Finding the presence of Christ in the jungle

There is a motivational poster that has circulated for more than 10 years of a man climbing a steep mountain. On it are the words, “Begin With the End in Mind.” The words are taken from Dr. Stephen R. Covey’s book “The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People,” which remains a top-seller 15 years running. In it, Covey reveals the way to define both present location and future direction so the steps taken are consistently in the right direction. “Effectiveness,” Covey says, “does not depend solely on how much effort we expend, but on whether or not the effort we expend is in the right jungle.”

In Catholic churches throughout the world and hopefully within our homes the first purple candle of the Advent wreath was lit last Sunday. This Sunday, the second purple candle ignites. For just a minute before you read on, shut your eyes and contemplate from the heart the following question: Within the past week, did you think more about the days rapidly passing, or how to spiritually and mentally prepare yourself and your loved ones for rejoicing over the birth, life and never ending presence of Our Lord, Jesus Christ?

If this moment of reflection revealed a picture of spiritual focus, then stay grounded in the path you are walking. If, however, you found yourself agitated at the thought of taking a quiet thought-filled moment because you don’t have the time to waste, your efforts expended may have you placed in the wrong jungle. And the roar of the gift-giving lion is loud and getting closer. The very good news is it’s not too late to tame the wild beast that is being fed by the demands we place on ourselves. Take it from Covey; each of us is solely responsible for defining our present location and future direction so the steps taken are right.

Remember, even within a jungle, there are pristine, peaceful areas away from the hustle and roaring of thunderous herds, but to find them one has to prepare and commit to taking the right path. If we reflect deeply on the passion and death of Christ during Lent and give up a variety of bad habits or good ones (such as chocolate), what stops us from preparing the same way during Advent? Most likely, we’re afraid of disappointing, even though the giver of even one gift is well aware of what gets cast off and what lasts a lifetime.

We heard in last Sunday’s first reading, “May the Lord make you increase and abound in love for one another and for all, just as we have for you, so as to strengthen your hearts” (1 Thes 3:12-13). This Sunday we will hear, “And this is my prayer: that your love may increase ever more and more in knowledge and every kind of perception, to discern what is of value, so that you may be pure and blameless for the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ for the glory and praise of God” (Phil 1:9-11). In the midst of our jungles this Advent season, may our roaring lion learn to lie quietly with the Lamb and along the journey to the Christmas celebration of Jesus Christ in our lives, may we share his presence with others.

An L.A. kind of God

I travelled to Los Angeles this past week to visit our son, Dan, aka: Danny, before heading to the Catholic Media Convocation in Anaheim. What a great, great time was had by me — the mom.

Let me give you a little background on Danny. After graduating from film school, he worked in the lucrative, yet sporadic, world of freelance film production in Orlando as a grip for Visa commercials, Tiger Wood’s Buick, HP and FedEx commercials, etc., and all told, did very well.

Five years ago, Danny informed his father and me that if he was going to advance in this industry he needed to be in Los Angeles. We listened, smiled, nodded our heads and thought — we think out loud as well, and in time, it passes.

On a Wednesday morning, Danny woke up, started packing his car. I looked at him and said, “Where are you going,” thinking a production company had called him to Miami or some other Florida area. And then his words pierced my heart and the very core of my being gulped as he looked at me with those big brown/green eyes and said, “I told you mom, if I’m going to stay in this industry, I need to go to L.A.” An hour later, in his 1990-something Jeep Cherokee, he drove away. I quietly cried and prayed to God, the angels, every saint I could think of and our ancestors who had left this earth before us — “Please, all of you, surround and protect our son.” And so began the change from having Danny living in our home to visiting Dan in L.A. and having him home for a week each summer for the annual St. Pierre Family Uno Fest and if so moved, Christmas.

A brief summary of our fun together during my recent visit included a night out at Dan’s favorite local establishments where I became the shuffleboard champ of the night (and was up for 24-hours straight due to time change); a Saturday Memorial Day celebration with friends, dubbed the second annual “Kegs and Eggs” party that started at 10 a.m. and went on until — well, I have no idea until when, I called it quits around 11:30 p.m.; a trip to a Dodgers game, which ended in a loss that shouldn’t have been; dinner at his friends Aya, Lee and their daughter, Ms. Penelope’s home; and a night out for authentic Mexican food where we sat next to Kevin Nealon, who plays Doug Wilson in the popular series Weeds (also played “Hans and Franz” and “The Subliminal Man” on Saturday Night Live and starred in Anger Management and Daddy Day Care). What a nice, gracious man we found in this movie star. Refreshing!

