soft hair on the top of her head, patted her side and went back to work – this time with far more gentleness and conscientiousness than before. The more I worked, the more she looked into my eyes in that same loving, compassionate way. The more she looked, the more humbled I was. She seemed to be trying to comfort me even though she was the one who had been cut!

She hung around me for the rest of that day, nudging me with her nose and wagging her tail every time I glanced at her. Every time I glanced at her, I felt bad all over again. Every time I felt bad all over again, she nudged me with her nose and wagged her tail at me. And so the cycle continued for the rest of that day.

The next day, she was her same old self; you’d never have guessed I’d hurt her so badly the day before. The wound was now covered with scab and on its way to complete healing. Of course, I was still worried and kept checking it to make sure it really was getting better.

“Oh, Margaret!” Mark good-naturedly scolded me. “Stop that! Daisy’s forgotten all about it. You should, too.” He was right. Daisy was fine – I was the one still suffering, wallowing in my own guilt and repeatedly beating up on myself for causing damage while trying to impose my own strong will.

That afternoon, I had the opportunity for some quiet time alone. As I sat, Rosary in hand, I started to wonder what message the heavenly Father had for me in this situation.

It seems to me that we human beings do that an awful lot to each other. We become so determined to get things the way we want them to be that we forget we are working with other living, breathing creatures and we snip out little pieces of each other’s hearts with our own self-will. Making sure that things turn out according to our desires and standards becomes so all-consuming that we cut deeply because we simply can’t help ourselves. We want to do things just right so badly that we furrow into the flesh without even realizing it. The original intent may be good, but the damage done can take a long, long time to heal.

I have a quote hanging on my desk, just above my computer screen that I read from time to time, especially when I’m puzzled or discouraged. It was spoken by Father Joseph Kentenich (1885-1965), founder of the International Schoenstatt Movement and a person to whom I often go for wisdom and reflection. It goes like this:

“Personalities who create history use their minds to participate in the creative activity of the divine mind. They reflect on divine thoughts, and check to see what God wants and what features he would like to see imprinted on our age; they follow the law of the ‘open door.’ Time and again God wants to reveal his thoughts to us through the circumstances, to tell us how he wants to shape and form the present times, present-day life, also through us.”

What does that mean? It means that we’re obligated to follow God’s will for us and to try to determine his will by listening to and observing the people and happenings around us. We have to be watchful for the opportunities he places before us, and open ourselves to his creative work within and through us. We are called to participate in the creative activity of his divine mind. In the same way, we’re obligated to allow others to follow God’s will for them. We have to be watchful for the opportunities he places before them, and give them the freedom to open themselves to his creative work within and through them. We are called to facilitate their participation in the creative activity of his divine mind, because God’s will isn’t just for me; it’s for us.

Inevitably there will be times that we – regardless of our best intentions – cut deeply into others. It’s inevitable that there will be times that others – regardless of their best intentions – cut deeply into us. We can take our cue from Daisy. For as much as she was hurting, she knew I was hurting more.

Copyright 2011 Marge Fenelon

A friend to all is a friend to none.

The energy of the mind is the essence of life.

Well begun is half done.

Aristotle spoke these words more than 2300 years ago.

How about these words of wisdom? Have you either spoken them yourself or heard them from others?

For a man to conquer himself is the first and noblest of all victories.

He who is not a good servant will not be a good master.

Silence gives consent.

Ignorance is the root and stem of all evil.

Nearly 2400 years ago, a philosopher named Plato gave those words to posterity.

You probably recognize these.

Be as you wish to seem.

It is not living that matters, but living rightly.

The only true wisdom is in knowing that you know nothing.

Those are from Socrates, who lived nearly 2500 years ago.

Time and again, we quote these ancient philosophers, citing their sage advice and applying it to our present lives. Why shouldn’t we? They were experts on human nature and right living. The words they spoke then are still true today.

Jesus Christ was an expert on human nature and right living, also. He lived less that 2100 years ago and yet, sadly, many people pass off his teaching as archaic thinking, no longer to be heeded by modern man.

