Cajun "Rosary"

Too funny! Thanks, Linda, for sharing this!

Depression season arrives again

I was driving home from Raleigh after Tuesday's Lord of the Rings rehearsal (yep! We're singing it this summer with the NC Symphony -- check out this site! -- and I wasn't feeling my usual euphoria after a rehearsal.

Then it hit me: depression season. It always gets me this time of year, don't know why, some anniversaries in more than a month, but can't put my finger on why it starts in mid-May.

The body knows what the mind chooses to forget, and when we haven't allowed ourselves to adequately grieve, or address a sorrow, the body repeats it for us until we've done.

Now until mid-July, though, with the anniversary of my dad's death on July 10, I'm in the dumps.

I was diagnosed in '91, not many weeks after Dad died (only four months after Mother). Mom's old doctor knew the family history well enough that, when I went to see him for vague infection-type symptoms, he knew the questions to ask; he answered the riddle of years' worth of suffering for me. He gave me a prescription for a fairly popular antidepressant.

I hated taking the pills. It was nice to be able to get out of the morning and to get through the day without wanting to retreat back to my bed at every opportunity, but I also felt rather flat and incomplete. Things I had enjoyed before were meaningless to me while under the influence of the meds. I felt as if I'd lost the emotional equivalent of depth perception.

It's odd to think of depression carrying gifts and graces with it, but it does. A mockingbird's song is exquisitely beautiful any spring, but even more so when it becomes God's voice in cheer and encouragement during dark days. Colors of the sunset have more vividness, greater brilliance during the bad times. Poetry is wiser, deeper -- music more eternal.

I stay out of bed, days, taking nutritional therapies. It's not perfect, but it gets me through the hard times without robbing me of important, valued parts of myself.

This year I'm going to make a more concerted effort to develop some of my "melancholy" gifts and abilities during this season. Be prepared to have some of my attempts at poetry inflicted upon you -- and maybe more prose essays and short stories.

Ya just never know what I'm going to come up with, around here.

Thanks for the prayers.

What CAN we do with a drunken sailor?

Make him sing Samuel Adler's "Rogues and Lovers"?

Okay, I am relieved none of my fellow choristers read this blog, because I'm about to make an embarrassing confession:

I ENJOYED SINGING THE ADLER!

Mostly. It would have been more fun if some of our sopranos didn't sing so much like white women or divas (Imagine a heavy soprano vibrato singing "Limbo, Limbo, Limbo Limbooooo") and if there hadn't been so much bitching and moaning among the ranks... but by and large, it was just good fun.

This is a piece that really showcased the North Carolina Wind Orchestra, but it offered some stretch for the imagination for the chorale, also. It begins with some wild percussion work (yeah, even wind ensembles use percussion) -- then we joined in a rolicking rendition of "Drunken Sailor," followed by the English folk ballad, "He's Gone Away," "Limbo," Banuwa," "Valencienita" and finally "Gypsum Davy" -- all folks songs about loves or rogues.

It was a little schizophrenic-feeling at times, but what the hey -- so is life.

I also enjoyed the Holiday Pops concert pieces with the NC Symphony, last November. Music doesn't have to always be stodgy and highbrow in order to be fun to sing. Boogers! to the naysayers and whiners.

Man, am I TIRED!

It's been a glorious but grueling two weeks. On Friday and Saturday, May 12 and 13, the North Carolina Master Chorale performed with the NC Symphony in Gustav Mahler's Symphony No. 2, the "Resurrection" Symphony. There were two nights of rehearsals with the symphony prior to the performances, and a nearly 200-mile round-trip drive for me for each... although I shouldn't whine because I skipped the second symphony rehearsal so I wouldn't have to drive, and another soprano very kindly offered me hospitality on Friday night, so I only made two trips in all.

You can read a lovely but incomplete review here.

What I mean by "incomplete" is that I wish he'd had more to say about our performance. I've written to him c/o the website with these comments:

I think it needs to be said that Grant Llewellyn is a joy for a
vocalist to work with. He knew exactly what he wanted from us for the
Mahler, and he knew how to ask us for it. He was easy to follow in his
direction, and the transition of working with two different conductors
(Al for rehearsals, Grant for performance) was as nearly seamless as I
suppose it is possible to achieve.

