I went to daily Mass one day, all the while feeling unsettled and a bit sad…for many reasons. I decided it was time to ask the Little Flower for some help from God. “And this time,” I pleaded with her, “can you send something big? A big shower of roses is what I need, Little Therese, if you don’t mind. Something very obvious, out of the blue. You know what I mean.”

After Mass I had to do some errands and found myself in front of store doors with signs that read, “Open at 9:30.” I checked my watch. It was 9:15.Slightly frustrated, I went back to my car in the howling wind and rain and sat there watching the rain hit my windshield. I decided to wait it out in my cold car, rather than come back later in the day. As I sat alone in the silence of my car, I happened to notice that the front of my car was surrounded by pink rosebushes.

Wow, she works quickly, I thought. I was touched. It hadn’t even been a half hour since my request.  I thanked St. Therese, but I still felt a little sad. I had asked Therese for something big. A long row of rosebushes certainly qualified as a shower of roses, especially in late October, but at that moment, it wasn’t enough.

I told Therese that I was grateful, and I didn’t want her to think I was greedy, but I needed something more. Something that would really grab my attention. I apologized for my greed, but I held firm. I need something that will really cause me to take notice, I told her.  A shower of roses that will really hit me over the head!

I went about my day and nothing more happened that would qualify, so I decided to put it out of my mind, knowing that Therese works in her own good time, as commissioned by God and what He wants.

So the next morning when I stumbled sleepily into the kitchen at 6:00 a.m., looking forward to a hot pot of coffee to start my day, I wasn’t thinking about Therese and her shower of roses. I opened the cupboard where I keep mugs and glasses, and out of the blue, a mug came tumbling down from the shelf. I grabbed it in the nick of time, with a yelp at the shock at something that had almost whacked me in the head. What on earth? This has never happened before. I’m always so careful about putting these things away...

I looked down at the mug I had managed to catch before it had crashed to the floor. In my hands was my St. Therese mug, and the words on it read:

“You okay, Mom?” my son asked.

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “I’m just fine.”

She had answered my prayer and had sent me a shower of roses. It appears our little friend St. Therese has a sense of humor, wouldn’t you agree?

Copyright 2013 Nancy Carabio Belanger

My Advent Heart: With Love From Me To You, Jesus

I have a confession to make.

How very Catholic of me! LOL

But what I am about to say may shock you.  Then again, for those who know me, maybe it won’t.

I’m not crafty.

There, I’ve said it.

Oh, the desire is there. I’ve got the sequins, the special scissors, the scrapbooking supplies, the card stock. I’ve got a drawer full of sparkly ribbon, pinking shears, buttons, oodles of thread, miles and miles of yarn, rulers, fake fall foliage, silk roses, and little plastic thingies.

But I can’t do it. I’m all thumbs.

“But you’re so creative,” a friend said. “I don’t get it.”

Ah yes, in the written word, perhaps. I’ll craft a story for you any old time and have a good time doing it.  But put me at a craft table with a glue gun and I get itchy. Give me a keyboard any day of the week.

“It doesn’t relax you?”

No. Outside of a fresh box of Crayolas and a coloring book, there is absolutely no relaxation for me in crafting. Why?

Because I stink at crafting.

It took me a long time to realize that it’s okay not be crafty. I’m a mom. A conservative mom. A churchy mom. It seems so un-American to not like crafting.  I like crafting stores, however, and I really can’t figure out why that is. Maybe it’s a glimpse into what I could be…if I had the talent.

Which I clearly don’t.

The above attempt at an Advent wreath clearly shows that I can’t even stay within the confines of a circle when applying Christmas-themed picks with a hot glue gun.

“Mom, is it a circle?” asked my son. “Because it sort of looks like a heart, you know?”

I peeled the dried glue from my fingers and inspected my creation. An Advent heart. Yes, that is exactly what I had made.

“Well,” I said, unplugging the glue gun, “a heart is a perfect shape for an advent candle wreath. What did Baby Jesus bring to the world?”

“Love,” answered my son dutifully and with a little smile. He knew what I was up to.

“Well then, a heart symbolizes love, does it not? So we have an Advent heart. It’s a new Belanger tradition.”

It makes sense, though, doesn’t it? I placed it on the kitchen table and we put the candles in.  ”This is how it’s gonna be,” I said, exasperated. “Your mom is just not crafty.”

I admitted this very thing to my child.  What kind of a mother am I? Through the years, I had made the homemade Play Dough on the stove, bought the little craft kits at Michael’s, created amateurish First Holy Communion scrapbooks for the boys, made a disaster of the kitchen making royal icing for cookies last Christmas (I recently found a drop of dried icing on the wall from when the squeeze bottle exploded.  My boys and I exploded in laughter when that happened. Needless to say, it was pizza for dinner that night. Mom needed a break.)

So don’t I get an A for effort here?

But I don’t learn; I just keep trying. And that’s my downfall. So I tried my hand at sewing.

I know. But hear me out.

I wasn’t aiming to be a master seamstress or anything, I just wanted to learn something more than replacing buttons (which, by the way, I do rather well if I do say so myself!). What better way than to take a little easy-going class for beginners at the local sewing machine repair shop?  I signed up as eager as could be. I bought the notions the instructor suggested. I went to the fabric store and picked out a lovely wine-colored piece of fabric. Sewing was going to be my new thing! Our first project was going to be a vest.

A vest! Yes, I needed a nice vest. A tailor-made vest! Except I was no tailor. No matter;  I could pair it with jeans and a turtleneck. Add cute buttons. It would be darling!

Well, it didn’t quite turn out that way. The instructor tried to be patient and helpful, but God did not make me a seamstress by any stretch of the imagination. The teacher, finally spent from trying to be so kind with me, took the unfinished vest from me and said quietly, “Here, let me just finish this for you, Nancy.”

Whatever happened to teaching a man to fish?  Well, why waste the time, really. I was hopeless.

But I forgot all of that when I found a pair of my son’s school pants that were way too long and needed hemming. My husband suggested I take them to a tailor. But I would have none of it. I was certainly capable of hemming pants. I had my son try them on, measured them, and cut the fabric according to the specifications.  I dragged out my little sewing box and the navy blue thread.  It was time for some hemming, baby! I sewed as I watched “The Journey Home” on EWTN.  It was a delightful time. I sipped tea, watched the banter between Marcus Grodi and his guest.  I was hemming. I was crafting. I was doing a great job.

