To Be Sure of Heaven Take My Hand

We live in very dark times, we struggle and labor and every day appears to get darker.  There are times perhaps that we as Christians could allow ourselves to get discouraged, but we cannot.  The more difficult the times, the more we must do our best to walk with God.  It is our mission as God’s people to pray for others, to help everyone and to do our best.  By our words, actions, by our lives we must lead all to heaven. On that holiest of nights, when the Christ child was born, the angels came to the field where the shepherds lay.  “An angel of the Lord appeared and the glory of the Lord shone around them…Suddenly a great army of heaven’s angels appeared with the angel, singing praises to God.” Luke 2:9-13.  But as I read recently, in that manger, where the babe was born, Mary and Joseph did not see or hear the angels, they could only see their little child, crying and shivering, hungry and cold in the dirty and smelly stable.  Like our lives, raw and sometimes ugly, with very real difficulties like worries of how to take care of our families and cold weather and hungry children.

We cannot falter from our prayers, by our words, actions, by our lives we must point the way to the Christ child, as the angels did that night.  We must be lights in this dark world leading others, showing them the way.  It seems there are so many who are lost in today’s world, I find that I will be in conversation with someone and suddenly I am talking about life and God comes up in conversation.  I think that is no accident.  I take those opportunities to talk about my faith, to say that without God, the weight of the world would be unbearable to me. That my life is better because of my relationship with Jesus, I do not force my beliefs on anyone, but my voice is heard.

For many years I was quiet about what God was doing in my life, but no more.  I am very open about my weekly prayer group, I tell people if they ever need prayers to call me and I offer to pray for them.  I don’t check to see if they are Catholic or believers or if they go to church, as John Travolta said in the movie, Michael, “that’s not my area”.  I only know to pray and to offer my thoughts on what has given me peace.

So on we go; faith is believing without seeing, and the more I believe and trust in Him, the more I see.  Rather than rest in Him, I want to be a resting place for Him.  So I encourage you, continue with your prayer life, say the Rosary, try to get to a mass during the week, ask the Holy Spirit for guidance and direction and keep your focus on God.  Perhaps in our everyday lives, we may only see the cold and dirty stable, but in the quiet of our hearts we can hear the angels sing.

Wishing you and your family the most blessed Christmas.

Copyright 2012 Maureen O’Shea

Lead the Way

The kids are hanging in the yard, it’s a lovely summer evening and I’m sitting on the deck with my neighbor catching up over a glass of wine.   All of sudden, we heard a distinct scratching noise under the deck that was clearly an animal of some sort.  We stopped for a moment and the noise stopped, a few moments later it continued, directly under our feet.  Immediately we jumped up, thinking perhaps a possum, a raccoon or worse yet, a skunk?  Suddenly it dawned on me and I asked my kids: “Where is Daisy?”  Our golden retriever who loves to explore was missing.  We all realized at the same moment, that she must have run after something and gotten stuck.  We began to yell her name and she began to bang and bump getting wedged underneath the low lying deck, she was stuck and clearly going further under, in the darkness going in the wrong direction.  My daughter and her girlfriend came running over and we were all calling and coaxing.

We ran for a flashlight and Katie knelt down and began to coax and call Daisy, directing her with the light and slowly Daisy began to inch her way towards Katie’s voice and the light.  Ten minutes later, out she came jumping into Katie’s arms, weary and exhausted, but clearly overjoyed to be safe and cared for and so happy to have gotten out of the silly jam she had gotten herself into.

In my relief of not having to call the local Fire Department; what a great headline that would be:  “Drinking Mom Loses Dog, Trapped Underfoot”, I couldn’t help but think how much I’m like that silly little dog.  Crashing and thrashing about, whimpering and turning in circles in a jail of my own making and then at the last moment stuck in circumstances I can’t fix on my own, I cry out to God for help.  Instead of asking Him for direction first, I rush into a situation, thinking I know all the answers and making a mess out of something that should be simple.  But God always reaches out to me, He gets down on my level in the dark calling and coaxing and showing me His direction.  He sends me people and clues and signs and often it takes a while, but eventually when I’m tired of trying on my own with no apparent progress, I look up.  And there He is.  Shining the light in the darkness, beckoning, inviting, leading the way.  And then I focus and keep my eyes on the light until I get out from under.  I guess the secret is to keep my eyes on the light every day, every moment, so I don’t get jammed up so often.  It’s all about the focus.  And it’s Him.

Copyright 2012 Maureen O’Shea

Weekend With Immaculée

Just returned from an incredible weekend in New York City; my girlfriend and I were privileged to attend Immaculée Ilibagiza’s New York City Retreat on Healing and Hope. It began early Friday morning and it was a life changing weekend; the conference was about love and forgiveness and these people really know how to forgive. For those of you who don’t know, the woman hosting the retreat, Immaculee Ilibagiza, is a survivor of the Rwandan Genocide and she speaks a message of hope and love. In 1994, when the Hutus took over the country, Immaculée was a college student, home for the Easter break visiting her family in their tiny village of Mataba. Her father, a member of the Tutsi tribe, knowing that trouble lay ahead and fearing for her life, gave her his rosary beads and sent Immaculée to a neighbor’s home, a friend of the family and a member of the opposing Hutu tribe. It would be the last gift he would ever give her. Shortly after, the country was in an uprising and the horrific genocide had begun. Evil was truly at work in the country in these times as the Hutus began to massacre the Tutsi’s. Bravely Immaculée’s neighbor, Pastor Murinzi, took Immaculée and seven other women and hid them in a bathroom in his home. What all thought would only be a short time, turned into three months of continual terror while the women struggled to survive in this 3’x4’ bathroom. The story is related in Immaculée’s book Left To Tell: Discovering God Amidst the Rwandan Holocaust (Hay House, 2006), which relates all the details in which Immaculée gives all glory to God and the Blessed Mother for saving her and these other women. With nothing more than her father’s rosary beads, she somehow survived after three months of listening to the destruction and murder going on all around the house. The home was searched several times, but the conquering tribe through the grace of God, never noticed the door that was hidden by a large dresser that had been pushed up against it. It is an amazing story and well worth reading, but that was only the beginning of the miracles to come. Amazingly, Immaculée survived, though most of her family did not, and went on to finish school and come to this country and begin a new life, more amazing was the power of God given to her in her ability to forgive. As she began to reveal her story and it was turned into a book, she eventually made her way back to the tiny village of Kibeho, Rwanda, she actually met up with the killers that had wiped out her family. And she forgave them. It is hard to comprehend, when I sometimes have trouble forgiving the women in the brand new SUV who cuts me off on my way to work. Having read almost all her books, including Our Lady of Kibeho: Mary Speaks to the World from the Heart of Africa (Hay House 2008) a book which tells the story of the Blessed Mother appearing to young girls in a school in Kibeho in 1981 in a warning of what was to come, I was familiar with her story.