I think, based on Mr. Rossman's praise of our performance, that the
joy we felt in performing this work had to have been transmitted to
the audience. By the time our final phrase -- "zu Gott, zu Gott wird
es dich tragen!" -- dissolved into echoes, I think if I had stepped
off the loft railing, gravity would have had no power over me.

Rossman also didn't mention that both nights, before Llewellyn could even drop his baton after the final chord, the packed house was on its feet cheering. He and the soloists were called back to the stage no less than four times, and each time he lifted his hand toward the loft to acknowledge us, the cheering only swelled louder. I've never experienced anything so exhilerating, and I'm told by people who've all but lived in that auditorium that they'd never seen anything to equal it.

The concert will be broadcast on WCPE on October 2 as part of their North Carolina Symphony Concert Series. Their signal can be streamed over the internet, and I'm sure I'll be putting reminders in regularly between now and then so you won't be likely to miss it, come October.

Then this past Saturday night was the Master Chorale's own subscription concert, reviewed here. We met on Saturday morning for our dress rehearsal with the North Carolina Wind Ensemble, then had our performance that night.

I like Ken Hoover, who also hosts WCPE's wonderful sacred music broadcast on Sunday mornings. But, again, he missed some things I want the world to know. We sang the religious selections of this concert in mixed octets rather than straight voice part arrangements. I was between a baritone and a bass, which I liked quite well; I find it easier by far to blend my voice against the tembre of another voice part than against another soprano. Of course, one feels rather naked hitting high A's and B-flats without another soprano standing by one's side. I have had nightmares since Saturday of being off-key ever so slightly or blasting my gentleman friends' ears with those high notes.

Standing in mixed groups as we did gives the piece a stereophonic quality that can't be achieved when voice parts are standing together. It really is a lovely effect for those listening from the audience.

The "Kyrie," the opening movement of the Mass, begins with the women singing in four-part harmonies, a capella, a theme repeated by the men. It is tender and sorrowful, but it swells to a grand sweeping chord -- a chord that echoed and re-echoed off the walls, waves of sound pouring back upon us after for glorious seconds after we had broken our sound. There is supposed to be only a very brief pause after this "Elieson" to take a solid breath before continuing; Al had to sustain the pause until the echoes had died away. It was splendid from the choir loft; I wonder how it sounded from the balconies and the orchestra level.

I had not sung the Gloria nor the Credo in Latin before this piece, so I had copied my English translation over the Latin words in my score. I was able to "pray" the piece as well as perform it. Bruckner does a wonderful job in translating the religious themes to a musical setting. The "Et ascendit in caeli" is even whimsical, traversing a C major scale, graced by a little sixteenth note "bounce" to "in caeli" ("He ascended into Heaven"). At "et mortuos" ("He will come again in Glory to judge the Living... and the dead") we suddenly drop in volume to what feels like an over-the-shoulder-glancing sort of caution.

The Gloria had a fugal "amen" that is the most complicated part of the entire Mass, so far as I am concerned. I struggled and struggled with it in rehearsal - it's not hard at all when you're sitting at home alone at the piano! but combined with other voice parts and instrumentation, it can be a right booger! -- then, as a gift of grace, during the performance I just sailed right through it as if I'd been born singing it.

My favorite part of the entire Mass -- in the liturgy as well as in the concert piece -- is the "Agnus Dei," "Lamb of God Who takes away the sin of the world". This piece was tender, and awe-filled, and beautiful. It begins in unison then divides -- the second sopranos actually sing above the first sopranos for part of this, and it's required of us to hit high G's softly -- a very difficult task. Yet it works.

The Bruckner was over so quickly! It seems a shame that something so beautiful, that we worked so diligently over, should only receive one performance to a very small audience.

I'll save my comments on the Samuel Adler "Rogues and Lovers" for tomorrow or Friday.

Sweet dreams, everyone, and God bless you.

In Search of Femininity

I recently raised the question on one of the forums I participate on, "What is Femininity?" and I got some very interesting answers.

Please understand, I asked this question because I've not been quite sure what it is, myself. It certainly is not something I grew up with, having a mother who suffered frequent debilitating migraines, spent her days with a nose in a book and was dead in spirit before she turned forty. I needed an answer!