I was quite proud of the pants. The stitches, well, they were a little crooked. But who would be able to tell, all the way down there? Nobody looks at your ankles.  What I forgot to do was have him try on the finished product, though. Well, it was late and I still had to pack lunches.

So this morning when my poor son came downstairs with floods on four inches too short, I wanted to cry. They will make a  good pair of shorts, though.

Lord, why did You make me this way? I wailed.  I can’t do anything right! Why can’t I do a simple thing like hem a pair of pants or glue flowers onto a circle? Why can’t I make pretty sugar cookies at Christmastime, create a beautiful scrapbook of the kids,  or make a cake that isn’t lopsided? Why did You make me this way?!

I made you the way I always wanted you to be. You are exactly as I planned you from all eternity and I love you. No, you will never be a Martha Stewart. I already have one of those. Now go finish the book I planted on your heart. Bring me young souls who will embrace the Faith into adulthood. Go and be you.

Thank You, Lord, for the many gifts you have given me, especially the gift of the written word. I promise to use it to honor You, to glorify You, to bring children to You, to the best of my ability. I thank You for making me who I am. This Advent heart is for You, because I love You, too.

Can I just say one more thing, though? I sew a mean button. Strong and sturdy, one that will stay put and work hard for you.

It’s the little things.

Copyright 2012 Nancy Carabio Belanger

1. Does the book I am reading seem to say that I don’t need God in my life? If so, this is a danger sign leading to atheism. Steer clear of any book that has an anti-God message, or one that mocks God.

2. Does the book I am reading tell me that I have power and energy outside of God? This smacks of the occult, new-age thinking, and the belief that humans are all-powerful. Even if the author tries to put Jesus into the picture, it is false. Of course, the saints had powerful things happen to them, but the difference is that it was always, always to lead souls to Christ, never for their own glory, self-love, or ideas of grandeur.

3. Is Christianity mocked by the author or the characters? As you read, use your intelligence to try to read between the lines to see what the author might be trying to subtly get across to readers. Sometimes it is obvious, sometimes it isn’t. If the author makes a particularly religious character look like a bumbling idiot, have unintelligent dialogue, and makes fun of Christianity, you know there is a hidden message inside: that religious people are dumb, ignorant, and old-fashioned. Keep your antenna up for stereotypes such as these.

4. Do the characters’ actions make you uncomfortable? Is a character in the book doing something you know is morally wrong, but does not seem to be learning from his or her mistakes and feel remorse, trying to live a better life? It’s quite okay (and preferable for a great story!) to have characters make mistakes, but again, read between the lines: Is the author celebrating choices and actions that you know are morally wrong?

5. Does the dialogue of the characters consistently make you uncomfortable? Do the characters (or the author) use words that you would not use in front of your parents, or that make you blush?

6. Deep down, do you know your mom, dad, grandparents, parish priest, and/or teachers would not approve of the book you are reading? Is this a book you can leave on the coffee table in the family room, or is it one that you feel you would like to hide in your bedroom? Why or why not? What do you think God thinks about the book you are reading?

7. Are parents, teachers, priests, sisters, and other adults made to look like fools? Does the author consistently have the adults in the children’s or teens’ lives do stupid things, make dumb remarks, and in general be out of touch with the kids in the book? This is a technique used to devalue well-meaning parental love and authority. Watch for it.

8. Lastly, use the heart and mind that God gave you as you read. It’s called a “gut instinct,” and God gave it to each of us so we can decipher what is good and what is bad for us. Is there a general sense of darkness or evil throughout the book? If something just doesn’t “feel right” as you read, even if you don’t quite know exactly what it is, that is a warning sign that it is time to stop reading and find a new book that will lead your soul to Christ. Ask your guardian angel and/or favorite saint to pray for you to find fun, wholesome books to read.

Copyright 2012 Nancy Carabio Belanger

“Great graces cannot be obtained without humility. When you yourself experience humiliation, you should take it as a sure sign that some great grace is in store. “ ~ St. Bernard of Clairvaux

Each one of us, at one time or another, has been humiliated. Humbled, taken down a notch, embarrassed, put to shame.  But how many of us would ask to be humiliated?  St. Therese did. She wrote, “I beg you, my Divine Jesus, to send me a humiliation whenever I try to set myself above others.”

Wow. That takes guts. See, she knew that when a person starts to feel prideful, he or she begins to move away from God.  We’re all human, and we all have those kind of moments. Of course, I don’t even have to beg the Good Lord to send me humiliations, because I already receive them without even asking! Lucky, lucky me!

My humiliations usually come in some sort of manner that involves me being sprawled out on the pavement in public somewhere. My mom calls it “weak ankles,” but I know better. It’s God telling me some great graces are in store for me!

Ah yes, my memory takes me back to last summer when I tripped and flew—yes, I actually flew—across a pedestrian bridge over the Ohio River in downtown Pittsburgh (you can read about that effects of that little incident here). That was the night before the big Catholic Press Association awards banquet. You could say I was a little nervous. I lay there completely humbled on the bridge thinking, “Really, Lord? REALLY?”

But the very next day, I was repaid with an award for Olivia’s Gift, Deo gratias.  When I look at those photos, I think of my knee all bandaged, banged up and throbbing in pain. But it was worth it!  Ah, to be humbled to show your love for God!

I haven’t tripped—yet—bringing the gifts up the steps to the altar at Mass, but it may happen one day. Oh God, please no. Please, please no.

Another time, many years ago, I had my first journalism job after college, at the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. I was out and about on my lunch hour in my new heels. I was 21 and I thought I was on top of the world, eager to prove to everyone that I was a true professional. Yeah, I tripped on the sidewalk there, too. People stopped and asked me if I was okay. A bruised ego, yes, but nothing more.

On another day while employed at that same newspaper, one of the employees from another part of the building glared at me and asked, “Are you allowed in here, young lady?”  I had to explain that I was an employee.  ”Oh, I’m sorry, you look so young!” he said, laughing.

I didn’t laugh. Yep. Humbled, I was.

But St. Therese, in her saintly wisdom, was right: These things are good for us. I got to thinking about that, and so one day, after thinking about the sin of pride, I told the Good Lord, “Lord, please send me a humiliation. I think I need one.”

God answers prayer!

