Faith on single-blade ice skates

When I was a little girl, a Christmas Eve tradition included a visit to my Grandpa William and Grandma Laura Malcore’s home. Immigrants from Belgium, my grandparents lived above our family funeral home on the corner of Baird and Willow Street (now University Ave.) in Green Bay, Wisconsin. The Christmas Eve I recall most was the night I saw Santa and his reindeer cross over the moon as I stared out the window of my grandparent’s upstairs home. At the age of six, it was a vivid picture and I was convinced it was true. I couldn’t fathom why my grandparents, much less my parents, did not believe me. My voice wailed with excitement at the sighting. He was here, in Green Bay, and finally I would get my single-blade versus double-blade ice skates. No more baby skates for Mary Kay Malcore. I would be in the big league now.

My brother, Mark, and my father, departed soon after the REAL Santa sighting, to go across the street for confession at Sts. Peter and Paul Church. Reconciliation was also a Christmas Eve tradition for Mark and dad and I loved when they left because when they got back from what seemed to be a very long time, we left to go home and that meant SANTA TIME. Christmas Eve at our house was for Santa — Christmas day, for Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior.

The excitement would mount as we drove from the funeral home to our home at 499 Bader Street. My brothers David and Dan and I would crane our necks just hoping to see the plastic candle lit in the window of our living room, for that meant the jolly man had made it to our home. Mark didn't seem to care. In our moment of doubt as we came up the hill Santa came through once again as the orange bulb on top of that plastic candle was lit. We roared with excitement. Our driveway was long and it seemed like we were in slow motion. I wanted to say, “Come on dad, gun it.” I was jumping out of my skin.

As I ripped open my two presents, one a heart charm and the other a short hockey stick, my joy turned to disappointment. Where were my single-blade skates? What good was a hockey stick cut to my size without the skates? I tried to hide my sorrow but my dad, who loved me so much, put his hand on my cheek and said, “What’s wrong?” I told him I was thankful for what Santa brought BUT WHERE WERE MY SKATES? I began to cry when suddenly my dad said, “I wonder if Santa hid them — wait here.”

In an instant, our roles reversed. While he did not believe my Santa across the moon story, I found it somewhat silly to think he actually believed the jolly guy hid my skates. And why upstairs? In a matter of minutes my dad stood before me with a box. “I found this under the bed and it has your name on it,” my dad whispered. “I wonder what it could be?” I hesitated for a second as I didn’t want to be disappointed but then I tore it open as fast as I could.

I will never forget my excitement at seeing Santa cross the moon or the orange glowing light in the window. I will never forget my disappointment when my presents refused to provide me a pair of single-blade skates. I will never forget my dad’s face as he handed me the box. I will never forget the smell of my new single-blade ice skates or the scream I let out when I opened that white cardboard box.

As 50 Christmas Eve nights have since passed, I often reflect back on those ice skates. To me it serves as a story of life. Excitement turned to sorrow — then flipped over once again to excitement and joy. It is a story of love — a story of hope — a story of Christmas. It is my grounding story I often go back to when I need to remind myself to keep the faith. It is a moment in time that tells me in the midst of life’s ups and downs there will always be the presence of God and family. This is my story of a privileged life, for I have been given the most precious gift of deep faith. How blessed I am to know God loves me deeply, very deeply, and will never leave me. He loves me so much that in the faces, the arms that hug, the eyes that cry with me, the voices that laugh loudly, and feet that walk with me, He is ever-present in the gift of family and friends. I thank God, who provided me for every life journey, people like my dad (God rest his soul), who are always ready to share in my joys and pull me out of my sadness or walk with me until my strength returns. It is a story of giving and receiving, which provides me the opportunity time and again to learn how to do both — a very important God lesson. Thank you God and Merry Christmas!

Share in the Advent and Christmas journey at www.thefloridacatholic.org.

Morning Prayer

It’s that time of the year when lists are abundant. Santa lists are at the top of the spectrum but not even the diatribe of Wii wishes and iPod dreams can hold a candle to the daily prayers we’ve been receiving from our Florida Catholic readers over the past few months.