Well, as might be expected, the men and the women saw femininity in very different ways. Without exception, the women were focused on "girly" things like perfume, clothing, make-up, jewelry, and so on. They were concerned with what made them feel "pretty" and womanly.

The men, on the other hand, were concerned with moral and emotional differences in the sexes. Domesticity played a large part in the answers I received -- particularly cooking (I wish it were so simple! I love to cook!)Men associate femininity with those qualities of moral virtue, kindness, gentleness, and a sense of sanctuary from a difficult world.

Thoughts? Post 'em here, please.

Master Chorale ROCKS!

Friday and Saturday the NC Master Chorale performed with the NC Symphony in Gustav Mahler's Symphony No. 2, "The Resurrection." This is a strong complex work with three fully symphonic movements, a fourth movement featuring a contralto soloist, and a fifth movement featuring soprano and contralto soloists and a full chorus.

We've worked and worked on this piece -- and I've worked particularly hard because it's the first time I've done anything in German before. Those German vowel sounds bear no relation whatsoever to vowels as I've known them all my life! "Hor" is pronounced like "Her" and there's this "u" that fits somewhere in the palate between "You" and "yih" and "Yeah!"

Working with Grant Llewellen and the NC Symphony was a huge charge of energy. He's a wonderful conductor, and unlike most instrumental conductors (band or symphony) he understands and appreciates vocalists (he's formerly from the Handel and Hayden Society). His directions were sensible, coherent, and do-able.

Meymandi Hall in Raleigh was quite full for both performances, even the Friday night one. And both nights, almost before Grant could lower his baton after the final, great, thunderous chord, the crowd was on its feet, cheering. Four calls back to the stage each night -- thunderous applause that only swelled louder when the Master Chorale was acknowledged...

It's hard to return to the real world after something like that.

You can hear this performance in October, when the Symphony Concert series aired on WCPE is broadcast. It's scheduled for October 2. You can stream WCPE through your computer, so I hope you'll tune in.

UPDATE: 5:00 p.m., 5/15 -- and here's a review you might enjoy reading.

Why can't a man...

... be more like a man?

If there's anything the world does not need more of, it's sensitive New Age guys, men who want to abdicate their leadership roles in home and society to women, who've become more like women than women themselves.

I just sat in on a conference with the father of one of my students who has been suspended because of disruptive behavior. When she copped a haughty, defiant attitude, her dad tried to sweet-talk her into being nice.

Now, if that had been me with my dad... let's just say there would have been no question whatsoever who was the boss in that situation -- and it must be said that Daddy wouldn't have had to have raised a hand to me, either. He would simply have been in my face, letting me know in no uncertain terms, that I WOULD behave with respect toward my elders and my betters, OR ELSE... and he wouldn't have been the least concerned who was looking on to the display.

And you know what? My dad would have been absolutely right in doing it. It's not the administrator's job to correct that sort of behavior, although the two I was with certainly would. But it should be the parent, who has been raising the child and has to have the child go home with him at the end of the day. If the parents, especially fathers, abdicate their leadership roles with their children, then who can possibly compensate?

No one can. The child loses.

The dope on tropes

It's almost impossible to find a new, English-language setting for the Mass that doesn't have a series of tropes for the Agnus Dei.

Agnus Dei, for you non-Catholics, is Latin for "Lamb of God." At the end of the liturgical prayers, before the distribution of Communion, we sing/pray: "Lamb of God Who taketh away the sins of the world, have mercy on us. Lamb of God, Who takes away the sins of the world, grant us peace."

Well, these modern settings -- Marty Haugen's Mass of Creation, Christopher Walker's Celtic Mass, for instance, just to name two (and both of which, by the way, sound so perky and 60s Rock Opera that I'm not sure how they wound up in a Mass instead of on a stage somewhere)-- offer a series of "verses," presumably to keep the faithful occupied while all the hordes of Extraordinary Ministers of Holy Communion (NOT "Eucharistic Ministers!") are piling forward and being served Communion themselves:

Lamb of God...
Bread of Heaven...
Tree of Life...
Prince of Peace...