As I signed books one day at an event, a nice man came up to me and told me that his daughter’s name was Olivia and he’d love for me to sign a book for her. We talked about the popularity of the name for a bit. I told him I’d be happy to sign a book and uncapped my pen. “And your daughter’s name?” I asked him.

“Um, that would be Olivia.”

Oh, dang.

Yeah. Well, it had been a long day.

Then, in a store trying on sunglasses, I started up a conversation with the young lady working behind the counter.  ”What do you think of these?” I asked her expectantly. She was fairly young. I’m pretty sure I had leftovers in my fridge older than her.

She stalled for time, then finally said, “Well…you look like a bug.”

“A bug?” I was horrified.  ”I don’t think I’ll take these,” I said and quickly took them off.

“I’m sorry, ma’am!” she exclaimed. “The frames are just too big for you, that’s all!”

Ma’am?

A bug?

Ha! She just lost a sale, that salesgirl.  I shrunk out of the store and went home.

Another time, I was in the produce section of Trader Joe’s. I grabbed my bag of butter lettuce, put it into my cart, and wheeled away toward the dairy products.  I was trying to decide between Greek yogurt and regular when suddenly I heard a little bit of a commotion behind me.

“My cart! It’s gone!” cried a perplexed, elderly woman. I glanced over at her and watched her exchange comments with another shopper. “I just turned my back for a second! Where could it have gone?”

“Are you sure?” the other shopper asked. “It has to be around here somewhere!”

It was then that I knew. I just knew.

Sure enough, I looked into the cart I’d been pushing around and found all kinds of groceries. None looked familiar. That’s because none of them were mine.

I closed my eyes, sighed heavily out of embarrassment and wheeled the cart back, shamefaced. “I’m sorry,” I said to the lady.  ”I stole your cart by mistake.”

The lady showed visible relief.

“I’m so glad! I didn’t want to have to go get everything again.”

“I’m sorry,” I apologized again. “It’s my fortieth birthday today and I’m aging by the second! This is not a good sign,” I murmured.

The lady came over to me and gave me, a complete stranger, a big hug. “God bless you, Honey,” she said, and patted me on the back. “Oh, you’re going to be just fine.”

We shared a little Christian moment right there in Trader Joe’s, patting each others’ backs.

Recently at the drugstore, I was paying for my purchases with a coupon. Things didn’t go as planned, and the cashier accidentally rung it up incorrectly. When I politely told her of the error, it took her and a manager to straighten out the mess.  It also took lots of math.

“I’m not sure I understand this,” I said, studying the receipt. “Shouldn’t the total be ____?”

“Well, I messed up and added it again, but I took it off down here, but then you had the coupon, and I double rang it, and then I had to divide by seven, delete the quantity, add the percentage, multiply it to the 5th power, and carry the nine so that the total would be $29.37,” she chirped. “Then of course, I gave you the discount.”


WHAT?!

“But…” I managed to eke out.

She repeated the impossibly confusing (to me) calculation. Then the manager got in on the discussion.

“Do you understand?” she asked me hopefully.

“Ummm…”

She went over it a third time. “I want to make sure you understand.”

I still didn’t get it.

“Sorry,” I said, red-faced, to the other customers in line behind me.  They didn’t appear to be all that forgiving. I turned back around to the cashier.

“Oh yes, I see NOW,” I said with a little laugh.

Does that count as a lie? Because I really didn’t.

I gathered up my purchases. In the end, I decided to trust the cashier. I sat in my car and studied the receipt, then in my humiliation stuffed it back into the bag.  UGH!

There are other instances, but I think I’ll keep them to myself, thank you very much. Let’s just say that God must have many graces in store for me, and leave it at that!

“But, you know my weakness, Lord. Every morning I make a resolution to practice humility and in the evening I recognize that I have committed again many faults of pride. At this I am tempted to become discouraged but I know that discouragement is also pride. Therefore O my God, I want to base my hope in You alone.” 

Copyright 2012 Nancy Carabio Belanger

Some people think we simply don’t need sacramentals, that they are only props. I couldn’t disagree more. There’s something about holding my St. Therese chaplet in my hands when I am anxious about something, moving my hands along the beads, that gives me comfort when I say my prayers. Do I need it to say my chaplet? Of course not. But there is something so incredible about having something tangible to hold in your hand as you pray. You can even say the rosary without the beads, if you’re good at counting and keeping track in your head, which I am not.

And some say that the holy water, blessed salt, etc. is all hokum, which is also misguided. It’s as misguided as some thinking Catholics worship Mary. Again, a topic for another post. We don’t think holy water is a magic potion. We do, however, believe that since it has been blessed, it disposes us to receiving God’s grace. We are not to treat these things like superstitious objects, but the objects are now indeed different. They are not changed in the way that bread is changed into the Eucharist, but they are now different in that they are set apart from ordinary objects. In a sense, the priest’s blessing is “attached” to the objects.

Several years ago, when my youngest son made his First Holy Communion, I made a special trip to the Italian imports store in the area to pick out his rosary. This was a big, big deal!  I chose a rosary of the most gorgeous deep blue, Paul’s favorite color and of course, the color we usually associate with Our Lady. We were so excited to give it to him the morning of the big day.

When we got to the church, a priest (not our pastor) was seated in the vestibule before Mass. It wasn’t that crowded at the time and he wasn’t talking to anyone, so I figured this would be the perfect opportunity to have him bless Paul’s rosary. My son stood there in his little navy suit and white boutonniere, holding his new rosary.

“Hello, Father, ” I said. “Would you please bless Paul’s rosary?” I beamed.  This was a special moment.

Little Paul held out his new rosary.

What happened next is something I will never forget.

“Sure,” the priest said. Then he held his hand out over the rosary and flippantly said one word:

“Done.”

He pulled his hand away, signaling the end of the conversation.

I could not believe it. I was heartbroken and angry but I had to keep my temper in check.  Jaw clenched, I looked down at my son, who looked a bit confused. I had to do something in that awkward silence, so I guided Paul away to distract him.  I found my husband and told him what had happened, and he, too, was horrified. Shocked, too, since Father was usually so nice.

What a moment that could have been for my son! He could have witnessed the priest giving a beautiful blessing over his special First Communion rosary. It would have taken him less than 30 seconds to say some special words. I wondered what we were supposed to say about it. We certainly didn’t want him to think that this is how priests bless rosaries or other religious objects. It broke my heart, until my husband said, “Don’t worry, it will get blessed properly.  We’ll go see Father _____.”