We began praying as a staff during the workweek about five years ago. There has never been a day when requests for prayers have not been received at the Florida Catholic. But now, more than ever, the lists are long. If Santa were receiving the prayer requests at the North Pole, I picture him deep in prayer asking God to heal the broken hearts, the broken bodies — the broken spirits and bring joy, health and hope.

So along with Santa, we kneel before our God, asking — Lord, hear our prayer.

Our list of prayers for today:

Healing for Rob, 41, who has no chance of raising his daughter who is eight and son, two-months, without a heart transplant.
Lord, hear our prayer.

Jennifer, healing from breast cancer.
Lord, hear our prayer.

Prayers for Burt, recently diagnosed with ALS and prayers for his two teenage sons who are having a difficult time with the diagnosis.
Lord, hear our prayer.

Stephanie asks for prayers of relief from the depression she suffers following the death of her son, Blake.
Lord, hear our prayer.

Chad asks that he and his family finds faith for Christmas to help them through hard times. And if God sees it in his will, help them not to lose their home.
Lord, hear our prayer.

An anonymous reader asks for prayers that their immigration application be approved.
Lord, hear our prayer.

Another calls upon God to please have her husband find the love he has lost for his wife and come home to her and their three children by Christmas.
Lord, hear our prayer.

Diane asks for help in finding a way to feed her family, buy formula, pay her bills and save her home from foreclosure.
Lord, hear our prayer.

Mark has been out of work for six months and because of his age and the economy he is beginning to lose hope of ever finding a job to support his family. He asks for prayers to help him know God’s will.
Lord, hear our prayer.

Three families have asked for prayers to save their marriages.
Lord, hear our prayer.

Four families ask for prayers for loved ones who have been diagnosed with terminal cancer.
Lord, hear our prayer.

One family asks for prayers in making a tough decision to end any extra ordinary care to a loved one in a coma.
Lord, hear our prayer.

And another 11 families call upon us to pray with them for healing and help. And so this Dec. 15, 2008, we invite you to join with us in asking God to hear our prayers for our brothers and sisters in Christ.
Lord, hear our prayer.

Join us in prayer, every work day at 9:45 a.m. If you have a prayer request, please visit our Web site at www.thefloridacatholic.org and click on prayer requests.

Learning about Advent via the USPS

I was the (un)fortunate recipient of a task important to a new magazine the Florida Catholic is producing for the Diocese of St. Petersburg. Involvement in the task has required me to gain not just a boat-load, but a cruise-ship load of patience, humility, and perseverance.

If you know me, or are into guessing what the task may be, your list might possibly include promoting the magazine — organizing and writing stories — maybe capturing the right moment in photos — or maybe, just maybe, laying out the magazine and sending it off to print. NOPE! Instead, Mr. Christopher James Gunty, associate publisher and editor of the Florida Catholic was (un)kind enough to offer me a learning opportunity that would allow me to go from almost postal, to garnering the patience, humility, perseverance and gratitude, encouraged during Advent. Who could have ever guessed in dealing with the United States Postal Service (USPS) one would embrace the atmosphere of Advent? Certainly, not me.

The best visual I can give you of what this process has been like is to refer back to Alice’s Restaurant, a movie/song of a real life tale experienced by Arlo Guthrie, son of Woody Guthrie (This Land is Your Land). Arlo weaves a tale of Thanksgiving dinner and what to do with the left over trash. In the end, they go to the dump and dispose of it. While they did the right thing by not littering in the town of Stockbridge, Massachusetts, it’s illegal to climb the fence and dispose of trash when the dump is closed. One thing leads to another and Arlo gets arrested after they find an envelope with his name on it among the mix of trash and turkey bones.

