promises kept and broken

As a consumer, have you ever felt cheated by products that didn’t live up to their advertised features and benefits?

Even the youngest consumers can experience the kind of disappointment which turns to resentment—for the company/product that perpetrated the duping or for allowing oneself to be duped.

Years later, I still remember most vividly our son’s visceral reaction the first time he experienced the anti-product duping reaction.

It was Christmas Day. Santa had delivered the coveted most popular action toy of the season (with a little help from me, who had traveled near and far, putting myself on every waiting list possible so that my little darling would not be disappointed).

Despite our best efforts (Santa’s and mine), the little cherub was decidedly disappointed when he tried to replicate–unsuccessfully!–what he had seen the toy do, time after time, in television commercials.

Interestingly, he didn’t turn to me to say his particular toy was defective. No, he cast aside that toy forever more, angry that the commercial had lied to him.

At the time I wondered if our son were the only disappointed child, and I the only disappointed (to say nothing of exhausted!) shopper that Christmas morning?

The next time the commercial aired, I watched more closely. Had there been false advertising I should report to someone?

At the commercial’s end, I had to admit not—no false advertising …At the same time, I noticed that the camera angle surely had created an illusion that understandably led our son to think that the toy had zoomed off, amid a puff of smoke, out of the child’s hand, on a path of its own out into the distance.

As a learning experience, in retrospect, I noticed, the product disappointment was a good one for our little one.

Made him skeptical, cynical in fact, about product advertising.

That got me thinking about what we can count on. Inasmuch as a commercial is a promise of delivery, it’s easy to feel angry when we allow ourselves to be duped, especially as adults who should know better.

Jesus promised that there would be wolves in sheep’s clothing purposely trying to do us in; yet we shouldn’t become hardhearted.

We should stay gentle, yet wise, not allowing ourselves to be misled, but sticking close to Him, following His protective lead.

With so much of the cheapening of the word; with so much purposeful false advertising, it is a blessing to have God’s assurance that His word is honest. He keeps His promises. He will never disappoint us. Among His many promises, He promised us He would be our Good Shepherd.

So, I’m wondering, have I falsely advertised Him? Have I kept my promises? I’m yearning to be honest in my relationship with Him and with others in Him.

Posted in Faith, Family, Inspirational, Parenting, Promises, Truth, Words | Leave a comment

on “Words of Beautiful Truth”

Akin to reflecting on sticks and stones in the last post, and the fifth grade neighborhood classmate whose taunts first made me feel the punch of words that hurt, I also started thinking about another classmate, and another school, where I first learned to be sensitive to the potency of words.

Heralded by our fourth grade teacher for studying “locution,” (a word I never had heard before—and I’m not sure I’ve ever heard from a teacher’s lips since), I still can picture our long dark-haired fourth grade classmate holding the lined paper on which were the words she “locuted” for us, words she had learned in her last lesson, from a poem entitled “Words of Beautiful Truth.”

Our teacher required that we copy and memorize the words—which I dutifully did. And those words made such an impression on me that I kept that handwritten paper copy for many years. (In fact, one day, I just might come upon it!)

Even now, decades since that day in fourth grade, thanks to locution lessons my parents never paid for, I have been able to recite on cue (admittedly not quite as dramatically as my classmate recited them), without benefit of the written copy, the first few lines–as best I can remember them.

Keep a watch on your words, my darling, for words are powerful things. They’re sweet like the bee’s sweet honey; like bees they have terrible stings.

Taking a long-shot chance before writing this post, I entered the first few words into an internet search—just to be sure I remembered them correctly.

Voila!  …The words to the entire multi-stanza poem–pretty close to how I remembered learning them–showed up in an 1887 volume available on the internet entitled Little poems for little children, suitable for memorizing for recitation at school and at home, compiled by Valeria J. Campbell.

Since I noticed that the title of the poem in the 1887 volume (“Keep a Watch on Your Words”) is different from the one I remember (“Words of Beautiful Truth”), I’m wondering about the difference.

Could it be that the locution teacher retitled the poem? Or perhaps the locution teacher herself or himself learned it under a different title, passed down orally, perhaps over a number of generations.

In any case, I’m thankful to the locution teacher,  my fourth grade teacher, and my fourth grade classmate for instilling in me at a young age the notion that among the truths about words are that their potency can hurt or heal, and that the better choice is to speak words of beautiful life-giving truth.