I instantly felt better. But Father lived far away. I didn’t know when we’d see him next.

Not too long after the incident, my husband called up Father, telling him we wanted to come for Mass and a visit.  ”There’s one other thing,” he said.  And he told him the story.

Father sighed. Apparently this type of behavior was not new to him.  ”You bring everything; I’ll bless all of it, don’t you worry!”

When we visited Father in his office, we quickly recapped the story.  He shook his head sadly, but then smiled. “Come on, bring it all in,” he motioned with a wave. I sheepishly pulled out the little bag of sacramentals, including Paul’s special rosary, and we laid them out on his desk, one by one.  I will never forget our family sitting there in Father’s little office as he said the most exquisite blessing. It was a long one, and so tremendously beautiful. Not rushed to get it over with, not something canned.

It was, in a word, perfect.

I was thrilled. And what an experience and an education for our boys, to see a loving, holy priest say those words. My boys will always remember that moment.

So yes, I dearly love sacramentals, “in vogue” or not, and I’ll continue to use them and talk to people about their importance and beauty.

“Done.”

Copyright 2012 Nancy Carabio Belanger

When they first arrived after a long flight for their weeklong mission experience, Ellie, 12, admits she was a bit unsure when she stepped foot into the poor village.

“I was surprised,” she admitted. “I sat in a hammock and I thought it would be horrible. I saw cockroaches. There were dogs roaming the streets.” She said the houses were made of cinderblock and metal and were all really close together.  At 6:00 in the morning, people would honk horns selling bread and milk.  Three hours earlier, roosters crowed, waking them all up and making it hard to sleep.

One of the roosters that interrupted everyone’s sleep

One of the houses in the village

Her sister Abby, 13, was also skeptical when she saw the house they were all to stay in for the week.

“It was completely different compared to our world. I had a picture in my mind of how the house would be like, but my mouth dropped open, literally. It’s not what I had expected. It was small, there were mosquitoes everywhere, and the bathroom and the sink were outside. It was really hard to process. I thought, How am I going to stay here for a whole week?” 

Abby said she wanted to go back home, saying the whole area was a little hard to bear at first. Then she got to thinking.  ”They had all the necessities for us,” she said. “The house was crowded, but they were willing to share their food and drinks, all the necessities we needed. They were really nice.”

Ellie changed her mind, too. “I thought, I should be happy here because I am so blessed. There were so many nice people that I was happy to be around them.”

She said she started to get an open mind about the food and the culture in the El Salvadoran village.  ”It’s a wonderful country,” she said, remembering the willingness of the people to share their tortillas, beans, noodles, rice and cheese.

It was hard for the girls to speak the limited Spanish they knew, but even with the language barrier, they were able to make friends with the people they were helping. They quickly became friends with a fun-loving boy named Oscar, with whom they found a common love for soccer.  Outside on the warm, dusty roads, the kids would all gather together to have fun. Abby and Ellie were delighted when Oscar, 13, climbed up an avocado tree to get them avocados.

“We had fun wherever we went,” said Abby, who enjoyed seeing a volcano and going to the beach. “The people were all very friendly and very inclusive. Oscar would let me kick the ball and he’d kick the ball back. I felt included in the things we did.”

As part of their mission trip, the girls brought donations of money and boxes of toys, clothes, and shoes for the residents, many of whom have nothing.

“These kids don’t have any shoes, sometimes they don’t have stuffed animals,” said Ellie, who befriended a 14-year-old girl named Veronica and thrilled her with one.  ”She had never had a stuffed animal. She was so happy.”

Ellie (in yellow), Abby, and their dad Joe donated much-needed items to the children of the parish.

Ellie told a story of giving a chocolate bunny to a young boy who had never seen one before. “He was jumping up and down for this chocolate bunny. He was just so happy.”

Abby felt thankful for her many blessings as they handed out the baby clothes and toys to the children.  ”These kids were jumping up and down,” she said. “They were so excited. Even toys like a ball, they’re just happy to have one,” she said. “I was able to hand out the toys. I was very involved in the community and the church and it was a really good experience.”

Throughout the week, the girls made friends and helped out where they could. They shared their culture and their language while they learned about one so different from their own.  They enjoyed seeing lots of processions in the street during Holy Week which included saying the rosary, floats with saints on them, music, and the Blessed Sacrament. The Easter Vigil was completely in Spanish, and while it was challenging for them, they knew the “Our Father” and some of the songs. The girls even sang a solo at Mass— the song “Digo Si Senor,” which they had learned in Spanish class at Catholic school back home.

When the busy week drew to a close and it was time to leave, the girls grew sad.

“I would definitely go back,” said Ellie. “I want to live there.  I feel like everyone was so friendly. The houses may be small, but it’s really inspirational to see these people. They have a hard life but they are so happy.  And they are not spoiled at all. They live day by day.”

Abby also said she’d like to go back to El Salvador someday.

“Giving money to the church showed me how much they needed help.  I really liked helping them. Giving a toy to another kid who doesn’t know you or speak your language made me feel special to share. They just brightened up my day,” she said.

As they all gathered in the street to say goodbye, it was bittersweet. An 8-year-old girl named Daisy especially made an impression on Abby.

“Daisy was the cutest little girl I’ve ever seen, ” she remembered.  ”She came to say goodbye and gave me a hug and I felt so happy and warm inside. It was probably one of the best moments I’ve ever had. Just seeing her come to me and actually caring made me so warm inside.  I gave her my purple bracelet as a reminder of me, because she was wearing purple.  I won’t forget her.  The fact that she came over is what counts.”

I think Abby and Ellie certainly are great kids, living out their faith, leaving the comforts of home to embrace a culture so different from our own, to help those less fortunate.  They are living out the Gospel message…and in the words of Abby, that IS what counts.

Copyright 2012 Nancy Carabio Belanger

In typical Martha fashion, I wanted everything to be perfect, and drove my family crazy a few days before his visit.  Father does not know this.

My youngest son Paul was especially looking forward to Father coming over. He told all his friends at school. It was like a rock star was coming to our house.

“Why’s a priest coming to your house?” some kids asked.

“For dinner!” Paul exclaimed, as if it should have been obvious. “And we’re having stuffed shells!”

Stuffed shells, his favorite. There could be nothing better.