Those were the main events and I will share two more tomorrow but first, an important L.A. update — God is alive and thriving in the City of Angels and if you ever visit, leave your judgmental hat at home and join in the spirit, no, the Spirit of love and acceptance. At the “Kegs and Eggs” for instance, there were people of every race and age and a variety of opinions and orientations but among all, the presence of acceptance, friendship and the appreciation of each unique individual. It was truly a beautiful thing. It was Jesus in the midst of the crowds talking to everyone. Not Jesus in the crowd singling out those with similar views. It was Jesus without a checklist of who will I accept as my friend and who does not fit the mold? There were gays and straights, blonde California girls and hippies, business men/women and the unemployed. Asians, African Americans, Caucasians and Hispanics. Married, divorced — those in love and the heart broken. Everyone was welcome and all brought food and the gift of laughter, fun and true joy in being together. A party with a genuine sense of “how to get along in this world.” A “Wedding Feast at Cana” kind of a day. And I loved it.

Tomorrow, or possibly the next day — Blog Part II — An L.A. kind of God

Judgment call on an Alleluia morning

Arriving early to work last Thursday, I decided to go ahead and load the cargo van rented for the purpose of delivering the mountain of shirts, personal hygiene items, food, diapers and baby wipes accumulated during our fourth annual Long-Sleeve Relief Drive at the Florida Catholic. It was another one of my typical “ridiculous” decisions not to wait and get help from my most-willing coworkers but the mantra, “make every minute count” has over-ruled common sense many times in my life.

As I pulled out the final LARGE boxes on to the loading dock, I noticed a homeless man walking toward me. He looked hungry and mad and had a pair of black pants draped over his shoulders. The sweater he wore was quite obviously a woman’s as it had large camellia-like flowers on the neckline. He glanced up at me and then immediately his eyes took aim at the ground. Common sense told me to go about my work but my mouth opened and the words “good morning” rolled out before I could contain them. At that moment before my eyes, the transformation occurred. A crooked-tooth smile overtook the gentleman’s face and a hearty “good morning” echoed back my way.

My judgmental side determined what was coming next as the routine of the homeless people in downtown Orlando is to say hello and then ask for money. I was right, but God had a lesson for me to learn via this homeless man, so a new twist surrounded the scenario that unfolded.

“Um, listen — do you think you could give me just two or three dollars to catch a bus,” said the homeless man. “I just came from the church over there and I have papers to prove it and they want me to go to this other place now where I might be able to get work.”

Large boxes on the dock, cargo van half loaded and unorganized, I was in need and so was the homeless man.

“What’s your name,” I asked.

“Berlin, my name’s Berlin,” he said.

“I’ll tell you what — if you help me load these boxes and then get in the van and organize it for me so the boxes don’t fly around if I have to stop quick, I’ll give you a couple bucks,” I said.

Berlin assured me he was not at all afraid of work and very strong. We worked together loading the boxes in the van and then Berlin climbed in and organized everything. When the work was done, I asked Berlin if he wanted one of the suits he had loaded in the van and one of the warm jackets. The transformation continued, as Berlin turned into a child on his birthday, accepting the very first suit in the pile and a warm corduroy jacket. I told him what all the donations were for and he told me our work was good work.

With our teamwork mission accomplished, I went in the open door of the office building where my purse sat on top of a box. I opened my wallet, which rarely contains money due to using my ATM card but on this Thursday morning I had a $5 and $20 dollar bill. Do I give him the $5? Do I give him the $20? My human side said, give him the $5. God was screaming, “For heaven sake, give him the $20.” I walked outside, thanked Berlin for his help and handed him a million dollars in that $20 bill.