And the older I get, the more I yearn to fill my mind, head, and heart, as well as my lips, with words of beautiful truth, spoken by Him Who is Beautiful Truth.

And, I’m noticing, that lest we be inclined to dismiss the power that children have to be ministers of His Truth, it strikes me that two childhood peers first raised my consciousness about the power of words and the choices we make, the freedom we have, to use them for evil or for good.

And in the end, I’m glad for the two different titles of the poem. For, in the final analysis, joined together they deliver a powerful message for young and old alike:

“Keep a watch on your words,” and if/when you speak, may you speak only “Words of Beautiful Truth.”

What do you say?

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“sticks and stones”

Remember the childhood ditty that well-intentioned grownups encouraged us to say in response to our playmates’ verbal taunting or teasing?

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me…”

I was thinking about the implications of that ditty in response to recent news about the death of one of the “neighborhood kids” (now a retired adult) with whom I had grown up.

In addition to the usual reactions of sadness and disbelief that I felt at learning about a contemporary’s death, I had some unkind, uneasy feelings.

Cruel words most certainly can hurt. …His ethnic slurs toward me, made in public when we were ten…His mocking of my shyness, made in public when we were adolescents…  definitely did hurt–

Just harmless child’s play? Just “normal” adolescent teasing?

Objectively/intellectually: maybe; probably. Subjectively/emotionally: not on your life!

Only God knows for sure why he said what he did the way he did.

I only know I felt diminished and embarrassed by what he said in those days, as well as when I think about them, even to today.

At the same time, I do know that God really does bring good out of hurts. I do know that on multiple occasions, this classmate’s biting words gave me pause—at the time, as well as during the decades that have ensued– to consider the germs of truth contained in his unwelcomed words.

For his part, I bet those words had no importance to him. Unlike me, I suspect he never gave them—or me!– another thought.

And I’m wondering now that he is in God’s presence, and has reflected on his life, I wonder if the impact his words (like no other words ever spoken to me) were significant enough in God’s Eyes so that those words were brought to my former classmate’s sensitized attention.

I wonder if he’s sorry now. I wonder if God let him understand why I met his words with silence. Why I preferred to be embarrassed than to stand up for myself? (Maybe by God’s Grace, he knows the answers to those questions, more than I know them myself.)

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me…”

Fortunately, in response to increased knowledge and understanding about the detrimental (and sometimes devastating) effects of harassment, intimidation, and bullying, today’s adults would be hard pressed to deliver that faulty/flawed “sticks and stones” advice.

As much as I am pleased that today’s youngsters are more protected from verbal harassment, intimidation, and bullying than we were, and as much as I would not advocate or justify bullying or teasing, under any circumstances, at the same time, in retrospect, with God’s help, I believe that I have grown to become a better, more self-aware person, because of those words, cruel as they were, spoken in childhood and adolescence. For that I am grateful.

As ambivalent as I admit I still feel about the former neighborhood classmate, on word of his death, I did what the Lord’s Word says. I prayed for his eternal rest…and mine, too, through mercy and forgiveness.

Mercy, not only for him, but for me, too, for all the cruel verbal sticks and stones, wittingly or unwittingly, I’ve thrown throughout my life, and peace, not only for me, but for those I’ve purposely or inadvertently hurt through the words of my mouth, words thrust at people with the aid of my tongue which, we have come to recognize, as Scripture says, has the power of life and death.

In all we say and do, may we always choose life. Not only sticks and stones, but words, too definitely can hurt us..the “us” who deliver them and the “us” who receive them.

Amen.

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birthday blessings for Malala Yousafzai

It’s one week after our Fourth of July celebration, and I can’t help wondering to what extent we realize and appreciate the blessings of the freedom that our children—boys and girls (as well as we adults)—have to receive a (lifelong) formal education.

Today is the eighteenth birthday of Nobel Peace Prize winner Malala Yousafzai, who tirelessly advocates for childhood education, particularly for girls, as well as an end to their forced childhood marriages and other violations against them.

Malala has already paid once—and nearly fatally–for her love of learning. And the bullet she took to the head, thank God!, neither stopped nor embittered her.

Explaining in an interview that she holds neither hatred nor wishes for retaliation against her would-be assassins, Malala is a shining witness to mercy, while fighting for justice.