When Father arrived, we all sat down in the family room. As Father sat down on the recliner, I fretted that I had vacuumed up every single kitty hair on the upholstery, seeing as he was wearing all black. (You should have seen me with that vacuum attachment earlier in the day. A real Martha.)

I offered Father something to drink, and began the litany of what we had available: iced tea, wine, lemonade, beer, Coke…

“And milk!” Paul offered from where he had plopped himself on the carpet.

“Oh,” I laughed, “Yes, but I’m not sure Father—”

“But we do have milk,” Paul said earnestly, trying to be a good host. He was adamant that Father know that he could have a tall glass of cold milk, if he so chose. Who wouldn’t? After all, it’s Paul’s drink of choice no matter where we go.  ”White milk, please,” he will request in restaurants, peoples’ homes, everywhere.

I found this beverage offer to Father completely sweet and kind-hearted, and I couldn’t resist a glance at Father to see what his reaction was. Bemused, he nodded and smiled in appreciation of Paul’s offer.

“Well, thank you Paul,” he said ever so kindly, “but actually I could go for a little glass of wine.”

Paul shrugged his shoulders. He’d tried. To each his own.  If it had been up to him, he would’ve had the milk, no question.

It made me think of the innocence of children, and how precious it is.

And how sad it is when it is lost.

In today’s culture, it happens earlier and earlier, and as a children’s writer, it really hits home for me as I try to counteract the filth and trash that is fed to our young ones. At times it seems like an uphill battle.

Today I signed books at a men’s conference for our archdiocese. The speakers were amazing, the Mass beautiful. But I found a common theme as these dads and grandfathers came to my table.  A dad came up to me and I could see the anguish on his face as looked at my books. He told me about his young daughters, and how he was trying to keep their reading wholesome.  He confessed that he finds it difficult to keep his girls that way, especially with the offerings of bad books and movies, and immodest clothing in stores.

“My daughter brought home a book from the library, and the cover looked perfectly decent,” he said. “You never would have known from the book jacket that the stuff inside was trash.”

I nodded knowingly.  Publishers are clever that way.  Sneaky too. Others, well, they’re just out in the open; there’s a scantily clad girl on the cover, or a creepy vampire with a bloody mouth. Pretty obvious.

“I tell them no and oh how they complain,” the man went on. “Sometimes I have to be the bad guy,” he said sadly.

I looked into his eyes and was suddenly filled with immense compassion for this man.  He is a dad. He loves his little girls. He wants to do right by them.

“Don’t ever stop,” I said to him.  ”Stand strong.”

He nodded. “I can’t be their friend, I’ve got to be their father.”

“You’re doing the right thing,” I told him. “They need you to keep it up.”

He held up the books I’d signed and smiled.  ”Thanks for writing these.”

We have to help each other be strong, though.  It’s too hard to go at it alone. We have to support each other, encouraging that we are doing the right thing by parenting our children. Our children have enough friends. They need parents, parents who teach them right from wrong, so they can maintain their innocence as long as possible. We all know that innocence goes away with age. It’s part of nature, part of being an adult. But childhood is so fleeting. Children have the rest of their lives to be adults. Our children are losing their childhood innocence, and it’s terrifying to see.

Stand strong, like this dad is.

Stand strong! The precious souls God loves so much are at stake!

Copyright 2012 Nancy Carabio Belanger

Recently I posted that I was under the weather and reading a fascinating book comprised of the letters of our beloved Therese’s mother and father from St. Pauls/Alba House. I wrote that I was disappointed that the book was coming to an end, because the stories of the Martin family were so amusing and heartfelt.

Oh, and then there are the frogs! I laughed so hard when she wrote the following amusing story to Marie and Pauline, which I will share here from page 142:

“And now I must tell you something else, although the end of the story isn’t very nice and testifies to a very bad attitude among the people.

So, recently something peculiar happened to a woman whose carriage was parked across from our house in front of the Prefecture. The coachman was dressed in magnificent livery, completely trimmed with fur. A badly dressed man carrying a cloth bag in his hand happened to be passing by. He stopped a moment to look at the coachman, then the woman in the coach. He headed for the open door of the coach, untied his bag and emptied the contents onto the woman’s lap.

Immediately, she began to let out terrible screams. The coachman quickly came to help her, and passersby came running. They saw this woman doubled over in a panic and, on top of her, about twenty frogs. She even had them on her head. In other words, she was covered with them!

The malicious man watched her struggle. When the police commissioner came and asked him why he would do such a thing, he said calmly, ‘I just caught these frogs to sell, but seeing this aristocrat with her coachman all covered in fur, I preferred to give her a good fright rather than sell my frogs.’ They took him to jail, and he certainly deserved it!

I’m sure you’re going to say, ‘If anyone did such a thing to Mama, she would die!’ That very well could be because you know my irrational fear of frogs!”

I had quite a chuckle over that, I must tell you. For I, too, have an irrational fear of frogs! I could have given Bl. Zelie a big hug at that moment.

And that’s how I felt the entire time I read this book of her heartfelt letters to her family. For, through her joys and sorrows (and she had many sorrows as she lost her children to death, as well as the ups and downs of her business and finally, her horrible yet brave struggle with breast cancer) she kept her sense of humor and her faith in God, and wrote more than once that she wanted what God wanted for her during these devastating trials.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m not worrying at all, and I’m putting everything in God’s hands.”

In this, Bl. Zelie has a powerful, loving message for all of us.

The graces she showed while suffering, the forgiveness she offered freely, the love she poured out on her husband, children, and neighbors—these things are all shown abundantly in her letters, and they are a true treasure to read.

I also enjoyed the little anecdotes of Little Therese, who she wrote “gets emotional very easily,” and says, “This dear little one makes our happiness. She’ll be good, and we can already see the seed. She speaks of nothing but God and wouldn’t miss saying her prayers for anything. I wish you could see her recite her little stories. I’ve never seen anything so cute.”

But lest we think Little Therese was a perfect angel, her mother is here to assure us that she, too, had her ups and downs. In a letter to Therese’s older sister Pauline, she writes on page 245:

“Therese is still the same little imp. She often speaks of Pauline and says she’s very annoyed not to see her returning from Le Mans. This evening she thought that we were going to wait for you at the station because your father went out to take Marie to Mademoiselle Pauline’s house. She put up a struggle ‘to go get Pauline, too.’ ”

Also, there are the tired sighs of a good mother at the end of a long day with her active children (page 304):

“I think I’m going to have to abandon my letter until this evening, when they’ve all gone to bed, since one can’t have a moment’s rest here. I’m sure that all of the boarding school students at the Visitation Monastery combined couldn’t make as much noise. It’s a good thing I have the ears for it!”