Instead of grabbing the $20 and heading out, Berlin’s eyes watered up and looked square in mine. He then threw his arms around me and hugged me tightly. It startled the heck out of me but then I began to transform. With a smile on my face, I threw my arms around him as well. He called me an angel from God and I told him how he too had been an angel for me and teased him about being over paid. He laughed and shook my hand with both of his and then, Berlin said something I never, ever anticipated — Happy Easter Mary, Happy Easter. Now I was tearing up at this God-given moment in time and I returned the greeting with an “Alleluia” in my voice three days earlier than the liturgical calendar allows.

After our accolades, Berlin turned and walked to the bus stop and I went to park the loaded cargo van. When I walked in the back door to retrieve my purse, it was gone. How did he manage to steal my purse I thought? How could he dare trick me like that? Why am I so stupid to think this guy was for real? I then gathered my wits and walked back to the cargo van. No purse. I went back again to the door and Linda, my friend from our mail room walked by. I asked if she had seen anyone else in the back hall and she told me a co-worker had just walked by. I ran down stairs hoping and praying she had picked up my purse and there on my desk it sat. I was humbled and angry with myself that my human side overpowered my close encounter with God through Berlin. I asked forgiveness for my rash judgment.

On my way to Daytona Beach later that morning to pick up more donations at Catholic Charities, I thought about Berlin and prayed for him to be well and graced with the gift of a job, a home, and a smiling face to greet him each day. When I arrived to load the van with more goods, I was awakened by the presence of God once again. There, on top of the pile of donated clothes, folded neatly were the black pants Berlin had draped over his shoulders. Good work Berlin. Your work was good work — was God work — was my early Happy Easter.

My dear God — may the Alleluia memory of my morning with Berlin, keep me focused in the light of our Risen Christ in all I do and may my judgmental side fade away until it disappears forever. God be with you Berlin and Happy Easter — the Lord has risen — Alleluia, alleluia, allelulia!

Donations of food, diapers, baby wipes, and personal hygiene items are being accepted year round. For a list of locations, please click on Florida Catholic Collection Locations. Thank you for being the hands and feet of our Risen Christ throughout the year.

Come Saturday morning

Saturday morning is really special for me. I sleep in a little later but not so late that I miss the sunrise. My morning routine consists of prayer and meditation before engaging in what lies ahead as Christ’s disciple. Come Saturday morning, I truly get to bask in the glory of God more deeply.

First I brew a pot of coffee, then, weather permitting, which in Florida is at least 45 Saturdays a year, I pick up my rosary and take my round cushion to the outside front steps. Then it’s back inside to cut up an orange for the cardinals, “the red birds” as my friend, Gail, refers to them and I place them under an azalea bush along with some seed. I then sit down and pray the rosary. What happens before me on Saturday morning could only be described in God’s words but I will do my very best.

I would short-change God if I didn’t explain how the rosary puts me so in touch with the life of Jesus Christ, the Blessed Mother and the power and magnificence of what is to come when my last day on this earth arrives. The Joyful and Glorious Mysteries, fill me with happiness and awe. The Sorrowful Mysteries bring me great pain and confusion along with an understanding of the new covenant. And I waited for years for the Mysteries of Light, so they are mine.

In all of the Mysteries, I have certain ones that bring me to deeper reflection and extreme emotion, at times, mixed with quiet tears. The Visitation, gives me tremendous pride in being a woman and sister of Mary. The Descent of the Holy Spirit connects me to Mary and my brothers, not only in that reflective moment, but also in the knowledge I am not alone — ever. The Scourging at the Pillar, Crowning with Thorns and Crucifixion even now as I write, overcome me to where I can barely breathe and sadness grips every part of my mind and body. How could we? How in the world could we have done this?

In the Mysteries of Light I am very grateful for every summarized act and proclamation. The Baptism of Jesus, Wedding Feast at Cana, Proclamation of the Kingdom of God and then for some God-known reason, the fourth mystery, “The Transfiguration”, stops me in the moment and brings me to the top of that high mountain. I’m not so much paralyzed as present. No, not standing there with Peter, James and John. Not envisioning Jesus with His clothes brilliantly white in the company of Elijah and Moses. Not hearing God speak of His beloved Son. But present and connected and convinced of the need to listen and follow and be at peace in knowing what is, ever will be and is to come.