Not long ago, I had a conversation with a woman who is convinced that the Church and her teachings are completely outdated and therefore, she’s justified in ignoring them. She intends to wait until the Church comes to her senses at which point, she’ll resume receiving the Eucharist and will become actively involved in a parish.

It’s even more alarming that this woman is not alone!  More and more I hear similar comments and each time I wonder, Who are we to think we’re wiser than the Church Fathers? The Church has more than 2000 years of wisdom, enlightenment, and experience under her belt, so to speak, and we think we can out guess her in our few decades of life? Somehow, this makes absolutely no sense to me. This attitude that, well, that Church stuff is fine for you if you’re that gullible, but not for me because I’m too modern is not only foolish; it’s dangerous.

We’ve known since the days of Socrates, Aristotle and Plato that lack of sleep will harm our health. Arsenic, when ingested, will kill us. Their centuries-old phrases speckle our conversations and pop up when we’re searching to prove a point.

A friend is faced with an overwhelming project and we’ll encourage her with, “Well begun is half done.”

We meet someone struggling with humility and we think, He who is not a good servant will not be a good master.

We’re in a meeting and concluding a resolution and say, “Silence gives consent.”

We look at the world around us, shake our heads and murmur, “Ignorance is the root and stem of all evil.”

We puzzle over things we can’t understand and soothe ourselves with, “The only true wisdom is in knowing that you know nothing.”

But, “Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” is outdated?

“Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy” is archaic?

Are we really too modern to accept the wisdom of, “Lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal”? Or “For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also?” (Mt. 6:19-21)

I’ll be the first to admit that I have a lead foot, and sometimes (okay, often) drive above the speed limit. Okay, fine. I also admit that I’ve put recyclables in the garbage can instead of the recycling bin. But, for the most part, I obey the civil law as most of us do. So, if we obey civil law, why is it that we can simply dismiss the Ten Commandments? We see this most often in regard to sex and marriage, but it happens in other areas, too. We think our 21^st Century minds know better than God.

Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life for all time. His thinking is not archaic. As a matter of fact, his thinking is way, way ahead of us moderns. His thinking is all the way to the end of the world and beyond – something we can never hope to wrap our minds around. Ancient philosophers can give us words of basic wisdom in this life. Jesus – and his Church – give us the words of Eternal Life.

Copyright 2011 Marge Fenelon

Yesterday I had a hankering to do some gardening. Even though I’m not very good at it, every once in a while I get the urge to get down and dirty in the literal sense. The potted plants in our yard had gotten out of control, especially the three pots of mums I’d gotten as a birthday present at the beginning of the month. More than half the blooms were dead and dried. The new ones looked despoiled next to the crusty old ones. The folks at the garden store we’d just visited had drastically cut back all of their mum plants. They do that so the plant stock has more energy to put into new growth. I looked at my sorry mums and realized that it was time for me to do the same.

I got out the clippers and started snipping away. But each time I clipped off a new bloom, I felt an awful sense of remorse.

“This is so sad,” I said to myself. All these beautiful new blooms choked out by the old ones. What a shame.” Still, I knew that if I didn’t take the whole plant down, I’d be robbing it of the enormous potential it held within its roots. I took a deep breath and kept on snipping.

I finished the first, then the second, and then went on to the third plant. The third was the most difficult because it was my favorite – rich, crimson petals surrounding brilliant yellow centers. Lovely.

As I worked, the blooms fell to the ground and made a pile around my feet. The bright pastels of the fresh blooms mixed with the muted browns of the old ones. It was a strange sight; almost pretty and almost ugly all at the same time.

I clipped the last bud off the third plant and stepped back to examinee my work. What I saw amazed me, and I simply had to chuckle. All three plants were loaded with new buds! They’d been so buried among the crusty old blooms that I hadn’t noticed them. Now they were the most apparent part of the plants. They looked like spring mums ready to burst forth again.

This is the secret that all good gardeners know. Sometimes the old has to be drastically clipped away in order to make way for the new. It can be painful, but the fruits will be amazing.