The problem with these tropes, as they are called (a literary device, words conveying imagery, subsituting for the literal thing they are depicting) is that they competely detract from what is going on in the Mass at that point in time.

We have observed the Birth of Christ on the altar with the Consecration; now we are at Calvary. The common misconception is that we Catholics attempt to re-sacrifice Christ at every Mass; perhaps it is better to think of this moment in the Mass as a bringing out of eternity (kyros) and into our own time (chronos) the once-for-all Sacrifice of Christ on the Cross. Here we, through the Mass, are transported to that moment when the spotless Lamb of God was lifted up for my sins, and yours, those of the whole world, prefigured from the earliest pages of Scripture, through Abel's sacrifice, the ram that took the place of Abraham's beloved son Isaac on the altar, to the Passover Lamb... in the New Testament John the Baptist identified Jesus as "The Lamb of God" (see image above) and finally to the cry of the Church in Heaven in the Book of Revelations, "Lamb of God!"

The Latin, therefore, is restricted to identifying Him with the words consistent with the Scriptures: "Lamb of God!" Not, you will observe, "panis caelestis" or "arbor vitae," but "agnus Dei" -- Lamb of God. It is through the gory shedding of His blood that we have hope of salvation, forgiveness from sins, victory over sin and death. Only the image of the Lamb is acceptable here.

My first happy act as the new Music Director of Our Lady of the Americas Catholic Church has been to abolish the use of those distracting tropes and to begin a return to our full recognition of Christ as the Spotless Lamb of God.

Pray for me and my new parish.

Yikes!

Boy! A lot of traffic yesterday -- thank you all so much for popping by.

I'm a Mandarin! What are you?

I'm a Mandarin!

You're an intellectual, and you've worked hard to get where you are now. You're a strong believer in education, and you think many of the world's problems could be solved if people were more informed and more rational. You have no tolerance for sloppy or lazy thinking. It frustrates you when people who are ignorant or dishonest rise to positions of power. You believe that people can make a difference in the world, and you're determined to try.

Talent: 54%
Lifer: 31%
Mandarin: 56%

Take the Talent, Lifer, or Mandarin quiz.

One of only 16% according to the test. I'm ridiculously pleased, for what it's worth!

Spring, and young man's fancy turns to thoughts of love...

even non-human males.

It's spring, and my dear, devoted Bubba is back to bringing me love tokens. Last year his offerings included several little lizards (skinks), a dead mockingbird, a small rat, a dying baby bunny, and a live! squirrel.

This morning a few minutes before 4:00 a.m., his meowing woke me up from a bizarre dream I was glad to be awakened from. I thought he was asking to be let out -- it was raining heavily and threatening to storm when we went to bed at 10:30. But when I staggered to the back hall and opened the door, he never came to me.

Then it hit me... that soft little gutteral "meow..." I turned on my lamp and rolled over to see him reaching his paw under a shirt that had fallen on the floor. I lifted the shirt and... it was a baby mouse. He grabbed it with his front paws, looked up at me and said, "Meoaow" again, but just at that moment the mouse jumped out of his hands and darted up under the bed.

All this winter, I've not seen a sign of a mouse in this trailer, and what does that stinkin' cat bring me? A MOUSE.

Which is why I'm up and at the computer at 5:30 on a Saturday morning. grrrrrr.....

HAPPY BIRTHDAY RANDY

It's all his fault I'm blogging. May your arrival at the half-century mark be a joyful occasion, Gorgeous. God bless you!

I think I'm back

Blogging, as Randy has told me repeatedly, is something that needs to be tended to on a daily basis.

Problem is, I don't have something sparkling and witty or wise to say every day. I don't even have anything vaguely interesting to say every day (witness the fact that it has been more than a month and a half since I've attempted to post!)

Moreover, I am, where my writing is concerned, a perfectionist. I don't particularly care whether school papers and books stay piled on the living room floor for several days; if they don't make noise, I don't really notice them. But when it comes to words -- I want everything "just so" and I am only far too aware of how far below my ability the blog writing I've done actually comes.

I beat myself up over it regularly and have mostly talked myself into abandoning the blog altogether.

However, life goes on, and maybe I needed a break from this sort of writing for a while. The last couple of days, however, I've been thinking about a lot of things and the accompanying idea to them all has been "hmmm, ya know, I oughta blog about that!"

