In her novel, In this House of Brede, Rumer Godden has one of her characters, a Benedictine nun, no less, describe love as a crucible. Re-reading the book this week, I've gone back and read that bit of dialogue several times; I'd not particularly noticed it the several other times I've read this beautiful book.

I feel rather as if I'm in the flame myself right now. My return to the school where I taught last year is delayed. Why? I call it "Parking-Lot Politics" – a few parents’ malicious behavior caused other parents to be wrongfully dissuaded from keeping their children at the school; the headmaster has had to scramble to pare the budget in every way; and unless our Lord sovereignly provides a miracle before opening day, there are no resources for me to return in the position which I was to occupy this year.

I love this school. I believe in its philosophy; for the past year I've seen it produce significant growth in the academic achievements and in the characters of an impressive number of our students. I admire our headmaster as a man of vision and integrity. I have utmost respect for my colleagues, who are some of the most dedicated men and women I've ever had the privilege of working with. I love our students; it has been a wonderful privilege and an unparalleled joy to teach them last year. I'm humbled to have been privy to some amazing growth, healing, and maturation in some of "my kids'" lives.

So when this crisis occurred and Dave kindly took me aside to warn me that my position was in jeopardy, I entered a crucible -- of pain, self-doubt, grief… bitter resentment against the mean-spirited and the foolish people who had put not only my career but the future of this wonderful school in peril. During the summer, I've railed against the possibility of not being able to return to the school right now, of having to find something else to do for an income for a period of time. I have held out -- foolishly, probably -- for the possibility of a rush of enrollment or a generous financial gift that would secure my return to the school before the first day of classes; it's hard to accept that God would have opened the way for me to be part of this amazing institution last year, only to yank me away now. I am struggling with not being able to hear His direction which way I should turn next.

Dave said I should consider this period until I can be brought back a sabbatical; I'm calling it a "hiatus;" it feels like forced exile.

So here I am, trying to figure out what I'm supposed to be doing, trying to make sense of the insensible and to find illumination in the desolate. I was so certain I'd found my vocation, my place in the world, that right now I feel suspended over the metaphorical black hole. What am I supposed to be doing with my life, if not teaching? because I certainly have no tolerance for the administrative politics and deteriorating academic and behavioral standards that mark our public schools. I want my life to count for something, I want to make a difference -- but how? where?

The one thing I am certain of, and I believe this because I have experienced it before, is that this is going to prove itself for my greater good and God's greater glory.

I just wish He'd make a few of the preliminary details a bit clearer to me right now.

Here's a photo of Randy, taken in my front yard while he was here back in June. So long ago? Inconceivable! (He took my new photo from the back deck at the farm) Okay, Randy -- is this better?

Beating the Heat

Officially 100 degrees today, 103 on my front porch, with a heat index of around 110 -- and I made a decision a couple years ago not to run air conditioning here at the farm. Folks seem shocked when they learn that, but hey! folks around here didn't even have electricity to run fans until '49, so I consider myself kind of fortunate to have that!
Here's some fun ways I beat the heat:
Get up early to do housework, what little is actually being done on these hot days.
Have a stack of quiet projects to do in the afternoon -- scrapbook materials, books to read, magazines to enjoy, music to play, movies to watch.
Run lots of fans. Sit in the middle of them.
Soak in a cool tub with a good book.
If I'm not reading at night, or using the webcam talking with a friend, I don't run many lights.
Cook on the grill a couple of times a week.
Shower using either Tom's or Doctor Bonner's mint soaps -- the mint tingles on the skin and leaves you feeling "cool" for a long time after you get out of the tub.
Iced tea is an absolute "must" in the South -- sun tea to avoid adding cooking heat to the kitchen.
I have some shorts and tops I wouldn't be caught dead wearing in public, but they sure help me stay cooler and more comfortable at home.
I try not to run any sort of errands during the heat of the day. The store's air conditioning may feel good, but it's too unpleasant adjusting to the extra heat of my car and back to the house. If I can't go early in the day, I wait until late when the sun isn't beating directly down on my head.
A cool shower immediately before bed -- no drying off! just lying in bed with the fan blowing on wet skin. Usually I fall asleep before I dry off.
Oh -- and God bless my dear neighbors who've given me an open invite to come jump in their pool any time!