My girlfriend Ann and I showed up at the retreat, not knowing what to expect, but like children at a carnival, we knew it was going to be wonderful. And we weren’t disappointed. Immaculée was incredible, with her gentle demeanor she talked about love and forgiveness and joy and the power of prayer. She talked about the Seven Sorrows Rosary an ancient prayer that the visionaries said Our Lady wanted spread, and the miracles that have been associated with it. It is a beautiful chaplet that contains seven sorrowful mysteries of our Blessed Mother with 7 beads per mystery. The graces given and the meditation of Our Lady’s suffering is such a lovely prayer, it should not replace the traditional rosary, but as an additional devotion to be said on Tuesdays and Fridays, or as a novena when in need of special graces. There were about 200 of us at the retreat and all of us recited the Seven Sorrows Rosary on Friday afternoon. We were all receptive to her message and in these difficult times, more than ready to soak in the joy and love and good news that emanated throughout the room. Later on in the day, Father Ubald, a Rwandan priest spoke. He told us of meeting the man who murdered his mother in the genocide and learning, through the grace of God, how to forgive him. He told us that the man is in jail and not expected to be released for 15 years. While in jail, the mother of his children passed away and the children were put out on the street. This humble, gentle priest then proceeded to tell these 200 people in midtown Manhattan that he stepped in to raise these children. He is paying for their schooling and along with their father is making decisions for their future! He actually had to repeat himself, because though his words were heavily accented, it was more the concept that we had difficulty understanding.

The retreat continued on Saturday morning and the beaming faces and the way we ran to get to our seats, so as not to miss a bit, was a testament to the need for God’s love and teaching about forgiveness. The itinerary said we were to have a procession placing flowers on the altar for the Blessed Mother, now I must tell you: neither Ann, nor I wanted to be a part of this procession. We felt reluctant to step out, yet when Immaculée described all of us present as Our Lady’s flowers, some faded; dried out and wilted, some in full bloom and flowering beautifully, but that Mary would water us and refresh us all, we found ourselves lining up and slowly making our way forward. As we walked, Immaculée began to pray out loud for all those in need, she spoke of the lost and the lonely, the broken-hearted, the sick, the dying. She went on to speak of those who were never good enough, those who were weighed down, those who wanted to get closer to God, those who had addictions. This procession probably lasted about an hour. It turned out something we didn’t want to do in the first place, became this incredible, healing, uplifting prayer. We became the flowers and we shed our dead leaves on that altar, we left all our cares and concerns on that altar and we walked away lighter and more joyous than before.

I am praying for forgiveness and a softening of hearts for many of my loved ones; the hope that was provided this past weekend lifts my heart and gives me the knowledge that it is truly possible. God has it all under control and I just have to trust in him. Resentment and anger just blocks the blessings that God wants to work through us, for ourselves and for others. I happen to be one of those “fixers”. Tell me what you need and I will fix it, I pray and listen to what I think is God’s voice, then I run right out and do everything I think he wants. What I got from the retreat is that I have to continue to pray and meditate and read the bible, try to listen for God’s voice, but then be still. Let God do the heavy lifting. It doesn’t matter what it looks like, or why things are a certain way, what matters is our reaction to them. If I really trust God, there is nothing to get upset about. The weight is lifted off my shoulders. I have to believe when I ask for God’s will to be done in my life, that everything is as it should be and that God has a greater plan than I can see. And then I have peace. And joy too. It is so lovely to be cared for by a loving God who knows me and my faults and my worries and my desires and knows what’s best for me and wants to give me more than I ever imagined. All I have to do is have faith. Try a little faith.

Copyright 2012 Maureen O’Shea

The gardener did not have much time to speak with the many who came in and out of the grounds each day.  So busy was he tending and pruning, gently singing and shaping the various plants and flora.  The abundance was often overwhelming, the soft rain would come and the sun would shine and the beauty of this place was otherworldly.  Folks came to bask in the majesty of the garden; an afternoon spent there was as good as a weekend away.  World-weary spirits were renewed after escaping to this lovely refuge from the city.  For a long time, the gardener was extremely satisfied with all his hard work, he felt that his efforts were rewarded and things were exactly as he intended.

One day he noticed a small tree in the back corner of the garden that did not grow as lovely as the rest.  He began to hoe the ground around the tree, feed it and give it extra attention.  He sung to the tree and pruned it and loved it, but it just wasn’t responding the way he wanted it to.  It seemed to give the gardener a hard time.  The tree was meager and sparse with bare and crooked branches.  He thought to tear it from the ground, but felt he had put in so much time, he couldn’t just give up now.  It was small and bent over and refused to respond to all his best labors to improve it.  The gardener began to get angry and resentful, this one small spot in the garden he felt ruined the look of the rest.  Soon he found himself spending all his time on the small, stooped shrub.

Sightseers still came and marveled and said to each other how proud and talented the gardener must be.  Their joy overflowed and they felt serene and at peace in this sanctuary in the midst of the metropolis.  Somehow, as the days passed, the gardener began to spend more and more time with the difficult unbending tree.  Soon the flowers in other parts of the garden began to wilt just a little and the vegetables began to droop.  People still came, but not as many as before.  Leaves began to lay in small piles upon the paths, deadheads were not removed and vegetables hung heavy on the vines as the obsessive gardener neglected other parts of the garden.  One day, he completely forgot to water the grass, so intent was he, high in the branches of the heartbreaking tree.  Overnight brown patches appeared on the formerly immaculate lawn.  In the morning, the gardener made straight for the wayward tree and never noticed the flaws in the usually lush carpet of grass.

A young family, who had brought their friends to see the magnificent park, frowned in consternation at the condition of the once pristine grounds.  They murmured amongst themselves.  Somehow it had begun to look a bit shabby and dare they say it even derelict in some spots.  Visitors, who previously were admonished to tread carefully on the lovingly placed flagstones, now trampled wherever they pleased and sometimes left the remains of picnics on the grass.

None of this seemed to penetrate the gardener’s consciousness.  This garden was his family, his baby.  The old man had dedicated his life to it and now he could only saw the flaw in the beauty and obsess over it.   His present actions began to destroy the entirety of what had once been magnificence.

One day the taxes were due and visitors had dwindled to a few people on their lunch hour in search of a place to sit down.  The donations were not enough to pay them.  The gardener slightly aware raised his head from his work long enough to acknowledge his lack of money.
“Oh well”.  Still he fevered on cutting and pruning, feeding and mulching the annoying old shrub.

On a late fall morning when the gardener arrived at the garden there was a large padlock on the gate.  He stared beyond the fence through eyes that could not see.  As the tax men came to escort him away, finally it dawned on the old fellow that the thing he loved most in the world was lost.  His beautiful garden, his pride and joy was not taken away, he had thrust it away with both hands.

As he took one last glance over what was left of his holdings, his eye caught sight of the disfigured old oak.  What struck the gardener most from this distance was that the ancient tree had a beauty and elegance he had never noticed.  With his head bowed, the gardener turned and wept as he was led away.

Copyright 2011 Maureen O’Shea

I strongly believe as parents it is our responsibility to teach our children and equip them for life.  With all our advice about studying and working hard, we need to also inform them about the insidiousness of the enemy and give them the tools and the weapons with which to fight.  As Catholics we’ve seen movies or heard about things like exorcisms and praying over people, we’re all familiar with The Exorcist and The Amityville Horror and scary movies like that.  What we might not realize is there is a lot of truth in those movies.  We would never consider sending our child out without a warm coat in the winter, yet we send them out in the world without the knowledge and the means to protect their very souls.  The Blessed Mother has told us time and again that the Rosary is our very best defense against evil and sin in the world.  At Fatima, Guadalupe, Garabandal and more recently Medjugore, she has begged us to help her save the world and souls through our recitation of the Rosary and prayer.