On Saturday morning as I sit outside and pray my rosary, the Cardinals chirp in thanksgiving for the morning meal of oranges and seed. With each decade, there is a strength that grows in my soul and an understanding of the love and generosity of all God has gifted to me. In this Saturday morning routine, like the sunset when I drive home in the early evening, the sky fills with an array of colors before the sun rises, as when it sets. It transfigures the sky from dark to light. There are varying sounds the birds make at this moment but few are visible until the sun hits a certain point and each species flits from branch to limb alive in God’s sunrise.

There is a time period of about five minutes when I can stare directly at the sun. As the sun begins to rise there is an aura behind it that manifests a scene of the Eucharist before me, bigger than life. The aura in back of the sun presents a host and in its three-dimensional appearance exhibits the power of my God and the strength received in the upper room the first time the Holy Spirit descended and every time thereafter, including this Saturday morning.

In this small pocket of time if I squint my eyes, the multicolored beams reach from the sun to me in one bright yellow hew that is larger than the colorful array of the multitude of radiant beams that surround this thicker beam. I stare at this magnificent morning miracle until my eyes must shut and I am able to experience, in a contemplative state, the vision of God’s light that now appears behind closed lids. He is with me always whether I am in the light, or in the darkness. I finish now with the Memorare — my rosary is complete. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. I kiss my Jesus and thank God for the miracle of Saturday morning. Amen!
For Catholic news, views, inspiration and truth, visit the Florida Catholic at www.thefloridacatholic.org.

Driven by thoughts of Rudy Martinez

Preparing for the Florida Catholic’s 4th annual Lenten Long-Sleeve Relief Drive I find myself thinking about Rudy Martinez. He was one of those mystery people of my childhood. You know, someone God puts in your life briefly, then they’re gone, but you don’t know where in the world they went; yet somehow you know they’re still alive.

Over the years, I have thought about Rudy every once in awhile. Typical of the way God helps me be closer to a situation, I thought about him today while designing a full-page ad for the Long-Sleeve Relief Drive, which this year includes a Food/Diaper/Personal Hygiene Drive.

I was in the sixth grade at St. Bernard’s Catholic School in Green Bay, Wisconsin when Rudy walked in the classroom door. It was three weeks after school started and I wondered why Rudy was just showing up. Where had he been the past three weeks? I remember going home and talking at the supper (not dinner) table about Rudy. Without giving much time for contemplation, I remember my dad saying, “Sounds to me like he is from a migrant family — probably here to pick the apples.” Dad didn’t explain “migrant family” and I didn’t ask. I figured in time I would figure it out by myself.

Rudy had a great tan and what I would call the beginnings of a soft-hair moustache. He was much taller than anyone else in our class but he stood with his head down and only spoke when called upon by Sister Mary Helen, our teacher. We didn’t wear uniforms at St. Bernard’s but Rudy wore the same shirt every day. Something I found to be odd. To get to my desk each morning I had to walk past Rudy. Somehow, I always expected some kind of foul odor but Rudy always smelled like some kind of fresh soap.

On the playground at recess Rudy would stand looking away from everyone other than his seven younger brothers who wore the same shirt every day as well. I remember thinking about all the fun he was missing out on and for some reason I just didn’t get why he felt so uncomfortable around the rest of us. We were nice kids and back then you didn’t dare poke fun at anyone or you’d end up with a pair of horse blinders taped to your head like Terry LaTour did after he refused to stop looking around the classroom making ugly faces.

One day on the playground a break through occurred when Scott King walked up to Rudy and asked him to join in a baseball game. I still remember the transformation that took place on the face of that sixth-grade kid at the thought of being included — the thought of being just a kid having fun — the thought of being accepted — the thought of being in communion with the rest of God’s children at St. Bernard’s Catholic School.

Rudy changed that day. I’m not so sure Scott King ever knew what he did for him, or if, like me, he even gives it another thought after so many years. Every day after, Rudy came to school with his head upright and he would joke around with the rest of us before the school bell rang day’s beginning. During class he showed more of his humorous side always putting a funny spin on his answers. And you should have seen that lanky kid run the bases at recess. Holy Olympics material.

One day at the beginning of November, Rudy stopped coming to school. As the week ended, I had a strange and sad feeling Rudy was gone forever and I was right. I walked up to Sister Mary Helen the next week and asked her if maybe Rudy was sick. Sister Mary Helen looked up and said nothing about him being from a migrant family only that his family had to move south.