The artwork in the Abbey is beautiful. I'm sorry the photos of the interior of the church didn't turn out, and I am even more sorry that I didn't take more photos! The most beautiful sculptures are not in the basilica itself, but in the sacristy and in the Abbey; many of which were created and donated to the Abbey by an oblate (a lay affiliate of the order). The first piece we saw was this crucifix, which hangs in the sacristy. The second photo is of a statue of the Abbey's secondary patroness, St. Walburga, Patron Saint of Hospitality.

Here is a photo from the narthex of the church. The first photo is of Kevin's daughter Alexis leaning backward into the baptistmal font. Tradition maintains that this large granite stone was formerly used as an auction block for slaves. The inscription states that now the stone is used to purchase men from slavery to sin: "Upon this rock, men once were sold into slavery. Now upon this rock, through the waters of Baptism, men become free children of God.". On the wall behind the baptismal font is a copy of the 1998 proclamation signed by John Paul II (The Great!) designating Belmont as a basilica.

The Abbey

I'm going to try to post some photos that I took at Belmont on Saturday. I'm very disappointed that my photos from inside the basilica -- of the beautiful Mary, Help of Christians, and the wonderful organ pipes -- didn't turn out well. I'm a slow independent learner of technology, and I've had this camera less than a month! First, a photo of the Abbey itself, where the monks and priests reside; the first floor is "public" area with guest rooms and offices and the Abbey refectory (dining room) and the monks and priests live on the second and third floors. Yes, it is a very l-o-n-g building!

The First Ever Belmont COLleague Gathering

Y'all notice on my list of web sites I visit daily a little item called Catholic Online? Well, don't be misled: I actually visit that post at least three times a day, and usually more often. I've been registered and participating since February, 2001, and it's been one of the most influential websites I've ever encountered.
Today a group of COLleagues from the Charlotte area met at Belmont Abbey for Mass and Mid-Day prayer at the basilica, then remained for lunch and fellowship. Several of us were able to stay longer for a tour of the abbey. From left to right, in front, are Linda and Alexis, and in back, Brother Michael (Guest Master for the Abbey), Frances, Kat and Kevin. I'm behind the camera, where I intend to stay for a while! It was a wonderful day, spiritually enriching from the Mass and the Mid-day prayers, but you've got to appreciate what a joy it was to put faces and voices with people I've been in contact with in the forum for -- Frances and I first "met" more than three years ago, before she moved to NC. This is definitely something I'm going to encourage other COLleagues to do in their own regions.
Who knows? Maybe we'll have a larger get-together before long, and then a national gathering...?

Greetings from South Carolina

Hi, y'all! I'm spending a couple of days with a friend from Catholic Online -- Linda and her husband "Hutch" (pictured with Sparky). Saturday we head over to Belmont Abbey for a Catholic Online gathering. Keep us all in your prayers, okay?

Mark Lowry

Some of my friends are going to have a fit, my recommending a Protestant minister's web site -- but if you don't know who Mark Lowry is, you're in for a treat. Mark is the amazingly talented (and hyperactive) musicican and comedian who wrote the hauntingly beautiful "Mary, Did You Know?" which is on the Favorites List of every single Catholic I know. He's one of God's special gifts to us.

Is your computer screen dirty?

Here -- open this and get it all nice and clean again!

Geocaching

(In process of editing )

For those of you who haven't heard -- and there can't be many, because I'm usually among the last to catch on to these things -- geocaching is one of the latest internet/hi-tech hobbies going. What it is, is, some creative soul hides a container out in a woodsy or public place so other people can come along and find it.

A more detailed explanation is: afore-mentioned creative soul determines whether to create a "micro" or a "regular" cache -- a micro cache only contains a few slips of paper so that finders can log in their find, and a regular cache might contain some little souvenir for the finder to keep (with the understanding that the finder will in turn leave some other bit of treasure for a future finder). Then said creative soul locates a place to hide said cache, records a global positioning location in latitude and longitude, then records the new cache on a website like this one. Really clever and creative souls will create clues, hints and other little goodies to help increase the thrill of the hunt.