In our society the nuclear family is under attack.  Divorce, infidelity, drugs, addiction, even boredom can cause families to be ripped apart.  Many of us are directly affected.  How do we combat the trauma that divorce has on our kids?  We do everything we can to support and protect our children, we feed them, we clothe them and try to love and care for them as best we can, then we send them off into the world with nothing to give them hope and protection from the things that can truly destroy them.  We say children are resilient, yet we all know wounded children who grew up to become scarred adults.  We ourselves may be damaged from our own childhoods or distraught over poor choices we’ve made or are making in our lives.  Friends suggest therapy, exercise, a new diet regimen.  The hollowness that exists must be filled and we go off searching for the next best thing, a new guy, a new girl, a piece of jewelry, another high.  After we’ve exhausted ourselves being promiscuous, trying drugs or stuffing ourselves with food; when we’re done maxing out our credit cards and getting drunk every weekend, maybe it’s time to try prayer.

It works.  The amazing thing is that you don’t even realize how it happens.  We turn to God as a last resort when we’re in trouble and we pray, desperate for a miracle to fix the situation at hand, but often instead of altering the circumstance, prayer changes us.  God has such a cool plan for each one of us, and sometimes we flounder through life trying to find our purpose or meaning.  Perhaps we should ask Him.   Any relationship is only as good as the lines of communication.  Open the door.  Ask, speak, yell, cry or whisper. Or even better, don’t say a word.  Just listen.  The problem is that in the world we live in, there is never any silence, especially for our children.  If they’re not texting, they’re on the computer, or playing video games or watching television or listening to their Ipod.  How do they know what they’re missing if we don’t tell them?

Everyone speaks of having no time these days and it’s true.  I recently visited Rosary Hill Hospice in Hawthorne, NY run by the Dominican Sisters of Hawthorne.  As I walked the halls of this beautiful, peaceful place one of the workers explained, “Out in the world, we are all so busy, then you come here and you meet someone who is dying.  They are literally running out of time, yet they take your hand, they look you in the eye, they ask “How are you?”  Not only do they wait for the answer, they really want to know”.

Perhaps that is another trick of the devil: to keep us so busy and distracted, we don’t get a chance to really live or think about our lives.  Many friends complain they never get to see their families, parents get older and pass away and siblings are too busy to get together.  Work is too unstable, so we have to work longer hours, there’s not enough time in the day.  Logically we say that’s ridiculous, we still have the same 24 hours we’ve always had, but our priorities have changed.  Family time seems to often be the first thing to go.  How often do we sit down as a family for dinner together? What about a board game or a walk together?  Is it as hard for your family as it is for mine to turn the television off?

We are halfway through Lent, this is our time to meditate and reflect on the passion of Jesus.  Maybe tonight we can pull out a pair of Rosary beads and say a decade as a family and teach the children that it is the greatest of gifts, the greatest of weapons, the greatest of jewels.  If we don’t teach our children who will?

These days every news program and magazine has a special about preparing your home for an emergency.  Stock up on water, canned goods, flashlights and batteries.  I say throw in a few pairs of rosary beads, a bible and some holy water as well.

At some point in our lives, most of us come to a time when we are in deep despair.  We hit the wall, we are at our lowest.  We are dealing with death, disease, divorce, unemployment or worse.  Terrible thoughts may enter our minds, thoughts of hurting ourselves, thoughts of ending it all.  We are down on the floor on our knees.  It is our job as parents to tell our children that that day comes to most everyone.  A moment may come when everything seems to have failed, when they have been betrayed, when the worst has happened.  They need to know that it is real and that they might feel as if there is no hope.  Tell them when it happens to fall to their knees.  It is there where we can begin again.  The noise has stopped, we can’t run anymore.  It is the middle of the night and we are all alone. There is no one to turn to.  And then, after awhile, in the midst of our tears, we look up.  And He looks down.  That’s when He can begin to heal us.  But we must ask.  We must turn back to Him.  We must teach our children that not only does evil exist but what also exists is a God who loves them unconditionally.  He is real.  He is mighty and He will overcome.  He is waiting for you and He is eternal.  He is our Father and we are His children.  Talk to Him.

Copyright 2011 Maureen O’Shea

This week was different though, the Emperor, Caesar Augustus had ordered a census to be taken and people were coming from miles around to be counted as citizens of Bethlehem. Families who hadn’t been home in decades would travel to be counted tomorrow. Paul smacked his lips greedily and grinned at the thought of the silver coins he would count by the end of the week.

Paul was a good man, he went to temple and tried to follow the Law of Moses and be fair in all his dealings, but he couldn’t help but be excited at the prospect of the money he would earn in the next few days. The only blemish on his sunny thoughts was a falling out he had had with his brother Joaquin several years earlier. They who had been so close now didn’t speak, there had been a disagreement after their father had died. He could barely remember what it had been about, but he remembered feeling very angry and disrespected. They had all lived under the same roof when Papa was alive, their young children more like brothers and sisters than cousins. During the argument terrible words were exchanged, words that couldn’t be taken back, there was great anger between them and Paul didn’t know how to make peace. He was further annoyed that Joaquin who knew Paul better than anyone could judge him so harshly, Joaquin should have understood and forgiven him. Suddenly he thought to himself, “Should I have forgiven him first?” He’d studied the words of Torah as a child and knew the lesson of Cain when he said, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” Perhaps I should have reached out to him as the law instructed. But then it was too late, Joaquin and his family had moved far away from Bethlehem and the years had passed, their children didn’t even know each other anymore. Paul knew his brother had returned to Bethlehem with his family for the census and that they were staying with friends just down the road. This was a further insult to Paul, but he was tired of thinking about it and getting angry. Sometimes it saddened him, Joaquin had been his best friend, they had shared sleeping quarters when they were children and spent weeks camping out together tending sheep in the fields. He smiled at the memory of one particular hot day when they were bored and began to hurl figs at each other across the field, aiming at one another’s head. Running around and laughing so hard, until Papa had come along and Joaquin had hit him in the back. That was the end of that. Paul threw the rest of his half-eaten fig into the garden as if throwing it at his brother long ago. He decided to put Joaquin out of his mind for the moment. There was too much to do to get ready for the crowds who would be here before he knew it. “Hmm, maybe we can fit one more sleeping pallet in the hall to accommodate another visitor…”

Several hours later, Paul was exhausted, it was very late and all the weary travelers had been fed. His wife, Sarah and his children had been run ragged trying to please the rowdy crowd. Now, however, just a few men sat around the fire drinking wine and talking quietly, most had gone to their rooms. Some were reading and a card game was going on in one corner. Paul was about to start up the stairs to bed, when he heard one more knock at the door. His wife Sarah met his eyes across the room, she looked warningly at him. “There’s no more room” she mouthed as he began to move toward the door, the house was bursting at the seams with people. Sarah loved him dearly and knew he worked hard for his family, but she also knew Paul’s weakness for a few extra coins. She quickly followed him to the door to make sure he wouldn’t let anyone else in. Surely the whole town would be settled at this hour, who could it be?