Life is like that sometimes, isn’t it? Sometimes we’re so buried in the crusty old blooms that we can’t see the new buds beneath the surface. Then we have to keep our mouths shut, get out the clippers and bravely allow our Master Gardener to snip everything away so that the enormous potential for growth lying within our roots can be realized. Then we’ll look like spring mums ready to burst forth again.

Our Lord spoke about this in terms of a grape vine, referring to himself as the True Vine.

I am the true vine, and the Father is the vinedresser. Every branch of mine that bears no fruit, he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes he prunes, that it may bear more fruit. (Jn 15:2)

It takes courage to remain still so that the Father can snip away all the dead blooms. Snipping that deeply and being that vulnerable can be pretty scary; we don’t really know what lies beneath. Yet we can be sure that whatever it is will pave the way for new growth. And in that respect, mum’s the word.

Copyright 2011 Marge Fenelon

Editor’s Note:

Please be sure to visit Marge’s website at www.margefenelon.com and join me in warmly welcoming her to CatholicMom.com.  LMH

Meet Me at the Well

I gave my When’s God Gonna Show Up? Workshop last week in Sleepy Eye, Minnesota. This time, my audience was comprised of women only; it was a special event for mothers of all ages, both actual and spiritual.  The coordinator had tipped me off ahead of time that there were women in attendance who’d recently lost husbands, jobs, or had experienced other kinds of traumas. I took this into account and tried to be especially sensitive to their needs when I gave my presentations.

As always, I watched closely the facial expressions and body posture of the members of my audience. Those non-verbals can tell me an awful lot about how my message is being received. What I noticed as I spoke was quite interesting. Actually, it was more than interesting – it was inspiring. I saw the frequent exchange of knowing looks, comforting pats on the back and sisterly hugs of compassion. In the afternoon when I divided them into small discussion groups the chatter quickly rose from polite conversation to an animated roar.

This experience took me back to my childhood. When I was very small, my mother often would visit with the neighbor ladies. She’d go over to their house or they’d come to ours and they’d sit down together at the kitchen table over a cup or two of coffee. We kids used to make fun of Mom and her “kaffee klatsch” habit. We saw it as a waste of time, a useless way to spread gossip, an avoidance of her motherly duties.

Well, there might well have been a little gossip going back and forth, but there was much, much more to these little kaffee klatsches. As they chatted, they offered one another companionship, support, understanding and validity. It wasn’t just the caffeine that gave them oomph to keep going; it was the dynamics of old fashioned face-to-face female conversation.

That’s not to say that men don’t need to talk to one another! Before I alienate my male readers, I want to point out that guys both enjoy and benefit from the company of each other. However, they do so in a way that is far different from women. In general, men don’t kaffee klatsch. They discuss together, they work together, they recreate together, but they don’t kaffee klatsch together.

I think it has to do with the way the two genders process things. When something comes up, men usually go off by themselves, think about it, take the components apart, put them back together, make a decision and then act on it. Period. Women take things in, look at the big picture, wonder what the picture would look like in a different light, assess their feelings about it and then talk about it. And talk about it. You see, women work things out by verbalizing them. That’s how we process things so that we can make sense of them and figure out how to act on them. Thus, the kaffee klatsch.

In Minnesota, I witnessed a kaffee klatsch en masse, and it was an awesome thing to observe. Later, I reflected on it and was led to the Biblical images of the women at the well. Both the Old and New Testament have scenes in which women gather around the well to draw water for their families.

And he made the camels kneel down outside the city by the well of water at the time of evening, the time when women go out to draw water. (Ge 24:11)

The time when women go out to draw water…that’s a Biblical kaffee klatsch! Sometimes I wonder if the “chicken or the egg” question could be applied to “women or the well”. Which came first? Did God first place in us a need to dig wells or did he first place in women the need to gather around them? For all the jokes both genders make about the way women can yak and yak and yak, there is some sense to it. I saw that demonstrated by the women at my workshop.

Never again will I poke fun at my mom for her kaffee klatsch habit. In fact, I probably owe her an apology and I’ll do so – right after I talk to my lady friends about it!

Copyright 2011 Marge Fenelon