So here I am.

I'm utterly astonished that anyone has actually continued to READ this thing while I've been M.I.A. -- and thank you for that. I make no promises about trying harder or doing better... I'll just do my best while I'm up to it, okay?

God bless you!

Update on Catalini

I've just about abandoned this blog, so much going on these days, but I got a delightful email from Catalinni that I wanted to share with you. That woman is such an inspiration to me! (I've altered some names to protect privacy)

I've had so many emails asking for an update I thought I had better get on with it and bring every body up to date on what's been going on in my life since the last one.

As you know I am undergoing my third round of 6 chemo treatments and my 2nd treatment was February 7th. I have had 10 chemo treatments all totaled thus far.

The nurse pre-treats me by running different drugs through the IV to prevent allergic reactions and nausea and other side effects all of which have done their job so far. Then she gives me 3 hours of taxol ( the first chemo drug) followed by 45 minutes of carboplatin. This web site explains it all for the curious who want to know all the gory details.

But on this 11th treatment my body decided to develop an allergy to the carboplatin. It's not the cancer that kills you -- it's the kill or cure treatments. First my hands started to itch and then they went hot pink and so did my face. I had trouble breathing. They ran for a doctor who tried a couple of different antidotes before they found the right one. They continued the treatment without incident.

They say if your palms itch it means you are going to get money but I am still waiting for my ship to come in.

March 7th I had my 3rd chemo treatment. This time they pre-treated me with benadryl before each drug, but that didn't work either. This time the rash spread over my whole body and it took 3 doctors and 3 drugs before they were able to clear it up. By this time it was 7pm and the nurses were supposed to go home at 5pm so they did not continue with the carboplatin.

Dr. Hoskins ( I call him Dr. Faulty because he is a dead ringer for John Cleese on that British TV show - Faulty Towers) phoned me yesterday and said they will not be continuing with the carboplatin in future.

He said it is not safe to administer it anymore because it could be fatal. He said he has done a good job of keeping me alive this far and doesn't want to see me drop off from the drug. He said the taxol will do its job without it, it's just a little better when they use them both together. I asked does that mean my life will be shorter now?. He said “about 15 minutes shorter.”

Anyway I trust his judgment because - as he says -he is doing a good job of keeping me alive so far. I told him my short term goal is to be here to welcome the new grandboy in July, and my long term goal is the 2010 Olympics. My nephew Dr. Don has promised that if I am still here, he is taking me to the Opening Ceremonies. Dr. Faulty says he can promise me the July deadline. As for 2010, he said “I'm not so sure but I will do my best.”

Other than a few side effects, and a chronic bladder infection, I am enjoying my life immensely. The highlight of my life was the night my son John took me to a real live Canucks Hockey game at GM Place in Vancouver.

I watch all the games on TV and I go to a lot of John's hockey games. He plays in an adult league in his community. But this was the most exciting evening I have ever had. Just being part of the crowd and the yelling and screaming and seeing the players in person was just a fantastic experience. They have giant TV screens way up over the rink and they keep the crowd riled up with signs “NOISE” “LOUDER” and they play loud raucous music and hands clapping to get the crowd clapping their hands. It's just so crazy to see all these adults letting their inhibitions go and just making absolute fools of themselves. Some of them dress up and paint the Canucks logo on their faces. And every time the Canucks scored a goal the whole audience of fans stood up and cheered and whistled and waved flags and towels and banners and whatever else they had in their hands. Just wild and crazy. I loved it so much.

Last Saturday, Sid and By came over and took me out for sushi lunch and then came back and cleaned my apartment – vacuumed and tidied and did a whole bunch of little jobs that I can't do. Put up the shower curtain, changed light bulbs sorted out junk, organized shelves and carried the junk to the dumpster. My house feels so clean and tidy. About a month ago John had sent in a carpet cleaner who steamed cleaned the whole apartment. That was my Christmas present from John and Sarah.

George comes over often and does little jobs and keeps my computer running smoothly.

Spring Break is this week and next, so my grandkidz are having turns visiting me. Tuesday I had such a busy day. I took my grandgirlz to the mall and spoiled them rotten. I let them empty my piggy bank of the dimes nickels and quarters and share the money.

