Thirty-six years ago today, I stood before God, family, and friends, looked into the eyes of a wonderful man and pledged to love, honor, and obey him until death us do part.
And for nearly thirty-four years, I did my best to keep those vows. Today, I remember my dear husband with joy, gratitude, and love.
Eternal rest grant unto you, my Love, and may the perpetual light shine upon you. May your soul and the souls of all the faithful departed rest in peace. Amen.
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Not long ago I blogged about my determination to clean out two areas of my home that had become overburdened
with just too much stuff.
In the last few days, I have made some additional progress largely aided by my kind nephew who has gifted me with his organizational ability, his "let's get the task done" attitude, and his masculine brawn.
In giving Nathan some instruction about what to put where, I noticed a small collection of books. I picked them up, dusted off the covers, and began to explore my find.
While five of the volumes have now made it into my home, one in particular caught my eye:
The Road to Victory: The Second Front of Prayer by Francis J. Spellman, then Archbishop of New York, copyright 1942.
I turned to the Table of Contents and was immediately captivated. As I perused the book, I found the words written there to be as fresh today as they were when first penned.
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Dateline June 18, 2009
Tonight I met Denny -- and I was smitten. No matter that he is (dare I say it?) forty years my junior, from the moment he flashed that toothy grin and asked, "How are you tonight, young lady?" my heart was captured.
It was clear that Denny both enjoyed his job and the people he met while doing it. He bagged my groceries with the precision of an engineer and the banter of a 1940's leading man.
But what made Denny truly special was his innocence and his guileless demeanor. He was sincere -- even in calling a 58 year old woman "young lady."
Some would say that Denny is challenged. I would say that Denny is challenging.
He challenged me to see the good in everyone. He challenged me to find pleasure in the mundane. He challenged me to embrace a smile and give one back. He challenged me to smile first. He challenged me to find joy in the most unlikely places.
He challenged me to remember that holiness is always in the uncomplicated and unprofane. He challenged me to strive for authenticity and generosity of spirit. He challenged me to purity of heart. He challenged me to remember that every human person is a child of God imprinted with His image and likeness. And finally, Denny challenged me to be kind, courteous, sincere, and unassuming.
As he handed me my bags, and instructed me to drive carefully and have a good night, I heard Denny greet the next customer in line, "And how are you this evening? Hope it's being good to you!" With a smile and a tear I walked to my car enriched and blessed.
Perhaps all we need in the world are more Dennys. People who remind us that we are called to be the very presence of God in the midst of our everyday circumstances and situatuions. In the midst of our jobs and our families. In the midst of the grocery store and the check-out line. In the midst of traffic, recreation, and quiet moments. In the midst of everything that colors our lives. The witness we give can yield abundant returns.
I'm willing to try to be a "Denny." Are you? Let's see what we can do together.
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Well, a few weekends ago I "bit the bullet." I dug into two areas of storage in my home that have been desperately in need of a clean out. I have been avoiding these two areas for two different reasons.
The one area seems all but overwhelming because of the amount of stuff amassed there. The other area holds many memories and sentiments that promise a difficult moment.
The place with all of the stuff is still pretty much full. However, I did manage to get four large garbage bags of items relegated to new locations -- two to the curb for trash pick-up and two to the local Goodwill. In addition, two rolls of carpeting and one large recliner found new homes.
The memory trove was another matter entirely. I became immersed. For hours. Pouring over family pictures dating all of the way back to the twenties of the last century.
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It is rare that the last one to arrive for Mass on Sunday is the priest, but such was the case at my church today. Father's tardiness was a simple human error that many of us have done at one time or another-- he set his alarm for the wrong time.
However, the fact that we were all gathered together waiting for our priest to arrive stirred a deep reflection in my soul. What if Father
didn't arrive? What if there wasn't a priest
to arrive? What if our priest was
legally prevented from arriving?
The fact of the matter is, in countries throughout the world -- including our own -- one or all of these circumstances do happen.
How much gratitude do we express for the priesthood? To what extent do we pray for vocations? If we have sons, do we pray that one of them, or all of them, will respond to God's call should He invite?
Have we taken seriously the blessing of freedom of religion? Do we actively engage in the cultural and political events of our day to preserve this privilege?
Remember: no priest, no Mass. No Mass, no Eucharist. No Eucharist, no Church.
Satan knows this. Do we?
When Father arrived and the processional hymn began, gratitude filled my heart. First, for Father and his vocation. Second, that he was well and with us. Third, for the gift that is the Mass and the privilege to celebrate it.
May none of us take for granted the priest, the gift, the privilege.
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When I was a little girl, one of my favorite afternoon programs on television was
House Party , hosted by television icon, Art Linkletter. I would watch and wait with anticipation for that one segment that kept me tuning in all through the long summer months.
It came near the end of the program and featured four young school children, seated on child-sized chairs elevated on a platform. The host, Mr. Linkletter himself, would interview the children one-by-one and ply from them honest, humorous, often unexpected answers laced with wisdom.