As Paul opened the door, Sarah caught sight of the dark night. A few people passed by the door, fires were lit in the courtyard, some children were asleep on their parent’s laps. A man was at the door, Sarah could see in the dim light as Paul held up a candle, he was dressed modestly, obviously worn out from a long journey. The young man with the piercing eyes laid out his request, “Good evening sir, do you have any room for myself and my wife?” The young man gestured to a figure sitting on a donkey nearby. It was hard to see for the dark night, but it looked like a woman wrapped in blankets. “Sorry friend”, replied Paul, beginning to close the door, “there’s no room at the inn”. “Please sir”, the young man’s voice was stronger now, “we’ve come a very long way and my wife is with child and ready to give birth at any moment”. Not wanting to get involved and tired after his long day, Paul again refused and began to shut the door, when suddenly he felt Sarah’s hand on his arm. Something about the figure on the donkey made Sarah take notice. The veils parted as the young girl lifted her head. Their eyes met and they were full and blue, almost glowing in the dark night. A light shone in them like nothing Sarah had ever seen. “Wait, Paul”, she whispered to her husband. “But we have no rooms, protested Paul. The young man stood with his hand open expectantly, “Please, sir”. Paul looked at his wife, it was so unlike her to make exceptions. He looked back at the man and then glanced at the dim figure on the donkey. “The only thing I have left is a stable in the back where the animals sleep. It’s not much, but it will be warm and dry and at least the woman can rest”. “Thank you, sir,” the young man reached for his hand and shook it. Paul shrugged off the handshake and pointed in the direction of the old barn. “Just back there. We have finished supper, but my daughter will bring you some bread and wine. Good night.” “Good night”, Paul closed the door and Sarah patted his arm. “You and your crazy ideas, Sarah, I’m going to bed!” Sarah smiled at her husband, he really was a good man. What was it about the woman that had caught her attention? Sarah felt a shiver run up her spine, she remembered how all the women in her family had gathered around when she had given birth to her daughter, Rachel. That poor young woman, so far from home, so tired, and so alone, Sarah would make sure that they had enough food and drink in the stable, “The night is chilly, maybe I’ll take some blankets out to them as well”, she thought.

Hours later, after everyone had settled down, Paul found himself tossing and turning in his sleep and finally sat up in his bed. The room was bright as day, “What is going on?” thought Paul. He got out of bed and went to look out the window. High in the sky there appeared a star as large as he had ever seen. It seemed to pulsate as it hung over Paul’s own yard and lit up the surrounding countryside. As he looked out the window the little stable seemed to be full of activity and light. Paul quietly padded down the stairs and out to the yard. He walked slowly as if in a trance to the door of the stable, frightened and with his heart pounding, he peeked inside. A sight to behold stood before him. The young man he had spoken to earlier, knelt over the woman Paul had seen on the donkey. They were both looking down, for there in her arms was a newborn baby wrapped in his mother’s head covering. The love on the faces of the child’s parents touched Paul’s heart and his eyes filled with tears. But the strangest part of the scene were the animals, the lambs seemed to huddle close to the babe for warmth and the other animals had gathered to stand and look attentively at the scene, just as Paul was compelled to do. All eyes were on the babe and the stable seemed to radiate with a heavenly glow. As Paul stood quietly taking in the silent scene, people began to step into the old barn quietly looking, searching and then falling to their knees. Paul looked in amazement as he saw some old shepherds from the fields approach and touch the child. Suddenly there was a familiar figure by his side. Paul’s own brother Joaquin stood right beside him. He wanted to reach out and touch him, but he was afraid. He looked again at the tender scene before him. He didn’t understand what was happening or what he was witnessing, but he knew there was something special going on right here in the old stable. He took courage from the peaceful family setting and hardly daring to breathe, lifted his hand to his brother’s shoulder. Joaquin turned slowly in his direction with a wondering look on his face. Not a word was said as the two brothers embraced. Tears streamed slowly down his face as Paul held his brother close to his heart. Clasped together they turned to look again on the beautiful sight, drinking it all in. In the distance, Paul thought he heard singing…

“Glory to God in the highest and on earth
peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

Copyright 2010 Maureen O’Shea

Copyright 2010 Maureen O’Shea

Not in relation to your spouse, your parents, friends, family, job, hobbies, interests, responsibilites?

And I stuttered…

I don’t know…space, molecules, cells, thoughts, emotions, feelings…

IMPERFECT.

I’m kindness and thoughtfulness.  I’m funny and lazy.  I’m silly and loving.  I’m messy and bossy.  I’m smart and happy.  I’m stronger than I know.

I’m loved by You and Your Son and your Spirit.  I’m full of love for You and Your Son and Your Spirit.

I adore your daughter, my Mother.

I’m the one in the back, making a joke to cover an awkward moment.  I’m the one you gave the sense of humor to and the heart that cries at the drop of a hat.  I’m the one whose eyes fill up at a sad story.  I’m the one who wants to help out.  I’m the one you can count on.  I’m the one who doesn’t want to deny you.  I’m the one who wants to be with you in Paradise.  I’m the one with the green eyes.  I’m the one you loved so much, you allowed your Son to die for me.

I am all of your children.

Daddy, you know me.

I AM YOURS.

Copyright 2010 Maureen O’Shea

When my mom was alive I would call her on the phone every day.  Even when we lived together, I would check in from work to see how her day was going or to tell her something about mine.  Sometimes I’d call twice a day, just to hear her voice.  To be honest, we sometimes had our disagreements, those days I didn’t call.  But wherever I worked I usually made time for a five minute phone call.  There is no one like a mother to hear your voice and immediately know what you’re going through.  She’s your biggest cheerleader, who takes joy in your success and holds you when your heart is broken.  Oh I’m not saying that your friends and family don’t share in your life, but when you have a loving mom, no matter how flawed she might be, there’s nothing like it.  She can pick you up and raise your spirits, make you laugh when you need a lift and even give you the courage you need to face difficulties of your own making.

In my early twenties I had a memorable phone call with my mom.  This was before we all had cell phones.   I called her from a payphone on my lunch hour with the sure certainty that I was going to be fired by a very tough boss.  When I spoke to mom, I just wanted to run home and avoid everything.  I had made a serious mistake in the accounting department and this supervisor had no patience, I felt it in the air, I was doomed.  So of course, I called my mother.  Well, she dropped everything she was doing and spent twenty minutes just talking to me, reminding me that mistakes happen, and that while I may end up losing the job, I was still a good person, listing my talents and all the people who loved me.  She gave me the courage to go in and face the music, something I wasn’t very good at when I was younger.  With my mother words ringing in my ears I stepped in to my supervisor’s office.  Mom’s love and encouragement gave me the strength to deal with a very difficult situation.  That was over twenty five years ago, but I remember it like yesterday.  My boss and I ended up coming to a mutual agreement that the job wasn’t right for me, but I learned a valuable lesson that day; it’s more important to “man up” and face the consequences than to run away.  At least when you do you have your integrity and that when you’re loved and can feel that love you can face anything because you’re not alone.