Rosie had her red pyjama bottoms on. All the teens go out in their pj's these days. So I said , “does that mean i have to wear my red satin pyjamas to the mall too?” She said yup. Then she went thru my hoodies and picked a red one for me to wear. And I had to wear my red wig, because Roxx is a redhead. I said people will think I'm your sister. So here I am walking around the mall dressed like a teenager in my red satin pj's. And nobody even noticed. Lotsa people looked at my red wig with a curious look but nobody noticed my pj's.

George drove us to the mall on his lunch hour. We lunched at the Food Court, after which we went to the dollar store and shopped up a storm. Luv those Dollar Stores. Becca, age 9, bought make-uppy things and Rosie (age 13) bought incense and an incense holder for her bedroom.

Then we took Becca to Go Bananas – the indoor playground. The rule is that your child cannot be left unsupervised, so Roxx stayed with her while i went shopping at Walmart. and then when i came back she went shopping.

George came back for us after work and they all had dinner with me. Then they had to rush off to Rosie's guitar lesson. All in all it was a very tiring but wonderful day.

I had one day to rest up because Thursday the grandboyz came for lunch.

Their amazing Super Nanny, Maddy, brought all 3 of them on the skytrain, seabus, and bus all the way from Surrey. And she was still smiling when she got here. Come to think of it I did that for a lot of years with my 3 sons and lived to tell the tale.

I always do theme meals for the kidz so we had a St. Pat's Day lunch party. With hats, and decorations, green tablecloth and napkins, green slurpies and the Irish Rovers music.

Then Maddy trooped Harry and Jimmy back the way they came, leaving Tommy for his sleepover. Hurricane T. that is. Can't wait til he's 7.

We watched old Our Gang movies and Harry Potter. On Friday I took him to see the Shaggy Dog and we took our own popcorn and drinks. Sarah picked us up from the theatre. When Tommy was leaving he said “bye Grandy, I love you, even if parts of you are missing. I still love what's left of you.” Out of the mouths of babes.

I looked out the window this morning and said “Thanks for this beautiful day and thanks for letting me live to see it.” It's just like Easter Sunday out there. I went to the Noorouz Bazaar with my Iranian friends and her two daughters. Walking up the bus people were stopping and smiling and saying “isn't this a beautiful day ?”

So all in my life is still running smoothly except for the few side effects. I just keep plodding on. I'm gonna live, live, live til I die.

Forty Days of Lent

I heard a little when I was growing up about Lent, those forty days preceding Easter, from friends who always "gave up" something. Or at least, they would talk about giving something up. I never saw the point, thought they were being silly.

Now I see the point.

Lent is a penitential season preceding not only Easter but Holy Week, the Passion drama. We take on certain mortifications, voluntarily, to try to do a couple of things. First, we want to bring our bodies, wills and egos into a greater conformity with the Gospel. Careless self-indulgence can make us spiritually insensitive; the Lenten absinence is a good antidote. We also want to identify ourselves with the sufferings of Christ, Who suffered all so that we could be reconciled to the Father.

It isn't as bad as it sounds. Some people give up red meat -- I am going to do that this year. Others give up habits, like smoking, that are detrimental but have a strong hold on them, a strong attachment. We are also encouraged to add to our lives -- through extra devotional reading, or works of mercy that we would normally avoid.

The point is to move further away from our comfort zone so that we can become more pliable in the Master's hands. I want to encourage my non-Catholic friends to adopt some act of self-sacrifice during this time, and offer it up to God, as an experiment. See how He transforms you through the offering.

Perfect... in the Potter's Hands

When a potter sets out to make an object, he first takes a lump of clay and plops in onto his wheel. At least, that's the way it's done these days, when clay is obtained commercially and not from the clayhole out in back of the shed. In the old days, as I've been told, the potter would get a quantity of clay, dump it onto a table, and begin sifting through it with his fingers in order to locate pebbles and other debris that had to be removed before the clay could be worked. Then he'd have to either let the clay dry out a bit in order for it to be pliable, or add water to it for the same end.