Today, this moment, I reflect on the many Rudy’s I’ve been privileged to know and to grow closer to God with as they share their stories and I share mine. In today’s economic environment the concept of migration has expanded beyond class conventions as the majority of Americans are affected in some financial and emotional way. Many store owners, construction workers and lawn maintenance people, to name a very few, have lost their jobs, their homes, and have been forced to migrate to other areas and move in with family members. And those who have migrated for years to pick the apples in Green Bay, oranges in Florida and other crops of the earth, are being turned away from work as farms close down and ferneries shut doors.

So now, right now, I ask God to move you to action and get into your giving heart even if it hurts a little. I ask you to please look in your closets and if you have two cotton shirts, consider donating one to the Long-Sleeve Relief Drive. Then look in your pantry and if there are two cans of beans put your faith in God and donate one and add one bar of soap and sacrifice a week of desserts to buy a pack of much needed diapers. And one final thought that has helped me prepare for the work that must be done for our Lenten drives — Rudy Martinez, in the midst of your family's migration, if you made it as far south as Florida, I hope you are well and if time permits, please give me a call so I can stop wondering what happened to you. And Rudy — if you have two cotton shirts or two cans of soup ...

The Florida Catholic’s Long-Sleeve Relief and Food/Diaper/Personal Hygiene Drive will run from Feb. 25 to April 5. For more information, please e-mail me at mstpierre@thefloridacatholic.org. Information will be on our Web site beginning, Friday, Feb. 13 at www.thefloridacatholic.org.

Contemplating how God operates

When I immerse myself in a kind of tunnel vision plan for life, there are times it is near impossible to want to understand, or come to understand, how God operates. And then if I open a sincere, not cynical, “what was God thinking” door, the Holy Spirit stands right before me shouting, “Behold, I am with you, my face is shining and smiling upon you and I, your God, who loves, loves, loves you beyond the most humungous amount you can ever fathom is bursting with excitement for you.”

Tuesday, Jan. 6 (Three Kings’ Day) at 8:11 p.m., Gordon Creed St. Pierre Pettit was born. Named after his two maternal great-grandfathers, he will go by the name of Creed. He is the descendant of Belgian and French immigrants and my fourth grandchild. And he is healthy and so handsome.

My daughter, Sarah, followed all the rules of nature during her pregnancy even going so far as to use a midwife so she could deliver without the use of drugs and tubes and hospital monitors. Her pregnancy was flawless and attitude remarkable. This past week, we anxiously awaited Creed’s arrival, calculated for Jan. 1, 2009. But it didn’t happen the way Sarah planned it or the way I already knew it would happen. Instead, after nine months of pure living, good eating and a good mix of exercise, Sarah delivered her first born via Cesarean Section. Wait a minute I thought to myself — she followed the rules and God was well aware of my daily prayers and the number of people I had praying for a safe and healthy delivery so what happened? And as God does in his varying time frame, He answered me as I drove home from the hospital Tuesday night after a joyful and tearful meeting of my grandson and reunion with my daughter who shared in the reverie with her husband and in-laws after recovering from the surgery.

God gave me exactly what I wanted. In fact, not only did he give me what I prayed for, He answered my prayers immediately this time. Was it a safe delivery and healthy child I asked for? Yes! And did I get what I prayed for and then some? Yes! Did I cry with joy as that little guy was pushed up to the window for me to see? Oh yes! Was I thankful beyond words when the doctor assured me that Sarah was fine? Definitely! And did I get on my knees that night and thank the one who loves, loves, loves me for allowing all to go well? You bet I did and will continue to do so over and over and over again each day of my life.

That to me is how God operates in my life when I let go of my fine-tuned plan and reflect on the daunting power and excellence of God’s remarkable life-journey for me. He does it in challenging times — and skips right with me in good times. Thank you God for allowing me to reflect on your wisdom and announce my gratitude to you for smiling on me once again in the year of the Lord, 2009. Happy New Year!

Creed: Of English and Latin origin meaning belief and guiding principle.

Keep up-to-date on all your Catholic news and views this year by making daily visits to www.thefloridacatholic.org.