The story proceeds from the outcome of the arrest to Arlo being drafted into the Army. During indoctrination, he is placed in “Group W” because of his arrest. The Army inspector dealing with the criminal types let’s loose at one point and rattles off a sentence so quickly, it sounds like one word. And it goes something like this — “Kids, this-piece-of-paper’s-got-47-words-37-sentences-58-words-we-wanna-know-details-of-the-crime-time-of-the-crime-and-any-other-kind-of-thing-you-gotta-say-pertaining-to-and-about-the-crime-I-want-to-know-arresting-officer's-name-and-any-other-kind-of-thing-you-gotta-say.”

My adventure with the USPS over the past three weeks mirrors Arlo’s experience during his Army indoctrination. At least in the beginning when I was presented a Santa’s list of official form numbers. Yes-ma’am-we-can-help-you-just-fill-out-this-form-and-that-form-and-revise-3500-plus-add-the-PAF-and-don’t-forget-to-include-this-one-and-that-one-and-add-another-for-additional-entry-what’s-your-USPS-number-and-where’s-your-ISSN-number-give-me-your-ACS-info-and-don't-ask-me-it’s-up-to-you-to-figure-out-no-I-don’t-have-a-chair-so-stand-for-two-plus-hours-and-have-a-good-day.

And as our God will have it, just about the time I was ready to go, um, POSTAL — out of the blue, or maybe the purple of Advent, Terrie Lawson walked into my life. In the midst of the dark world of government forms — Terrie became my USPS angel on this earth. From 9 a.m. until after 2 p.m. last Thursday, Terrie translated the “postal-bonics” language for me. With a soothing voice she guided me through the maze of mystery that has been fine-tuned in the world of USPS forms. More than once, I feared she would say, “That’s all the time I can spend with you.” But never did those words leave her mouth. And lunch? What about lunch? I dared not ask if she were hungry, for again I feared my time would be up. At 2 p.m. as I went to pay $590 in fees, I turned to Terrie and begged her to let me at least take her to lunch. She informed me it would have to be another time. On Friday she was taking a vacation day to see her grand daughter perform in a talent show so she would have to put her “pedal to the metal” the rest of Thursday to get all her work done.

Never once during the five hours we were together, did Terrie indicate she was on deadline to get all in order for Friday. She never made me feel rushed, ignorant, uncomfortable or defeated. Not once did Terrie indicate she was too busy, or too important, or too stressed, or too valuable to help me with every, little detail. Every second was truly a joy. I am grateful for this USPS angel who taught me more about how to journey during Advent, in the five hours I was with her than I have learned in a long time.

I offered prayers of thanksgiving for Terrie on my drive back to Orlando, asking the Holy Spirit to help her stay focused and allow all duties to fall in place without glitches, so she would leave work before dark. I’m sure her grand daughter’s performance of the Beach Boys hit, “Surfin’ USA” remains a scrapbook memory. And an added piece to this story — I now pray daily for the repose of the soul of Terrie’s son, who died at age 31, leaving behind his little performer for grandma to love, hug, cheer on at every performance or game, and help her through the struggles of life or to learn about the Advent journey. How blessed we are to have Terrie on this earth. Thank you Terrie!

Thank you God!

Something about Harry

I had not seen Harry Rose in 12 years and it was only by the grace of a God-incident I ran into him yesterday.

Let me tell you a little about Harry. I met him in 1995 at a football game. He was an avid supporter of the Bishop Moore Hornets in Orlando even though he never graduated from the school. He attended St. James Cathedral school as a child but never graduated from there either. By today's standards, Harry would most likely be considered a student with some learning challenges. When it came to book learning, Harry struggled — but when it came to his love of God there was, nor is, no one who knows more, loves more, and follows his Lord and Savior more than Harry Rose. His one regret, which he has mentioned to me in the past and yesterday, was getting caught with a “cheat sheet” when he was an altar boy because he could not memorize required Latin words in the 1950s. He has yet to forgive himself for the cheating because it cost him the privilege he treasured more than anything — his right to serve God at the altar during Mass.