My mom was a great mom, she wasn’t perfect, but I had a terrific childhood and I always knew that I was loved.  My brother, Kevin and I have come to the conclusion that one of the worst things about your mom dying is that you can’t call her when something great happens or when something bad happens.  In the early years we even reached for the phone and then carefully replaced the receiver again.  We call one another with our news now and are lucky to have each other, but it’s not the same.  Mom is gone 18 years this year and I still miss her.

A friend of mine’s son just shipped out for Afghanistan, I met her in town the other day and looked into her eyes.  She talked about Scott and hearing his voice on the phone, knowing he’s frightened and in danger and for the first time, there is nothing she can do.  She thought she wouldn’t be able to talk to him anymore when he calls, it would be too painful, but you and I know that she will, she’ll do whatever she can to support him, because that’s what mom’s do.  Listening to her pain, he mother in me had trouble holding back the tears; as mom’s we suffer together and feel deeply one another’s sorrow.

I think that my relationship with Mary is very similar to my relationship with my earthly mom.  When I don’t check in with her, or speak with her on a regular basis, I feel distant and alone.  When I pray as though she were here beside me and tell her my joys and my worries and my cares I feel closer.  When I pray the rosary every day, she gives me peace and courage, just like my mom did so many years ago.  A friend once suggested I hold Mary’s hands in mine when I pray the Rosary, it’s amazing, I close my eyes and feel her presence and my hands hold on tightly and sometimes it feels as though my hands are clasped within hers.  She holds me under her mantle no matter what I do.  What that woman at the beach said is so true.  She’s the constant, I’m the variable.  The Virgin Mother is devoted to me, devoted to all.  When God chose her to be the mother of Jesus, he chose her for each one of us, she is our gift.  As with anything else, it’s up to us to reach out and accept the gift.

Mary is always there waiting for me, calling to me, loving me, praying for me.  I was blessed with a wonderful mother who raised me well and taught me to love the Mother of God and to look to her as my true mother.  She’s always been there for me, even as a child. She cares for me with devotion just like my own Kate O’Shea cared for me so very long ago.  How blessed am I, the examples of motherhood I was given help me to love my own children and give them wings.  And I will offer them all the encouragement and commitment I was given and continue to teach them that the Blessed Mother is always there to help, to soothe their fears.  She waits for their glances to lead them safely through this mysterious, sometimes scary maze called life and then, eventually, securely home to her son.

****************************PRAY THE ROSARY*************************

Please moms, keep Scott Brewer a member of the U.S. Marines serving in Afghanistan in your thoughts and prayers.

Copyright 2010 Maureen O’Shea

What a consumeristic attitude we have. We walk into a church like we’re walking into a concert or a play. “Entertain me, enlighten me, don’t bore me, the music should be better, that lady’s voice is offkey. It’s all about me, me, me”.

What I’ve learned over the years is that, particularly in church, you get out of it what you put into it. If you go and sit and don’t listen or if you go with an obligatory attitude, you will be bored and not get anything out of it. But when you start listening, when you start trying to understand and applying what you’re hearing to your life, when you respond with enthusiasm, when you truly pray the prayers of the faithful asking God to help and bless others, when you sing and be a part of the community – you will develop a love of the Mass. It happened to me. I used to drive my elderly father to Mass every morning and would sit in the back row with my arm flung across the pew, barely awake, but it got to me. The more you expose yourself to it, the more it will steal upon you and change your life. It’s better than food, shopping, money, drugs, chocolate, television or anything else you can fill your life with. There is a spiritual hunger that many of us feel, an emptiness inside that can’t be filled by anything else. It is God calling us to look deeper into ourselves to find our true purpose, to find Him again. It is a remembering and it is the greatest high of all.

Then there is the ultimate gift – the transubstantiation. Meditate on it, believe in Him, don’t try to understand it, just believe in the possibility, talk to Him. Visit Him in the Tabernacle, go to Adoration. He is a better therapist than any other and He is waiting for you..

I remember several years ago it was in the paper that something like 60% of Catholics believe that the Eucharist is just a symbol and not the actual body and blood of Christ. I was scoffed at during a dinner party when I noted this article, the other guests clearly knew better than to believe otherwise. I was told condescendingly, I had “our parents – old fashioned faith”. At the time, I was annoyed, they had dismissed me and in turn my beliefs. It was a long time later that I realized, my faith is a gift. I am so blessed that while I have questioned many things in my life, I have never questioned that there is a God, that He loves me, that He wants what’s best for me, that He sent Jesus to die for me and that He is truly present in the Holy Eucharist.

I have my parents, my family and the nuns, priests and lay people who taught me in Catholic school to thank for the grounding, the framework of my faith. But I know the Holy Spirit was involved. Because certain things are unwavering and I’m grateful for that. When the world is in turmoil as it certainly is today, I know there is something bigger, something better waiting for me after all this. And that is the best part of my belief; it’s like the cool drink of water after the long, grueling marathon.

I do not face the world alone. Nothing that happens politically or financially not sickness not even death can shake my faith in my God and my security in Him. The things of this world are all temporary. There is nothing to be afraid of. “Fear only that which may lose your soul”. Of course I do get frightened and fearful, but the more I trust in Him, the more my fear recedes and peace comes in.

As I drive to and from work each day, I often see hawks flying around and if you watch them long enough, they will usually spread their wings and let go and ride the air currents. Whenever I see that, I say to myself, “Oh my Jesus, I trust in your divine love”. And I believe it, I have only to let go and stop flapping my wings and float on the currents of the divine and all is at ease. He’s got me in His hands, nothing else matters. I will love Him and honor Him all the days of my life.

How about you? Are you willing to let go, just a little bit and trust in Him?


Copyright 2010 Maureen O’Shea

I often go about my day, thinking that I’m doing okay in my spiritual journey.  I pray regularly and go to mass I’m generous and won’t hesitate to help someone in need.  Yet the things that aggravate me, the dumb little annoyances that creep into my day get to me.  This is where I fall down.  I will offer my coat to a stranger yet the innocent crowd gathered before mass infringes on my prayer space and I not only allow it to ruin my Sunday celebration, I in turn pass it on and spoil my family’s, and I’m sure my dark thoughts toward those around me to just “shut up” isn’t too great for them either.  In addition, it seems, I was only cursing myself.  By praying for them, I prayed for myself, for as He taught, we are all one in Jesus.  And in blessing my neighbors, I was blessing myself.   It’s easy to pray for those whom we love, those who are nice to us, yet Jesus teaches us, “But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” Matt. 5:44.

So though I regularly tell my kids to pray for the kid who is mean to them or causes them the most pain, I myself hadn’t been doing that.  Now I’ll remember to pray when people aggravate me, no matter how insignificant it may seem. It will be a blessing to them and to me.

Pray for the proud, for they are afraid the world will see them for who they really are.

Pray for the bullies of the world, for they feel small in their soul.

Pray for the clerks who don’t want to help you, for they thought their lives would have more meaning.

Pray for those who are rude, for they want to be important.

Pray for the loudmouths, they are shouting to feel significant.

Pray for those who whine, they long to be heard.