And I’m remembering that those who stand for mercy and justice, like Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., one of her inspirational heroes, often are called to make the ultimate sacrifice, as did the Lord Jesus.

I’m praying that God protect Malala and those who join her. May He bless them with long lives of fruitful service.

May they be His instruments in fulfilling the yearning of so many of the world’s children—His children– to have a formal education, and to live and to learn without violence or violation, regardless of their color, nationality, gender, or race, wherever they live in this world.

Today on her eighteenth birthday, and every day for decades to come, may God bless Malala and her childhood advocacy work.

If you feel so called, perhaps you would like to help with prayer and other kinds of support…http://www.malala.org

God bless you, too.

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freedom

“…yearning to breathe free..” These words of Emma Lazarus, contained within her poem “The New Colossus,” engraved on the pedestal on which stands the Statue of Liberty, I’m thinking, are worth considering this Independence Day weekend.

“…yearning to breathe free…” Freedom.

And I’m wondering what is the best kind of freedom—the most fundamental freedom that is contained in our God-given inalienable rights. And I’m noticing that the Bill of Rights names freedom of religion first.

And I’m wondering what God would say is our greatest freedom.

And I’m remembering that God gives human beings free will as His special gift, so that we freely can choose to accept and extend His love–even if the exercising of this ultimate freedom gift can lead to choosing evil, not good.

And I’m noticing that Sacred Scripture in the words of Zechariah, spoken in the prayer known as the “Benedictus,” proclaims that God gives us freedom from the hold of our enemies so that we can be “free to worship Him without fear.”

And I’m yearning to try to better understand and appreciate true “freedom” this Independence Day weekend, considering the words of Ms. Lazarus and Zechariah: “…yearning to breathe free.“ “…free to worship Him without fear.”

And I’m thinking that If we are not free to be fully human—to exercise our free will to choose good—to choose God, the Ultimate God, what will become of us?

…And by the way, I love that Emma Lazarus’ last name reminds me of the man raised from the dead by Jesus; every time we breathe free, free to be fully human, we are reborn in the Spirit Who sets us free, as only God Himself can.

God bless America. God keep safe those who protect our freedom to be fully human, fully His–fully free!

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win-win

Elated, for sure, when the Lord agreed to accompany him to heal his dying daughter, today’s homilist got me wondering about the father’s emotional state when the Lord’s movement was stalled by the intervention by woman with hemorrhage.

Chances are, the father was not allowing himself to think that it mattered not whether his daughter was still alive when the Lord reached her—although maybe a part of him believed the Lord could bring her back to life.

Chances are the fact that the girl “died” while the father and the Lord were on the way to her house suggests that the father likely knew how desperate the situation was that the Lord get there quickly to prevent the imminent death.

Against that urgent backdrop, how might the father have felt when the woman interrupted the Lord’s movement toward his daughter? Impatient? Resentful? Angry? Did he roll his eyes? Bite his tongue? Take a deep breath? Feel a sharp pain in his chest?

Scripture leaves him silent.

When the messenger delivered the news of the girl’s death, how did the father feel then in view of the interruption?

Again, Scripture leaves him silent, with a silence accompanied by action that speaks volumes. No angry recriminations toward the Lord or the woman. No pouty, irreverent, “Just forget it.” No. Just a continuation.

I’m wondering what would have happened if the father had spouted off at the woman or the Lord. What if the father had walked away angrily from the Lord. ..I suspect that the Lord would have respected the father’s freedom to reject His help. I suspect the little girl would have remained asleep.

How many times, I wonder, do we derail our blessings by applying to God’s Infinite Providence the human limitations of an economy in which one wins at the cost of another’s loss? How many times do we resent the blessings God gives to others, at our expense, we suppose.

In the Gospel story, the Lord shows that He has time and love enough to stop to bless the woman, but not at the expense of blessing the girl.

And I yearn to have the father’s trust that when we stay open and receptive, Jesus’s blessing is never insufficient nor late–no matter how or how many circumstances–or interlopers–seem to derail our reception of deeply desired and anticipated benefits.

Thank God, with Him it is always win-win!

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To those who would be fathers

It’s another one of more than five dozen Father’s Days I’ve been alive to celebrate, and I’m thinking about Our Heavenly Father, and wondering why it never occurs to me to reach out to Him in special loving gratitude this day–His day.