The book also includes fourteen letters from Bl. Louis, the doting, adoring husband and father, who was funny, loving, and holy in his correspondence to his daughters.

“Give, give always and make some people happy,” he wrote to them, as well as, “”The thought of your mother follows me constantly.”

Everyone with a devotion to St. Therese should read these most intimate thoughts of her parents. We are so blessed to have these letters available to welcome us into the home life of the Martin family. Blessed Zelie and Louis Martin have much wisdom to share. These are people who were entirely devoted to God, the Church, their family, and their community.

Even while dying, the selflessness and thoughts of others were on Bl. Zelie’s heart: “The Poor Clares are also going to start a novena,” she wrote on page 280, “but I don’t like asking for prayers for myself because it would be better for me if it was for the intentions of others.”

A Call to a Deeper Love is a call to all of us to accept whatever God brings in our lives with complete trust and confidence in Him. What greater role models than these two extraordinary human beings, the parents of great saint and Doctor of the Church St. Therese? In this intimate book of letters, we see firsthand what Bl. Louis called “the intimate happiness of the family, and it’s this beauty that brings us closer to Him.”

A Call To A Deeper Love: The Family Correspondence of the Parents of Saint Therese of the Child Jesus 1863-1885
translated by Ann C. Hess
Guy Gaucher, Auxiliary Bishop of Bayeux and Lisieux and the Sisters of Lisieux (preface, notes, and overall presentation of the text)
ISBN-10 0-8189-1321-5 464 pages $29.95

For more information and to order the book, visit http://www.thereseoflisieux.org/

Copyright 2012 Nancy Carabio Belanger

“The closer one gets to God, the simpler one becomes.”

Lent is upon us.  It’s a time of prayer and increased awareness of Jesus and the suffering he endured in order that we all might be saved.  Some people think of it as a dreary, sad time.  I can see how some people might feel that way.  After all, it’s more serious at church on Sunday (no “Alleulias” are sung), people are fasting and not eating meat on Fridays, and giving up things they usually enjoy.  A good friend of mine gave up all sweets, as she does every year.  That would be very difficult for me, seeing as I love, love, love anything with sugar!  Another friend of mine decided to make a greater effort to be nicer to the people she loves, and to try not to lose her temper so easily.

Lent is a time for simpler things, and about making ourselves better. Some of you may have soup suppers at your parish, which consist of a simple meal of soup and bread. Maybe you prepare simpler meals on Fridays, meatless dinners without all of the extra trimmings.  Others decide to keep it simple by going out of their way to do things for other people, things they might not normally do.  Maybe some of you make the effort to go to Mass more often.  Definitely, praying more is a simple but wonderful thing we can do during Lent to make us more aware of Jesus.

A funny thing happens when we get closer to God. St. Therese was right when she said that the nearer one gets to God, the simpler one becomes.  When you love God with your whole heart and strive to make Him a part of your life in all things, all of the time, you become simpler, more childlike.  St. Therese always said that she wished to be little, like a child, simpler.  She said that being childlike is the way to get to Heaven. What does it mean to be “childlike”? Well, children are trusting.  They trust that Mom and Dad love them and will take care of all of their needs. Both children and adults can also be that trusting with God, our Father.  We can trust that He will take care of all of our needs, even if things look bad and we don’t exactly feel that God is near.  He is, and He wants you to put simple trust in Him for everything.

Children also love unconditionally.  Think of a baby who needs her mother to meet every need of hers.  She loves her mother no matter what; even if Mom forgets to change her diaper (oops!) or lets her cry a bit too long in her crib (time to nap!).  When the wet diaper is changed or Mom comes in to bring her comfort, the baby is happy to see her.  She loves her even though Mom goofed up or didn’t come running in.  After all, it’s still Mommy, and the baby loves her no matter what.  We should love God in that way, no matter what.  I have friends who have been through very hard times, and you know what?  They love God even more today.  They love him unconditionally and He loves us in the same way.

I know most of the readers of my book, Olivia and the Little Way are children.  St. Therese always wants us to stay that way, using her Little Way to do so.  Sure, we all grow up physically, mentally, and emotionally, and that is the way it is supposed to be. But when it comes to God, especially during Lent, Therese reminds us to be like little children.  The closer you get to Him, you will be simpler.  Life will be less complicated because you won’t let little things disturb you.  You will love God like a trusting child, letting Him take the lead in your life.   “The nearer one gets to God, the simpler one becomes.”

How simple — how little — can you be this Lenten season?

Copyright 2010 Nancy Carabio Belanger

What ordinary things can you do to please God in the grind of everyday life? Make today—and 2010—very ordinary!

“In my Little Way there are only very ordinary things.”—St. Therese of Lisieux

The Little Way.

Much has been written about it over the century since Therese has gone to be with God. Many books have been written, describing the spiritual childhood of this Way of living, of embracing suffering to grow closer to Jesus, of sacrificing one’s desires, of praying for sinners. The little Carmelite nun who never really went anywhere, who prayed for missionaries in her cloistered cell, loved our Blessed Mother, and adored flowers and a fun, innocent prank or two was declared a Doctor of the Church for her teachings. And her parents, Louis and Zelie Martin, were recently beatified, which means they are on their way to sainthood.

All of this fanfare for a simple young woman who only wrote her life’s story because her older sister Pauline (and prioress of the convent) asked her to. Therese was such a good storyteller and Pauline knew the joys and sorrows of Therese’s life should be recorded. (Terribly ill with tuberculosis, Therese penned her story, and when it got too painful to use pen and ink, had to use a pencil instead.)

As 2010 starts out, and the excitement and festivities of Christmas come to an end, life can seem kind of bland as we go back to school and work; very ordinary indeed. Therese said that only ordinary things make up her Little Way. Praying for someone who has hurt us. Not always having the last word. Holding the door open for someone even when we’re in a hurry. A smile for someone who could use it. Ordinary things, but very pleasing to God.

We think Therese is quite extraordinary, but she would never agree to that. She once said, “I am too weak to climb the rough stairway of perfection.” She thought of Jesus as the elevator that would take her to Heaven.

What ordinary things can you do to please God in the grind of everyday life? Make today—and 2010—very ordinary!