Pray for those who get under your skin, they want to be close to you.

Pray for the angry old man, he was once a young boy filled with dreams of his own.

Pray for your family when they drive you crazy, they are your gifts from God.

Pray for your enemies, and ask God to soften their hearts.

Lord, bless our world.  It’s all so confusing and frightening.  Everything we thought we knew is upended.  All except you.  You are our compass and our guiding light, I ask you Father to lead us in the ways you would have us go and help us to be kinder to one another.  We are all travelers on this road, help us to help each other..  Amen.

The bottom line is we’re all trying to get by, to survive, to provide for our families and figure out what we’re here for.  Some of us haven’t realized it yet, but God never gives up.  We can keep looking around or we can focus on what we know to be true.   He keeps knocking at the door of our hearts to tell us in his amazing way exactly what we need to hear, when we need to hear it.  I love the Lord with all my heart and soul and though my efforts are sometimes weak, He sees into my heart and He loves me back.  May you and I continue to walk together in faith up that mountain helping each other along the way.  Take my hand, let’s go.


Copyright 2010 Maureen O’Shea

Last spring I had an unusual experience.  I woke up early one morning within what felt like a loving embrace; a warm, tender hug.  I kept my eyes closed and just luxuriated in the feeling, the love, the intimacy.  I felt completely loved and understood.  With my eyes still closed, I said the word, “Daddy” out loud.  When the word was spoken I felt cuddled closer, as from a loving parent.  Tears seeped from my eyes in release and I began to tell my Heavenly Daddy about my thoughts, my fears and my joys of the moment.  It was the same as sitting on my earthly Daddy’s lap as a child many years earlier and telling Him about my day.  The same interest, attention and loving caress that I got as a little kid, was exactly what I sensed at that moment, but this time from my Heavenly Father.  I felt heard and cared for and completely trusted that He was interested in my little life and my little thoughts and feelings.  It was an experience I will never forget.

I shared this story with a friend, and she responded that that was beautiful for me, but I think she missed, that this could be her experience too; it could and should be all of our experience.  That God, my father and yours, is with us, loving us, caring for us, rooting for us, He’s your biggest fan.  Like any parent He would be thrilled for us to turn to Him, to stop and think about Him, to talk to Him and ask Him for advice.  To call Him Daddy. Now I will grant you, that the fact that many of us may not seek out God the Father is because we have gotten the impression that He is remote and far away, above us, way too busy.

My guess is that many people, if they think about it at all, feel their relationship, or lack thereof with God the Father has a lot to do with their relationship with their earthly father.  I was lucky enough to have been raised by a Dad who loved his family deeply.  A prayerful, soft spoken, giant of a man, quietly interested in all the details of our lives.  Dad loved us in a calm, caring unassuming way.  You knew you could always count on Him.  Maybe that’s why I know in my heart God is a loving father.  My earthly father was gentle and kind and loved us unconditionally and he was human.  Another earthly father, obedient to God’s will, was St. Joseph and who could argue a more loving, caring Dad in a situation he couldn’t possibly have understood, but accepted with love and faith.

The bottom line is that while we all may not have been lucky enough to have a devoted Dad here on earth, our Dad in heaven is available to all of us.  And He loves each one of us with an everlasting, mushy, tender, touch-feely love.  He adores you.  He’s loved you since before you were born and loved you in good times and bad, even when you weren’t very lovable.

It’s a strange thought to be loved in spite of our flaws, it’s not what we’ve been taught love looks like.  If you’re lucky enough to be a parent, you know that kind of love.  You know the joy you feel when you look upon your baby as they take their first steps or say their first word.  The way the laughter bubbles right out of you when your child does something to amuse you or the happiness when they say, “I love you Mommy”.  We feel an all-consuming love for our kids and would willingly lay down our lives for them, and we’re human.  How much more then, does our Father delight in us? “And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered“, Matthew 10:30.

When your husband disappoints you, when your boss criticizes you, when you’re at the end of your rope and there’s nowhere else to turn, He’s there reaching out His hand.  Hoping you’ll turn to Him, give Him your sorrows and your fears and place all your trust in Him.  Let Him take them.

I for one am joyful to be loved by Him.  I am enchanted by the wonders He bestows: the brilliant, pulsating noon time sun, the smell of spring in the air, the boisterousness of a babbling brook my daughter and I pass every morning on her way to school.  These gifts are offered by a loving parent to amaze and delight his children, if we but choose to look.   At times I’m so overwhelmed by His goodness, tears run down my face in awe.  Then, I tell Him what an amazing artist He is and thank Him for allowing me to see the exquisiteness of His creation.

Maybe I’m childish, but I’m happy.  Confident and secure that I’m cared for deeply.  My husband says I live in a bubble, perhaps I do, but it’s a wonderful, joyful place to be with “wonders to behold upon and many colors bright”.

I guess I’ll always be a Daddy’s girl…how about you?

Copyright 2010 Maureen O’Shea

It was a bitingly cold, blustery day in early January and the snow on the ground no longer looked pretty, just ugly and dirty.  Finding no parking spaces near the entrance I drove to the far end of the lot.

As I put the car in park, something bright red caught my eye.  I looked a little closer and noticed one small branch of what looked like Christmas holly berries.  They were tiny and didn’t appear to be attached to anything, it seemed as if they were growing right out of the dirt.

I glanced around and noticed the filth that is January in a busy parking lot.  There were old newspapers, empty water bottles, plastic bags, garbage and black snow all around this particular area with sad looking bushes leaning against a fence and in the middle, these bright little berries.  It kind of struck me as unusual, but then I had to get on with my shopping.

For the next few days the picture of the berries kept coming back to my mind.  These bright, fragile, hopeful little berries growing and thriving among all the detritus of the parking lot.  A lot like the light of Jesus trying to grow in my soul.

You see, I allow too much of the dirt and the garbage of the world to take up space in my mind, and my heart.  I pack in all the nonsense and irrelevant things like anger and disappointment and self pity.  I pay attention to all the drivel that is unimportant, I worry about what other people think of me and how I look and whether or not Angelina and Brad are still together, things that while seemingly important in this world are not really what we’re meant to fill our mind and spirits with.

You see, I believe we’re here for a short time and our everyday life is meant to support us to do the real work that God put us here for.  To find our calling, our talent, to share our love and support for our fellow travelers on this earth.  To create relationships with God and one another and most of all to allow Him to work through us to encourage and lift up other people.

We allow ourselves to get distracted and forget that we are called to be the hands and feet of Jesus in this world. To offer His smile, His kind words, His loving touch to our family, friends, even strangers.

After all these years on this planet I think our purpose is to just allow Him to steer the course, to listen to His promptings and be open to opportunities to offer His gentleness.  I know that when I am close to God in prayer and keep the lines of communication open, my life is different.  Oh, sometimes it’s imperceptible, and when I fall back to my old worldly ways, I often hardly notice the difference right away.

But we’ve all been there, we’ve all been in a position when we’re doing something, usually for someone else, and it feels right, it feels good, it feels like home.  When we’ve opened ourselves up to the possibilities that God had in store for us from the beginning, and the worries that usually haunt us seem to have drifted away for a little while.  Sometimes it’s in a place we’ve never been before, sometimes it’s just letting go, allowing ourselves to just be.