Harry and I encountered one another as I was walking out of work yesterday heading across the street to Java Lava with my “three weeks to go” pregnant daughter, Sarah and co-worker, Ann Borowski. I heard someone holler from their car. “I'm looking for the Florida Catholic, where is it and where can I park?” As I glanced over, I honestly thought it was a priest-friend joking around. The person then yelled — “I need to see Marie St. Pierre (Harry always called me Marie) and I don’t know where I can park — Is this the Florida Catholic?” As I looked inside the car, there sat Harry Rose, dressed in his finest shirt and tie, hair combed neatly, and U.S. Navy jacket zipped half way up. He had papers on the seat, a box of tissues next to him and as he looked at me, his pale blue eyes that forever spoke of kindness welcomed me before he yelled out — “I have been looking for you Marie, I have the stigmata from my mother. She gave it to me.”

My first thoughts were of frustration. Harry was never short-winded and now it seemed to me, he was making little sense. I directed Sarah and Ann to head over to our favorite restaurant (I highly recommend the BMT sandwich, if you ever visit the great little café). As Harry began to talk at a fast pace, concerned I'm sure that I would choose physical food over his need to share spiritual food, I adopted the mentality of being present in the moment, knowing God led me here so I directed my hungry companions to go eat and became attentive to Harry Rose.

For about 25 minutes Harry talked and the stigmata story unfolded. He lifted his shirt to show me where he believes the Blessed Mother, not his mother as I first thought, placed the stigmata on his stomach. With tears flowing and with all his belief and honesty, Harry shared how the Blessed Mother came to him in a dream, telling him she was marking him with the stigmata, not for the sake of pain, but for him to share in the last hurtful wound imposed upon her loving Son before he died. If it were anyone but Harry, I would have dismissed them as crazy but he has walked with the Lord so closely his entire life that I was drawn to listen. The remaining conversation had nothing to do with his vision but rather of the people, total strangers, who have approached him asking for prayers. Harry had not come to me seeking publicity in the newspaper, he came to me to ask why and I stood there wondering, why ask me?

At the end of a beautiful and precious conversation, I took Harry's hands in mine and said, “God chose you Harry and you are no different than any of his Apostles as they were of every walk and variety of life you can imagine. God chose you and with your deep faith and humble presence, you are serving him very well. What a great person God has chosen to do his work, you must continue.” Harry sobbed shaking his head. He grabbed some tissues and apologized for his tears.

Before we departed, I hugged Harry, held his hands and together we prayed. Walking away, I thanked God for leading me outside at that moment in time to once again encounter the opportunity to look into those pale blue eyes and recognize that 12-years later, there is still something about Harry. And that something is the presence of one of God's great servants.

God bless you Harry for you blessed me and I still had time to devour that basil, mozzarella and tomato sandwich. Amen!

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Serve and be served

I am often touched by the extra mile approach taken by my parish outreach ministry at St. Stephen's Catholic Church in Winter Springs, Fla. Focusing on the challenging economic times this Advent season, they have taken a "get back to basics" approach inviting each household to make a Christmas ornament that reflects the special gift of family. The ornaments will then be used to decorate the sanctuary for Christmas.
To add an element of “serve and be served” the weekend before Thanksgiving, they also provided parishioners with envelopes, which will be used throughout the season of Advent. On the envelopes individuals enclose needs they have or how they are able to help. I found this to be a modern-day version of Luke 3:11 (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."). Through information received in the envelopes last week, one family was led to a much needed home, another was given a job after months of unemployment and scores of people who would have been alone on Thanksgiving instead shared a meal with parish families (Matthew 25).
At the end of Mass this past Sunday, we were told that each bulletin contained the gift of an Advent calendar and Father John Bluett, pastor of St. Stephen’s asked us to put it in a prominent place. I anticipated a list of liturgy and Confession times but instead was once again blessed with the spirit of the Advent season. Instead of Mass times, the calendars were designed to prepare us for the coming of our Lord, Jesus Christ. Each calendar day presents a simple request to feed, help, reach out, pray for, visit, serve and be served. I left Mass thinking — what a beautiful time of year it is for those of us who follow Christ. May we all learn to diligently follow in his footsteps as well.
For Advent prayers and daily news, views and information visit www.thefloridacatholic.org.