And I’m thinking, too, about my husband and the very special Father’s Day on which we presented our first child to be Baptized “..in the Name of the Father….”

And today at Mass, when the celebrant acknowledged all the fathers whose special day it is, and referred to himself as “an unwed father,” I was wondering how many of our Fathers who stand in persona Christi will be recognized today with a well-earned “Happy Father’s Day” greeting.

And now, in further pondering of the “unwed father” reference that had caught me by surprise a few hours ago, albeit in another context, I wonder not only about the fathers living outside marriage, but more so about the men whose children have been aborted—with or without their knowledge or consent. Especially, in that regard, my heart goes out to those men who desired life, not death for their unborn children, but were powerless to prevent their children’s abortion.

I think, too, of my son’s fatherhood—particularly the fatherhood of the son whose life could not be saved in utero, breaking his heart and his wife’s…and the hearts of all of us who yearned for that child to be born to us.

Lastly, I think of my earthly father, now at rest, and know, surely, as the Lord Jesus loved His earthly father, St. Joseph, that we can entrust to him, patron of the Universal Church, all the yearnings of our minds, and hearts, and souls with regard to all the father figures, living and deceased, in our lives.

God bless all the men who fulfill the role given to fathers, and the women who, out of necessity, stand in their place.

May God especially bless the fathers who protect us in war and peace, and those who have offered their lives so that we can live in one nation under God on this Father’s Day and every day. Amen.

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Finding out…as in Galatians 1:15

Yesterday was the feast of St. Anthony of Padua, whom devotees—like me–call upon to help recover lost items, trying our best, I suppose, not to do so superstitiously. And I’m wondering how it is that sometimes we find things that we weren’t looking for–things that we didn’t even know were hidden or lost.

Like the day my mother, now deceased, was showing her granddaughter–my daughter– family albums we all had viewed many times previously. And so, not expecting to see anything I hadn’t seen before, I more-or-less mindlessly “eaves-looked” over my daughter’s shoulder, rather than “looked” as if purposefully trying to notice or appreciate something.

“Wait! Back up… What was that?” I asked about a yellowed, somewhat tattered certificate of sorts that when unfolded stretched almost a yard long.

Turns out that my mother and her mother, as the story goes, had attended a parish mission, and the certificate was a Sacred Heart Family Enrollment.

A history teacher by training, I immediately noted the date. Could it be? Yes! The year on the paper was the year I was born. …Closer look. Too bad—wrong month. I wasn’t even born yet. Feeling disappointed that I wasn’t alive when the commitment was made, I felt gipped– “un-covered” by the family consecration… Then I calculated further. Wait! How many months before I was born had my mother attended that mission?…Five. Wow! That means I was alive, albeit in her womb. I was part of the family, and in a mysterious way that I’m realizing as I write this reflection, I could even say that I attended that mission also!

And suddenly, on that winter’s day, sitting on the couch with my mother and my daughter, one piece of my life’s puzzle seemed to fall into place with the revelation of that Sacred Heart Family consecration. What a gift my mother had given me, before I even was born, a gift I had never known about for more than fifty years after my birthday.

And I wondered if, heretofore inexplicably to me, that consecration had been the genesis of my Sacred Heart devotion. A devotion to the Eucharistic Sacred Heart of Jesus that had stood years before, when my children were little, between my staying Catholic and leaving the Faith.

So, on the feast of St. Anthony this year, I think back to the Solemn Feast of the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, celebrated on the day before, and I thank God for the knowledge He revealed from the words on a yellowed certificate that makes His Word truly come alive for me.  For the words that St. Paul spoke about himself seemed to apply to me, also. The Lord really did call me from my mother’s womb to be His own, to be close to His Heart forever.

And I wonder who else, like me before seeing the date on the certificate, does not really fully, personally “know” or believe that freely given Grace-filled truth…yet? God calls each of us from the moment of our conception to be His child forever.

Always a child in God’s eyes, I pray the words I first learned as a child, hopefully with more sincere yearning–and not less–than I had when I first said, in rote with other children my age: Sacred Heart of Jesus, we implore, the Grace to love You more and more.  Amen.

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Deaf ears…Speak, Lord….

“Please sit safely.” …”Please put your toys away…Now.” …”Please stop talking.”