The bible tells me that God made you and me in His image.  I have a very long way to go.  But…He’s working on me.  I look at myself and my life over the past several years and I see his handicraft.  I see how I’ve been molded, chipped away as it were and I stand amazed.  Don’t get me wrong.  I’m as flawed as ever, but the tiny little filings of my soul fall at my feet.

When I allow him to be the artisan of my life, the director of my path, I feel peace.  Contentment.  Those little berries could teach me a thing or two.  They don’t look around and say, “It ain’t going to work here, I have to move on, Lord, put me in a lovely garden on a pretty street”. No they struggle on bravely, content, strong, doing their best in spite of their surroundings.  Bright and beautiful doing what God intended, exactly where He’s lovingly placed them.

It’s amazing when God shows you little signposts in your life, like little red berries, sparkling gems, glittering in the sea of life.  I want to be like those little berries, I want to accept where’s He’s put me and allow His spirit to grow so that I, like the berries, are not even aware of my surroundings, because they don’t matter.  I want to begin the real work of my life.  I want to be in alignment with His will and His plan for my life and just grow brightly and beautifully, shining His light for all the world to see.  It’s so restful when you allow Him to lead the way and allow His heavenly love to encompass you.  When you start to sit up and listen and pay attention to the little reminders that are everywhere around you it’s miraculous.  “If today you hear His voice, harden not your hearts” Psalm 95: 7-8.

Just for today, I’ll soften my heart, I’ll quiet my thinking, I’ll listen with my soul.  For I long to hear His voice, and I cry out for His attention.  But the truth is, it’s never been Him that doesn’t listen.  It’s me.  And I’ll remember those tiny berries as a visualization of the seeds of love sown in me by a loving creator who dreamt of me before the beginning of time.  A reminder of the great plans He has for me as long as I don’t allow myself to get distracted by the things that just don’t matter.

Just for today.


Copyright 2010 Maureen O’Shea

She was my best friends’ sister-in-law.  She had two children and a loving husband.  By all accounts she was a loving mother and wife.  I remember hearing how thrilled she was when she found out she was pregnant with her little daughter, Alexis.  She and her husband, Peter already had a beautiful son, Jon.  Jon was eight when Alexis was born.  They had to start all over again with diapers and bottles and such.  Then, about a year later, she found a lump.  She got sick.  No apparent reason.  I heard the story from my girlfriend and I felt sadness.  I felt fear.  It’s normal to look at your own vulnerability when you hear a story like that.  I too have two children and a loving husband.  Occasionally I would hear stories of long hospital stays and treatments.  Of wonderful family stepping in for babysitting duty.  Of amazing neighbors with thoughtful dinners for a man trying to cope with two children, a house, a job and a sick wife.  At some point, some part of me started to sit up and take notice.  I started to care more than usual.  I started to think of this woman as more than a stranger.  During this time, I met Kim’s 3 year old daughter, Alexis.  She has the most beautiful brown eyes.  Deep pools that seemed to look right through me.  She touched my soul.  And I saw the reality of the situation.  It was no longer a passing story.  My heart opened.  I began to pray for her.  I would think of Kim constantly.  I was at a shrine in Stockbridge, Massachusetts with my mother-in-law and I made it a point to find a prayer card of St. Peregrine, the patron saint of cancer patients.  I mailed it with a letter and an article written by a friend of mine who had beaten leukemia at the age of 16.  I started off the letter with “you don’t know me, but I’m a friend of your sister-in-law’s”.  I don’t know why.  The months are going by and occasionally I ask about Kim.  It’s not good.  I’m thinking of her often.  I’m praying to a just God asking him to spare her, to relieve her of her suffering.  Often in the middle of the night, I find myself like a defense lawyer, pleading her case to God.  I call upon my deceased relatives and friends to pray on her behalf.  I keep feeling I can make a difference in this woman’s life.  And the other part of me says, “What?  Who the heck do you think you are?”  Then one night I had a dream, I dreamt that I went to Kim and lay my hands upon her.  I dreamt that I healed her.  It was like a catalyst.  I kept wracking my brains for something, as though I’d forgotten something I knew.  Something I could do, but what?  Finally after weeks, it came to me, a former client of mine was a spiritual healer.  At the time I was working with her, my mom had just passed away and I was searching for comfort and answers.  I called her.  There she was, open and loving and willing to go and be with Kim.  I thought, “good, that’s it then, that’s what I had forgotten”.  But then, Maureen invited me to come along.  And my heart began to sing.  I wanted very much to be a part of this.  I wanted to meet Kim and make this connection.  I truly believed the Holy Spirit planted this obsession in my heart.  I didn’t know why and strangely I didn’t care.  I just felt I had to do this.  It’s funny about spiritual “stuff”.  You don’t question it.  You just “know” you’re doing something greater than yourself.  Something that has a lot to do with you and at the same time, nothing to do with you.

Maureen and I went to meet Kim on the day of my 40^th birthday.  It was the most joyous day I can remember in a very long time.  I was so filled with love to be doing something for someone else.  I felt that I was doing God’s work, I was exactly where I belonged at that moment in time, being the feet and hands of Jesus.  Finally, I met Kim.

Kim.  What an amazing woman.  She knew we were coming.  My girlfriend had told her of my obsession with her and she had received my letter several months earlier.  This is what I saw.  A beautiful woman.  Tiny in the bed, she looked as though she weighed less than 100lbs.  She was wearing a bright, colorful turban and had the most beautiful smile.  But her eyes.  Oh her eyes, how they sparkled.  Her bright, shining eyes, like windows to her soul.  She was hooked up to machines from both lungs, draining fluid and yet, she struck me as vibrant.  The energy fairly radiated from her face and body.  More energy than I see in most “healthy” people walking around.  Kim had the most open and loving face and we hugged when we met.  I looked upon this woman and never once questioned why I was there.  This virtual stranger had allowed me to come into her private hell and bring a stranger along with me.  Neither of us questioned, neither of us cared.  It was as though our souls were speaking and no other explanation was necessary.  I have never felt so useful in my life.  Maureen made it clear that it was not up to us what kind of healing would come about, but that she would ask the Holy Spirit to come upon Kim.  We laid our hands upon her and prayed quietly, I remember having to take off my sweater because the heat from her body encompassed me.  It was a moving, spiritual experience for the three of us.  I did a lot of praying after that day.