This popular segment of his program led to his best-selling book,
Kids Say
the Darndest Things, illustrated by Charles Schultz and printed well over 50 years ago.
Last evening as I sung "goodnight songs" to my four year old granddaughter, I had an "Art Linkletter" moment.
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Today I am going to San Antonio to speak at a luncheon tomorrow hosted by Guadalupe Radio Network. I have had the privilege of being a Catholic communicator via Catholic radio since 1987. I was asked to produce and host a show on the radio station owned by my own diocese, the Diocese of St. Petersburg. At that time the call letters were its name -- WBVM -- in honor of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Today it is known as Spirit FM. Sadly, our program is no longer heard locally here due to format changes.
Given the fact that when I began in Catholic radio there were only 7 Catholic radio stations in the United States, it makes me a bit of a pioneer in using the airwaves to present the teachings of Sacred Scripture and the Holy Catholic Church. Of the 7 stations, only 2 were used for evangelization purposes. The other 5, though owned by dioceses, were "easy listening" stations and acquired revenue for the dioceses via advertising dollars.
One short year later after our radio program's debut, I began to do programming for EWTN and have been on the air through EWTN since. Our radio program has been on EWTN's radio network since the radio network began and we now enjoy listeners hearing the program through over 200 Catholic radio stations in the US, and also via Sirius Satellite Radio and EWTN's short wave radio which take the signal worldwide.
I support Catholic radio. I believe in the benefit of Catholic radio. And I seek to be of service to Catholic radio. I consider it to be one of the most effective means of evangelization today, and hope to see Catholic radio reach even more deeply into the minds, hearts, and ears of people throughout the US and the world.
If you have Catholic radio in your area, consider sending a few dollars its way. Catholic stations are on the air because of your donations and contributions. And, so are Catholic radio program providers like ourselves. We need your help, too. We depend on your support to keep our program on the air. All of us are seeking one goal and one goal only -- to bring the good news of Jesus Christ to the people of our country and the world. If we do that, we will solve our cultural, social, and political issues according to the mind of God. And we will experience a day and time of peace, a peace that surpasses understanding no matter the circumstance.
Johnnette's radio program, Women of Grace Live can be heard Monday through Friday at 11 AM (ET) via EWTN Radio and its affiliates, on channel 160 Sirius Satellite, and short wave radio. The program is also podcast and is available for download or listening at www.womenofgrace.com.
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After a busy day at pre-school, an hour at the kid's gym, and a T-ball game back at school, my four-year-old granddaughter made her way to the porch where I was busy with a writing project.
She plopped down beside me with the decorum of a ballyard princess and we soon involved ourselves in the very important business of drawing bunnies, rectangular shaped houses, stick-figured children, and various other cartoon delights.
The breeze played with palm fronds, the sky's golden orb began its descent, and my little lady thrust her head into my lap encouraging me for a tickle or two.
"Time for a bath," called Mommy from the kitchen, to which my grandgirl replied in a voice barely audible and muffled still more by a thumb and balled up fist, "I am sleeping in my grandma's lap."
My lips widened to a smile, a tear wet my eye, the horizon lit up in an explosion of orange -- and I experienced sheer joy! Ah, does it get any better than this? The gift of life...
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Today is the 2nd anniversary of my husband Anthony's death. It hasn't gotten much easier. Oh, the mind-numbing grief has waned, but I haven't gotten used to him being gone. No way. Does that ever happen I wonder? Just last week while in New Jersey presenting at a women's conference, I had the overwhelming urge to call him and share with him about the events of the day. ZING!
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My landscaping was ravaged by the last frost that hit the Tampa Bay area. I've done nothing about it, fearful that we might get one last blast.
Everything outside my windows looks dead. Brown and decaying. It is sad, though somehow strangely right, to have things dead-looking during Lent. It seems liturgically correct.
For me personally, the sad exterior of my home and the liturgical season are more than "strangely right." They are fitting. And perfectly match the landscape of my heart.
The past five Lents have been particularly poignant for me and have settled into my being like another self. Five years ago, during Lent, my son, Simon, was killed in a vehicular accident not long after he returned to the States from Iraq. Two Lents ago, my husband, Anthony, was in the last days of his life. Brain cancer. He succumbed to a coma on Easter Sunday morning and died three days later.
The lens of life turned brown then, like the shrubbery outside of my home.
And every Ash Wednesday, without a conscious thought to the past, brown comes back and paints the inner recesses of my heart in somber tones.
It's a funny thing about those shrubs, though. They don't tell the whole story. My limited vision sees only brown, but another color is working its way through them. Green.
Lent doesn't tell the whole story either. New life is coming. Resurrection.
And my heart's landscape is short-lived, too. Blossoms are on the horizon. Hope.
On my son's grave marker is the passage Revelation 21:5 -- "Behold, I make all things new." And so He does. My God takes brown and makes it shimmer with gold.
Easter is coming.
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