I went geocaching for the first time yesterday. My buddy and former neighbor, Steven, came to rescue me from a Fourth of July spent in front of a box fan (no a/c) with my nose buried in a book and to introduce me to one of his favorite hobbies. He's been geocaching for at least two years now.

We looked online by my zipcode to locate some of the caches hidden in my area. I was astonished to learn that there are actually dozens, if not hundreds, of geocaches located within twelve miles of my home! We visited three locations during the afternoon; I made my first find over in Jackson Springs near the old spring.

This could certainly become a delightful (and addictive?) hobby. A GPS device is pretty necessary to save time and energy in locating the cache, but those can be gotten relatively inexpensively nowadays, I'm told (under $100). Looking for the hidden treasure is only part of the fun I experienced -- It gets one out of the house, and yesterday I discovered a local site I'd not known of before - an old cemetary (the originator of the cache used information on the tombstones to provide clues for the whereabouts of the actual cache). I look forward to visiting a number of other parks and woodland sites in our area over coming months. I think it's going to be quite a lot of fun!

The Return of the Tabernacle

The Tabernacle at Sacred Heart Church in Pinehurst, NC, has been returned to the Altar from the Adoration Chapel. You can barely see it, I'm afraid, under the Crucifix. I'll try to go again soon and get a better photo -- I'm playing with a new digital camera and unfamiliar software. Please bear with me! and thanks in advance!
And here is the beautiful Adoration Chapel.

Taking Turns Leading the Way

I was talking with a young friend a little while ago, when I happened to remember a selection my 7-8 graders read this spring, an excerpt from the autobiography of Sir Edmond Hillary, the first man to scale Mt. Everest.

M's having a rough time right now. She was Confirmed in April, a wonderful, even euphoric time for her after a not-easy entry into the Church. Now she feels so far removed from her joy of that Vigil Mass when she was brought into full communion with Christ's Church. Something happened, she missed Mass one week-end... then another... and now she feels she's just losing ground faster than she can recover it.

It's a feeling I think all of us know well. And complicating matters is that M loves a man who was raised Catholic but due to a series of sad events now considers himself atheist.

"Would your friend be helped more by your return to the Church, or by your continuing delay?" I asked. Of course, she is a gentle soul and is very uncomfortable with the idea of leading or directing anyone in any way. She's particularly uncomfortable with the thought that, as conscious of her faults as she is right now, someone might follow her anywhere.

And that's when I remembered Sir Edmond Hillary.

During his long and arduous trek to the summit of Mt. Everest, nearly all the members of his original climbing party deserted him. Only his native mountain-climbing guide stuck with him. During the final assent, Hillary details how he would lead the way forward for a number of yards, then his guide would take the lead. In this way, each pushed forward in bitter, almost insurmountable conditions, while the other took a more passive role, resting from the earlier exertion and summoning energy for the next. Their progress was deadly, as they took turns testing the durability of ice packs suspended over thin air and braving other hazards in the final yards before reaching that place where no mortals had stood before.

So, as I see it, right now M is taking the lead. She sees where she needs to go in order to reach the summit of Christ's service. She must forge ahead and prepare a clear path for whoever happens to be in her company at this time. Later, when she is weary and discouraged, some other member of her family or her circle of friends -- very likely her now-"atheist" friend -- will pass her on the path, climb ahead, break a new route through deep snow and ice, and help her up onto the next plateau.

If she refuses to take the lead, then those with her are left to flounder at a lower level, their journey to the summit delayed and perhaps even jeopardized by lack of a clear-sighted leader.

And so on we go, each taking his or her turn at finding himself stronger, clearer-minded, leading and helping those who are for the moment spent and in need of aid. It is a startling revelation when we who have always seen ourselves as the pupils and proteges of stronger teachers find ourselves sent forward to find the best route to the next camping space. But we have been taught well, and it is only right we should go as we are sent, for the sake of helping our masters who need us for the moment, and for the sake of those younger than ourselves, who will one day take their places at our sides.

Blog on!

I'm just amazed at the number of friends who've started blogging since Randy got me started on this venture: Check out Mary-Love, Ed, Linda H, and Shirley. My friend Catalinni says she's about to join the blogosphere, with her story "Macaroni and Jesus" and with some of her wicked sharp anti-cancer humor. I'll let you know as soon as she's online.