Copyright 2010 Nancy Carabio Belanger

When Therese was fourteen years old, something miraculous happened to her during the wee hours of Christmas morning. She had just returned from Midnight Mass with her father and her older sister Celine. In France on Christmas Eve, the tradition holds that children leave their shoes out and their parents put little gifts inside. At fourteen, Therese was a bit old for this, since most children had outgrown the custom by that age. But Therese was babied by her family, being the youngest.

As happy little Therese hurried upstairs to take off her hat in anticipation of searching her shoes, she overheard her tired father say quietly to himself, “Thank goodness that’s the last time we shall have this kind of thing!” Therese stopped what she was doing and did not say anything, but Celine knew her little sister’s feelings had been hurt and she was fully expecting Therese to burst into tears over what their father had said.

But surprisingly, the tears did not come. She later wrote in her autobiography that, in that moment, Jesus came into her heart and did for her what she could not have done on her own: He had made her think of her father’s feelings over her own. So, forcing back tears, she went into the parlor and pretended she hadn’t heard a thing, and acted excited over the gifts in her shoes. She would later write that this Christmas was her “conversion.” The oversensitive Therese existed no more; she was given by Jesus the miraculous opportunity and grace to think of her father’s feelings. She didn’t want him to know she had overheard him, because he was such a loving father that he would never have hurt her feelings on purpose. God’s grace at that moment gave her the maturity to swallow the hurt and try to please her father.

Copyright 2009 Nancy Carabio Belanger

The crowds asked John the Baptist, ‘”What should we do?’” He said to them in reply, “Whoever has two cloaks should share with the person who has none.  And whoever has food should do likewise.”  Luke 3: 10, 11

This past Sunday, in the gray, misty cold of December, my son and I were privileged to attend a hot chocolate stand.  That would have been fun and festive enough at this time of year, but this was no ordinary hot chocolate stand. It was nine-year-old Grace’s second year running a charity drive at the end of her driveway for a local faith-based homeless shelter, Grace Centers of Hope.  On any given night, this shelter, which receives no government dollars, will accommodate between 150-200 men, women, and children who have nowhere else to go.

We were happy to participate in Grace’s beautiful mission.  The thought of a nine-year-old girl with such a loving heart moved me.  A little girl who would stand out in the cold for two hours raising money and donations for those who have nothing must have a very big heart, and she does!

As we pulled up to her house, Grace greeted us with a hearty smile-and the cutest hot-chocolate mustache you ever saw.  Some kind friends of hers were seated with her, helping collect donations and scooping mini Christmas-tree marshmallows into Styrofoam cups of creamy hot chocolate.  Next to the table were many boxes of donations that had already been given.

Handmade signs invited passers-by to stop.  My son and I placed our donation with the others and sipped hot chocolate.  It felt so warm on such a cold, damp day.

“How wonderful of you to do this,” I said to Grace, who also happens to be my son’s classmate and friend.  She humbly grinned a chocolately smile back and adjusted her earmuffs.  I greeted her friends, telling them how nice it was of them to sit outside in the cold to keep Grace company.

Just then, a car drove up.  An excited man got out, smiling from ear to ear.

“I don’t believe it!  A hot chocolate stand?  How cool is that?”

Grace giggled.  “It’s for charity,” she said.  “For the Grace Centers of Hope.”

“Well, I’ve heard of lemonade stands before, but this is really fun!” he exclaimed, as he opened up his wallet and donated generously into a green plastic Christmas bucket with a slit on top.  “What a great thing you are doing!”  The man was still laughing, smiling, and shaking his head as he got into his car and drove away with his cup of hot chocolate.  I think Grace made his day!

I asked Grace’s mom how this all began.

“Last year, right before Thanksgiving, Grace told me she had an idea.  She wanted to give out hot chocolate in a stand like a lemonade stand.  I assumed she was coming up with another scheme to make money, so I told her no,” her mom said.  “But Grace was persistent.   She explained that she wanted to help the poor.  She wanted to give them money and things that they needed but she was only 8 years old and did not know how to do it.  So she figured if she gave people free hot chocolate, they could give something for the poor and that way she could help them.”

Her parents were floored, since they had never discussed the idea before.

“I asked her what made her come up with this idea and she said she had been thinking about it for a long time and it just came to her.  She also said that people want to help more at Christmas time so she thought it would be a good idea to do it near Christmas.   She loves hot chocolate, so she was sure that everyone else would want to help the poor for some free hot chocolate.  If you could have seen her little face telling this to me, you would have known that it was the Lord speaking through her,” she said.

So Grace made a flyer and decorated it, passing one out to every mailbox in their subdivision.  She also gave it out to her classmates at school.

The day finally came, bringing with it snow, freezing cold, and icy, slick roads.  Her mother told Grace not to be disappointed if no one came, since the weather was so frightful.

Grace looked at her mother and said, “Mom, you just have to believe.”

“Sure enough, at twelve noon, the cars started sliding up the hill.  I thought it was a miracle,” her mom said.

She decided to do it again this year, and it was another successful charity drive at Grace’s house.  Her mother told me that this year she ended up with 59 bags of donations and $202.41 to help the poor.

Grace and her friends spread Christmas joy to everyone on Sunday: both to the givers and to the receivers.  By giving away one of her favorite things, hot chocolate, she was able to help give a merry Christmas to the cold and hungry of our community.

Last year, Grace wrote thank-you notes to those who came:

Dear Friends,

Thank you for your donation to Grace Centers of Hope. Together we collected $231 and about 52 bags of stuff! When I got a tour of Grace Centers of Hope everybody there gave me a thank you. I’m glad all of you helped the poor. Thank you for being so generous.

Sincerely,

Grace

“As a family, we would never have taken on this initiative, without her idea, ambition and hard work,” her mom said.  “Even very small children can make a very big difference.  Many families will have a happier Christmas because of Grace.”

As we said our goodbyes, I couldn’t help but think of the Gospel reading we had heard in church a couple hours earlier.  As John the Baptist tells us, even in these difficult times, we can still share what we have with those who don’t have enough.  There is no better way to welcome the Baby Jesus, our Savior, than helping others and sharing our joy.

My son and I left Grace’s charity hot chocolate stand filled with joy; not only to have helped our neighbors in need, but also because a little girl brought us the true meaning of Christmas on a dreary, cold day in December-right at the end of her driveway.