Twenty days later I got the urge to call Kim.  I still had her number.  Kim’s husband, Peter, answered the phone at the hospital and he was crying.  The doctor had just left and it was now imminent.  I was the first one he told.  Why did I call then?  Kim was unable to speak.  I spoke with Peter for a few minutes longer.  I felt great sadness and began to cry.  I went to my father’s room and took his rosary beads.  Kneeling down, I began to pray.  Again the feeling came over me, that I should do something.  But what?  There didn’t seem to be anything else to do.  I took a shower, crying, pleading, praying and all of a sudden, I knew I had to go to them.  The most intimate, private, personal time of a family’s life is when someone is dying and yet I felt I had to go.  I told my husband he just said “Go”.  I jumped in the car and sped to the hospital, talking to myself all the way.  “If the Holy Spirit wants me to do this, I’ll get in.  If this is some ego thing, I won’t get in and I’ll just turn around and go home”.  I got down there and got on the elevator.  On the way I met a priest and asked him to look in on Kim.  He said, “I’ll come now.”  I went into the room of this lovely, suffering woman.  Her mother was in the chair beside the bed.  Kim was heavily sedated and semi-conscious.  I introduced myself and my new friend, Fr. Jim.  Her sweet mother and I embraced.  I don’t know that I did anything for Kim that day.  I said some prayers and had a lovely visit with Kim’s mom.  We talked about life and death, we cried and held hands.  I sat with her as people came in and out of the room.  These two beautiful strangers, somehow felt like family.  I knew I needed to be there that day, for that time and it was a gift for me to be with Kim and her mother.  I watched as her mom, wiped Kim’s brow and was reminded of the 4^th station of the cross, “Jesus meets his mother”.  The imagery was so vivid, it almost made me cry.  Antoinette had no idea how like Mary she was at that moment, she was just caring for her child.

Kim died the next morning at 4:30am.  I cried and prayed and yet some part of me knew and accepted that this was the way it had to be.  Now my tears and prayers were for Kim’s family.  For her brave, handsome husband, Peter, her son, Jon and her baby Alexis.  For her mother and her sisters.  For in my heart I knew that Kim was sitting at the right hand of God on that Holy Thursday.  I remembered the words Jesus said to the thief while on the cross, “Today you will be with me in paradise.”  Every tear was wiped away, all pain and suffering gone.  That Kim was escorted and met with joyous love, by so many souls, some she knew and some she didn’t.  Because I know some that I had been haranguing with my prayers and pleadings just had to come and welcome her.

I may never know why Kim’s soul touched mine.  Why a self-confessed lazy person, like myself was moved to try to make a difference in her life.  I used to joke with my husband about the ivory tower I live in, well someone came knocking and I let them in.  That experience opened my heart in such a way and began a spiritual journey for me that I still travel.  I know that whatever connection Kim and I made over those few months, I am a better person for having known her.  And I will never be the same.  Thank you Kim.  Until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

With love,
Maureen

Copyright 2010 Maureen O’Shea

Today, we are very happy to welcome our latest CatholicMom.com contributor Maureen O’Shea, who will share her columns with us monthly.  I love this wonderful inaugural column of Maureen’s for both its subject (the fabulous Archbishop Timothy Dolan) and the voice with which Maureen shares this special experience.  Welcome, Maureen, to our CatholicMom.com family!

The calendar says two weeks before Christmas, so last night we set out to see a big, jolly man with a smiling face, pink cheeks and a colorful outfit.  No, I’m not talking about Santa.  My husband and I were privileged to attend a church service to welcome the new Archbishop of New York, Timothy Michael Dolan.  He’s been visiting the entire vicariate and last night arrived in the Northern Westchester/Putnam Diocese, where I live.  What a beautiful, happy man.  He is truly the epitome of joy.  On a bitter cold, winter night St. Patrick’s church in Yorktown Heights, NY was packed to the gills.  I was told there were 800 people there last night and so many smiling faces.  It is a tough time for people here now, as it is for those across the entire country and we all need some good news and in he came with all the pomp and circumstance, we as Catholics so seldom get to see.  The Knights of Columbus were there with their swords and big feathery hats, as was just about every priest in the diocese.  We were running a bit late and as we came into the vestibule of the church, there he was in all his glory dressed in the purple Advent colors with the large miter sitting atop his head, waiting for all the priests to enter the church.  Like a child trying to catch a glimpse of Santa, I craned my neck and twisted to get a better view.  He was smiling from ear to ear and really enjoying himself.  When my daughter was two years old, I once described her as a little ball of love, well this man is a giant ball of love.  After some beautiful hymns that we all sang together along with the choir and a few readings, he stepped to the altar.  The mood was festive and this lovely man got up and as he took the microphone, he thanked us for coming out on such a cold night, then he began to sing, “Oh, the weather outside is frightful, but St. Patrick’s is so delightful.”  He related how he entered the church, having never met 99% of the people there, but he felt “he belonged, because as Catholics, we’re all family.”  Then he said something most men would never say on a first date, “I love you”.  How beautiful and heartwarming, how courageous. This man emanates love and joy and he sparked that joy in the entire crowd.

The service was short and we all went downstairs to greet him and have refreshments.  One would have thought we were waiting for a ride at Disney World with the ropes and people standing in line, but while at Disney World you often see impatience and tears, here there were only smiles.  The mood was infectious, everyone we spoke to was smiling and saying how wonderful it was, how wonderful he was.  Now you should know, I live in Westchester County, NY, one of the wealthiest areas in the country.  Many in this area are very well off and tend to be a bit jaded.  It takes a lot to impress us here, we are New Yorkers through and through.  Yet here comes this striking, merry man of God. A religious shepherd no less, complete with gold staff. There were a lot of us who came out last night to feel the warmth and love that this man came to offer.  He greeted us with open arms and a genuine delight, as if he’d been waiting for us.  The fact that he has a terrific sense of humor only adds to his charm.  At a time when we’re all wondering about our futures, our 401K’s, what’s happening in the world and how we’ll survive.  Worries about money, job security, our children, keeping our homes, ad nauseum, here is a man that is the personification of Christ.  He speaks of love, he uses his eyes, his words, his whole body to give a giant virtual hug, yet he’s not afraid to take on the tough jobs either.  Recently he directly addressed the New York Times in an Op Ed piece with regard to abortion.  Here is a man of truth and honesty, passionate about his beliefs.  A down to earth guy who says he’d love to have a beer and a sandwich with each of his 2.5 million parishioners.  He has assumed the mantle of New York, a cold and often scary place that has little time for God and yet is already making a huge impact.  His first visit as Archbishop in the Diocese was to the Bedford Women’s Correctional Facility where he said Mass and met with the inmates.  His very opening act was to reach out to the downtrodden, the forgotten and he touched them, hugged them and spent a few moments.  Even last night as we lined up to greet him, this very busy man made it clear that he was not in a hurry, that he had all night and he wasn’t going anywhere until all of us had gotten to shake his hand and say a few words.  He appeared especially gentle and loving to the nuns, particularly the older ones.  He is in a very real way a shepherd to each one of us.  He spoke last night about how the baby Jesus comes at Christmas every year just as he did over 2000 years ago and that each of us are living in our very own Bethlehem.  This giant of a man points the way to a people in desperate need of direction and reminds us what is truly most important, our Savoir, Jesus Christ.  We would do well to listen.  He appears childlike in the sense that he is sure in the knowledge that God loves him and he is exactly where he is supposed to be.   I think that is why he is so happy. If only we could remember that every day of our lives.

Archbishop Dolan is reaching out and doing his part with the confidence that Almighty God has everything else in hand.  As his flock, that’s all we need to do:  reach out to others with love, show up every day to do our best and trust that God is taking care of the rest.  This man’s treasures seem much greater and more durable than any presents Santa could put under my tree.  In New York this year, this teddy bear of a man from Missouri may just give Santa a run for his money.

Copyright 2009 Maureen O’Shea