Meantime, pray for these dear folks, okay?

Would you trust this Director of Faith Development with your children?

If I thought the woman whose identity is so weakly distorted in this BBC news item were the DFD at my parish, I'd pitch a good ol'-fashioned hissy fit!

A Very Happy (Priestly) Anniversary

Today folks around here are celebrating the 40th anniversary of the ordination of Father Kenneth Parker. Father Parker is something of a chaplain for the charismatic Catholic renewal around here, regularly celebrates healing masses around central North Carolina -- and he's the dear, kind priest who heard my first Confession, nearly three years ago.

God bless you, Father Parker!

It's been a quiet week in...

...the backwoods of North Carolina. The quiet seems to be settling into my bones, finally. I haven't turned the radio on all day, am instead enjoying listening, with nearly every window in the house open, to the mocking bird singing from the top of the wild cherry tree I park the car beside. Every now and then I hear a quail calling from the woods behind the tobacco barn, and a dove closer to the house. There are dozens of bird calls I don't recognize, all around me. Amazing to hear them so clearly, and only occasionally a car approaching on the highway. After being in a city, I think of the farm as "quiet," although in reality it is a very noisy place.

The summer is speeding right along. As I sort through the shed, which is where I'm writing these days (a picnic table is a perfect size for a desk!), and the trailer, pulling odd bits of accumulated clutter from the past fifteen years, I feel as if I am also performing a spiritual exercise of discarding hurts, disappointments, resentments, old outgrown dreams, and bad habits that have cluttered my mind for too long. Saturday I picked up a jar of odd metal bits that Rusty had left behind - unidentifiable to me and evidently unimportant to him since he'd neglected to include them in the "important" things he'd cleared from the house, three years ago... I've been hanging on to that jar, thinking I might discover what these odd pieces of metal are and that they might come in handy for something some day... as I dropped the jar into the trash bag, I felt a little lighter in heart for disposing of one more item with surprisingly toxic associations.

I cling to the most absurd things in the expectation that they could be useful some day, or that if I discard them I'll be amputating some important part of myself in the process. On the other hand, I once took boxes of books to a used bookstore because Rusty insisted I "never" looked at them, and at the time I couldn't imagine using them again; I've spent an obscene amount of money this past year trying to replace many of those books, which I have needed in my work.

Hmmm... mediations on the spiritual exercises of housecleaning?

Tribute to another hero -- a cancer fighter

I first "met" Catalinni (all names herein are changed to protect the innocent... and the guilty) back in 2001. I was a new participant in the Catholic Online discussion forum, and this woman posted a prayer request for her son, who was going through a divorce, and for his children. I think I may have sent her an email; anyway, we began corresponding.

I learned she had recently undergone a complete hysterectomy for uterine cancer -- endometrial adenocarcinoma. In the fall of 2002, eighteen months after her hysterectomy, her cancer returned. This time she underwent chemotheraphy, followed by radiation therapy.

While she was undergoing her radiation, she began to branch out into a new life. She wrote of her cancer support group and what a fun group of women they were. She wrote of the funny hats she was wearing to counteract the "Sinead O'Connor Look" of chemo-related hair loss. She even wrote of going to the gym, where she did some MAJOR WORKOUTS -- Body Pumping, bellydancing, Pilates, and 1/2 hour on the treadmill!

Catalinni was 66 when she started taking those classes.

Then all hell broke loose. A phone call from her ex-daughter-in-law, Gina, put her already fragile world into a tailspin. "I think you need to know," said , "and I know they won't tell you. Gramps was questioned by the police today, and he's confessed to molesting Caty." Caty was Catalinni's son's 8-year-old daughter. The nightmare unfolded during the succeeding weeks as Catalinni learned the details of her husband's betrayal and her granddaughter's suffering. "Gramps," who had not been incarcerated pending trial, never spoke of it to her; so far as he was concerned she knew nothing, all the information came through her son and his ex-wife.

Catalinni herself had been molested as a child by more than one close family member. Her memories resurfaced. Her rage at her husband's betrayal and abandonment -- there had been no intimacy between them for years -- knew no bounds. She poured herself into her gym classes and her cancer support group. She began seeing a therapist. She renewed her old love of writing.