“Remember that nothing is small in the eyes of God. Do all that you do with love.”-St. Therese of Lisieux

Copyright 2009 Nancy Carabio Belanger

Alma Mater: Featuring The Voice of Pope Benedict XVI

Scheduled to be released on November 29, this new music album in honor of Our Lady from Pope Benedict XVI will feature His Holiness singing litanies and chants.  He will also recite passages and prayers in five languages:  Latin, Italian, Portuguese, French, and German.  The Pope’s recordings were from his Masses, prayers, and speeches he made on trips abroad.   It’s the first time Pope Benedict will be heard on an album, and this spiritually uplifting collection of music would make a wonderful Christmas present.

But did you know that he isn’t the first Pope to release an album?  Pope John Paul II released two successful albums, one in 1982 and one in 1994.

Also on the album:  one song by the Pope and eight beautiful tracks of modern classical music (with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra).  He will be backed up vocally by The Choir of the Philharmonic Academy of Rome.

His Holiness has loved classical music all his life, especially Mozart. The album is a response to the Pope’s concern that the Church needs to  recover the sacred place that music has in Mass.  We have such a need for music that inspires people and glorifies God.  He is said to have a beautiful singing voice, very soothing.

“The Pope has almost a lullaby tone to the way he sings,” said Colin Barlow, president of Geffen UK, who said that the Pope is extremely pleased with the album so far.

Pope Benedict XVI brings together the talents of both Christians and non-Christian composers (Simon Bosewell from Britain, Stefano Mainetti of Italy, and Nour Eddine of Morocco), representing unity in mankind.

Alma Mater is Latin for “Nourishing Mother.”  How fitting, since a portion of the sale proceeds will go to charity to help provide musical education to poor children around the world!

More information can be found at www.musicfromthevatican.com.

If you would like to hear some of the music, visit http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mtfqFMnd9GY

Purchase Alma Mater: Featuring The Voice of Pope Benedict XVI and support CatholicMom.com



Copyright 2009 Nancy Carabio Belanger

“Today, if you hear His Voice, do not harden your hearts…” Hebrews 3:15

Have you ever heard God talking to you? He does, you know, and He longs for you to listen. Sometimes, we’re so preoccupied with going here, doing that, that we don’t hear it. His Voice gets lost in our grocery lists, our work responsibilities, while driving the kids to music lessons, and while packing lunches. Others hear Him, but ignore what they hear. But how can you listen, and really hear the Holy Spirit for yourself?

You must be silent.

This doesn’t just mean turning off your iPhone or the TV. Getting rid of all external noise is a start, of course, and very necessary. But to really listen for God, you must also still your mind. Think about God, and think about how much He loves you and wants to talk to you. Be really, truly silent—with your ears and your heart.

St. Therese, the Little Flower, was good at this. She knew the importance of quieting the mind and listening for His Voice. Sometimes we are so busy talking to ourselves or hearing unimportant chatter of the day from electronics or people around us that we aren’t letting God get a word in edgewise.

Sometimes, though, God speaks to you when you least expect it, and aren’t even prepared for it. This happens a lot to me!

On a grey winter day, in the silence of my car, God told me He had a plan for me: I was to write a fiction book for Catholic preteens, and it would be about St. Therese, my dear friend in Heaven. I was excited, but I had many doubts. Would this be a book kids would want to read? Could it actually be published? What if I got some information wrong about St. Therese? I have to admit that I was plagued by doubt. As many do, I questioned the Voice.

God and St. Therese (who is wonderfully persistent!) had other ideas, however. Because I listened to Him, God made so many wonderful things happen in one year. I know that St. Therese was praying for me during this time, interceding for me and giving me new ideas while I wrote, nudging me along. Last month, I celebrated the one-year anniversary of Olivia and the Little Way, when God made my writing dream come true. In one short year, I’ve had three printings, a Catholic Press Association book award, met hundreds of wonderful, faithful people, and have thousands of readers and fans of my little book. Amazing. And to think it is all because of a Voice.

I love going to book signings and meeting my readers. They tell me their stories about St. Therese, their grandchildren, their parents, their teachers, their children. I’ve been told I have a friendly face, and I like to think that I am approachable. It must be true because people tell me, a person they have just met, their personal stories all of the time! I love to listen. They love to tell. There’s something about St. Therese that brings out so much love in so many people. Some of them have much emotion when they talk about her, and some start to cry. “Little Therese,” as she liked to be called, has had such a powerful impact on so many people.

At one particular book signing this past spring at a church, I sat and chatted with parishioners about my book and St. Therese. The day was very long, and, being human, I started to get hungry and a little tired. Anyone who knows me knows that when I get hungry, I can get a little…crabby. Usually all it takes is a handful of cookies or crackers and I’m back to my old self. At this book signing, I was starting to feel the effects of a long day. I stood up and straightened up the books and St. Therese chaplets on the table, then started to rummage through my purse for a quick snack. While I was doing this, a very old woman came up to the table. Elderly and frail, she stopped and looked at me.

“I do love St. Therese,” she said, her eyes red and brimming with tears.

I sat down, smiled, and asked her to share her story.

She began a halting explanation of how St. Therese had touched her life in many ways. As she spoke, I couldn’t help but notice that the frail woman had not bathed in a long time. While she was talking to me, a parishioner came up beside her and offered to treat her to a copy of Olivia and the Little Way. She was delighted to accept, and was very grateful.

I signed a book for her and watched her hobble away. I felt very saddened because I knew she was poor, but I felt very happy too that she had a loving friend in the parish. She lingered by the church and stared inside while I watched her quietly, feeling something in my heart I could not explain.

It was in that instant that I heard His Voice.

“Give her a chaplet.”

The Voice was as clear as day. It was the same one I had heard before, and I smiled. I glanced at the table, which held books and chaplets with pink rose beads.

“Give her a chaplet,” the Voice said again, very insistent.

I reached over and collected a chaplet and the instruction card that I make to go with it. I approached the lady and held both of them out to her.

“Excuse me, Ma’am, these are for you,” I said.

The look on this lady’s face was sheer joy as I placed the items in her wrinkled hands.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” she cried.

“Thank you for coming to talk to me and sharing your story,” I said. Then I thought to myself, You’ve given me so much more than what I have given you.

Listen to His Voice. Do what He wants you to do. Be still and hear what He wants to say to you and you will be amazed, as I was and still am.


Copyright 2009 Nancy Carabio Belanger