Over the years, words I’ve spoken as teacher or parent to children over whom I have had authority and responsibility often have fallen on so-called “deaf ears.”

Which brings to mind another expression. Whether taken individually or collectively as a class, there definitely were times when I felt as if I were “talking to the wall.”

Kids not obliging to my words? Understandable. They have free wills. Walls obeying? Laughable! Duh! They are inanimate objects.

The wind blows my hair; the rain saturates my outfit. Inconveniently. I’ve muttered, verbalizing my desires that they would stop their offence till I’m “blue in the face,” and they’ve never heeded my words. Wind and rain doing their thing. Doing what they’re meant to do. Inconvenient as their actions are to me.

Enter the Lord Jesus Christ… As God, He tells the wind and the sea to be still and they immediately obey. No delay. No hesitation. …Not a surprising result to believers in a God Who spoke the world into existence.

Which brings me to thoughts of today’s Corpus Christi feast. I wish I could credit by name the preacher who introduced me more than a decade ago to this “argument,” but I do not know his name. His logic, nonetheless, has stuck with me. Here’s the gist of what he said.

Although human beings have free will and therefore can disobey, can turn a “deaf ear” to authority, the rest of creation, devoid of free will, have no choice but to obey God’s command, which is why He could speak the world into existence, and calm the winds and the seas.

Given that reality, it is inevitable, then, that during the Last Supper when Jesus said to bread that it was His Body and to wine that it was His Blood, the bread and wine had no choice, no option to do anything other than to become His Body and His Blood.

Today we celebrate that reality in the beautiful feast traditionally known as Corpus Christi.

What am I yearning for this day?

…To more fully appreciate the reality of the Eucharist, and the faith I inherited which makes that belief an unearned gift.

…To do what I can to share with those who have never heard the preacher’s argument to consider the logic he expressed so that more of God’s children could come to believe in and to experience the sacramental reality of His Real Presence, a presence He promised to extend till the end of time.

…To live more fully and faithfully in the Lord’s Word…to stop turning a “deaf ear” to the Lord when I don’t want to obey, to stop being so negative and self-defeated in the face of adversity, and to believe, no matter what my mind and body tell me, that in the power of God’s Word and Will, mountains can be moved and storms calmed if I humbly and confidently speak in His Name, always listening and obeying, stilling myself in His Presence.

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out with the pots etc.; in with the water

Remember being told in school never to define a target word using the target word itself?

…Last week, when I asked different grades of elementary students to define a leader, and/or to describe the game “follow the leader,” I realized just how tough adhering to that definition dictum is, no matter how young or old.

When they faltered, guess who was put to the test–and struggled! How hard it is, sometimes, to put our understandings into words.

Here it is today the feast of the Most Holy Trinity, and the homilist humbly apologized in advance for his human inadequacy, despite all his years of formation, to talk about the mystery of one God; three Persons.

Commiseration was easy! I could only imagine trying to wrap my meager brain around the Infinite Reality (impossibility #1), and then articulating that Reality in my limited vocabulary of finite words (impossibility #2).

Nonetheless, with some nostalgia, I missed hearing one or more of the homilists’ traditional veiled attempts at helping the congregation understand through explanations, albeit admittedly inadequate analogies, of old-fashioned three-legged cooking pots or stools, or even three-leaf shamrocks to concretize the Reality of Three Divine Persons in just One God.

Later, while surfing the religion networks, I did hear the more current analogy; one which, at least for myself, helps more than the traditional others.

Water is water. There is only one chemical formula for water. However, water might be in three different states: a solid state (ice), a liquid state (tap water), or a gaseous state (steam).

Water in one state is uniquely different from water in the other two states, as are the Three Persons different from each Other, yet just as all three states of water have the same one common nature: water,  all Three Persons share the same one nature: the nature of God.

As I share these thoughts, a thunderstorm has provided the noisy background, complete with ping-pong-like balls of hail bouncing noisily a few feet off the ground.

And I think of the rain which has fallen recently so devastatingly on regions of our country, and I remember, too, that storms are a part of the mystery of the universe, and that God reaches out to console His children through human hands of generosity.

And I pray for all those helping and needing help.

In times of rain and drought, God is Good. All the time. …How much in times of trouble do we need to be verbal and non-verbal signs of that goodness to each other.

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