She slipped off to visit her beloved granddaughters away from their home, and she looked for every way she knew how to help her granddaughter recover from her trauma.

"Gramps" underwent sentencing for molesting his granddaughter a little more than a year ago. He's due to be released again in less than two weeks. Catalinni doesn't know where he's going to be taking up residence, but she's adamant about one thing: he ain't comin' back home.

While he's been incarcerated, she has remodeled the apartment and her life. She continues with the cancer support group -- a major "remodeling job" this past October due to vaginal cancer has been followed by still more cancer this spring (she's undergoing chemo now). The doctor said at one point that he would chase it around as long as she wanted him to. She's had to give up the Pilates for the time being, maybe permanently -- even with the present round of chemo, doctors suspect her cancer is spreading. The culture on her bladder comes back next week. She's pretty much decided she's tired of being cut on, and the doctor agrees.

In the meantime, the raucous emails keep on pouring in. If laughter is a weapon in the fight against cancer, then Catalinni is a Ranger or a Green Beret. She's collecting and forwarding all sorts of humorous emails to those of us rooting for her from the grandstands -- and the puns we had to bear when she had her vaginal cancer surgery last fall (she also lost much of her colon and her rectum as well as her vagina -- that's why I called it a "remodeling job") were wilder than I ever could have imagined. This is one gutsy, feisty dame!

And Caty, her sister, and their cousins are once again frequent visitors at Catalinni's home. They watch movies, pop corn, and party all night long. Catalinni says the only thing she really wants is to be able to see those kids grown to adulthood. With the ongoing tests and suspicion of spreading cancer, however, she may not get to do it quite the way she wants.

So say a prayer for my friend Catalinni, and for her family. And remind me, next time I whine about some minor adversity, or want to crawl under the bed from low spirits -- how immensely blessed I really am.

More encounters with wildlife --

I am going to have to seriously alter some of my habits, down here on the Farm. You see, I have a window I leave open, without a screen, so the cats can jump in and out during the night without waking me up. And I've been in the habit of leaving my back door open to let fresh air in, up until I go to bed.

That has to change as of NOW.

I got off to a bad start when my neutered male, Bubba, woke me up a few minutes after six this morning with that funny little whirring meow that tells me... "Bubba, what have you done NOW?" Yesterday he'd brought me two little lizards, still living, and as soon as he dropped them on the floor they'd scurried under a cat food bag or behind the dryer (they're still around here somewhere -- too fast for me to catch! and of course, once he gave them to me, Bubba lost interest)... this morning it was a dead bird. A brown thrasher. I picked up the bird and tossed it out the front door.

A few minutes ago, I heard a cat munching cat food in the automatic feeder just inside the back door. Glanced up... RACCOON! a bright-eyed, half-grown raccoon, standing INSIDE MY HOUSE in my back hallway! I think I gasped. He looked up and seemed as startled to see me as I had been to see him.

"Excuse me -- WHAT are you doing in MY HOUSE? Don't you think you belong OUTSIDE?" Don't ask me why I was speaking to a wild raccoon. I also talk occasionally to inanimate objects.

He stared at me for a moment then turned around and waddled out the back door. I grabbed my battery-operated sweeper and headed for the back door. He was standing just off the deck, and when I appeared in the back doorway, he peered at me again.

I knew we had raccoons out here. I regularly see tracks around the back dirt roads. But I've never even seen one waddling down the road at night. So this was quite a treat.

Still, it is not a good thing for wild animals to come meandering into one's back door. From now on... the door remains shut and locked. Otherwise, I might step out of the front bathroom to find a deer in the living room, next!

Bob-White

There was a quail in my front yard this morning. I was working on the computer when I heard the "bob-bob-WHITE!" I knew he was close, but it took me several of his calls to realize he was so close. I got up from the table and went to the kitchen window; he was standing under the dogwood tree nearest the house, and as I watched he lifted his head and called again:

Bob, Bob, WHITE!

I could easily see his little white throat stretch out on the final syllable. such a startling contrast to the dark brown bands around his face, the rich brown of his back and the simple cream of his breast.

After a few moments, he quit calling and simply began to stroll in the yard, occasionally pecking something off the ground.