But whenever he places that clay on the wheel, only he knows what the final product is intended to be. All you or I could see would be a quantity of clay. But that's okay -- it's supposed to be only clay at this stage of the process, and it's perfectly a lump of clay.

Then he starts to turn his wheel (old-time potters around here use foot-treadle wheels). With calm certainty the palms of his hands and his fingers press against the clay, which rises up and takes shape as he directs.

Not until the process is well underway can you or I tell what the potter is making -- a bowl, a vase, a mug... but the potter knows. And even in those early, unidentifiable stages of the process, the clay is perfectly being shaped in his hands. At each stage of the process, the work-in-progress is perfect, exactly what the potter wants it to be at that moment.

You and I, the Bible tells us, in the Psalms and in Jeremiah, are clay in the Potter's hands. We are not now what we are going to become, but at this point in the process, we are perfectly what we ought to be in His hands. Not yet perfected, but becoming so.

and a new Conversion begins..

Talking with my friend Lina, who's talking with her son's girlfriend... Joy has felt the Presence of Christ in the "gold box," the Tabernacle, and said her "Yes!" to Him. "It makes sense now," she says.

That "Yes" is the single most important word Joy, or you or I, will ever utter. I said my "Yes" to Christ back in the summer of 1975, after I saw Him hanging on the Cross, beaten to a bloody pulp with his flesh in gaping lacerations, for the sake of restoring me to union with the Father. Not "the world," mind you, but me, Laura, individually.

But we keep saying "Yes" as we discern His personal will for us. Yes, He wants us to live in union with Him, close to His Sacred Heart. But what vocation? Marriage or consecrated celibacy? What lifework are we called to? What individual mission at any given moment of the day?

And which sins are we hanging on to? What grudges? What vanities of mind and heart do we treasure? When He asks us to hand them over to Him, to protect us from the harm they can do us, do we willingly offer Him our "Yes"?

The Apostle Paul urged the Roman Church to be transformed by the renewing of their minds -- them, and us, too. This is conversion, and it is an ongoing, lifelong process, not once for all. We cast ourselves into His arms, as it were, but then there is this ongoing occupation of becoming so like Him that we others can see His likeness in our lives, as they can see my dad's in my face.

Conversion Story getting wider readership

I was blessed immensely to be able to attend the Fourth Annual Ignited by Truth Conference in Raleigh over the week-end, where I got to hear former Baptist evangelist Steve Ray, author of Crossing the Tiber and several other wonderful books and video series (see the website), not only give his testimony but also provide some exciting biblical background -- and geographical as well as Scriptural context -- to many of the Gospel foundations of our Faith.

I got to meet Steve after his initial talk on Friday evening, and yesterday I sent him my conversion story, "Prelude and Fugue in Faith," which as many of you know was one of the first things I awkwardly posted on this blog (back in the April and May archives). Well, Steve has posted "Prelude and Fugue in Faith" on his website, along with many, many other exciting stories. If you go to the site I linked above, then look along the top directional bar to "Stories," you should not have any trouble finding it.

I also urge you to take some time to become acquainted with his Catholic Convert website. It's packed with some wonderful articles and papers that Steve and others have prepared as they've come to share their own decisions to become Catholic -- a fantastic resource for those of us who are called on to defend our Faith! and who isn't?

Actually -- Steve made a point I want to share with you. When he and his wife attended their very first Mass, Janet came out afterward shaking with rage. She was angry with their Protestant tradition for lying to them... but she was even angrier with Catholics for not telling them the Truth. Friends, we aren't just to defend our Faith, we need to be out there assertively sharing it. Are we? I haven't been, but that's going to be changing as of NOW.

and more updates --

Got an email from my friend Donna last night -- her daughter-in-law Jenn is doing well, and the baby is a boy! They are all very excited about this. There will be no more grandchildren after this one (so they are all determined at this point) and this will be the one boy in a cluster of girls. So far, Jenn is doing well and has not had the problems with her heart that troubled her earlier in this pregnancy and throughout her first one. They all say Thanks for the prayers.

I also saw Eric at school this week. His wife is "hangin' in there," and they say, "Please keep praying. It's the only thing that's getting them through all this mess."

And in today's news...

Our local paper has published the news that one of our doctors has turned in his license to practice medicine in response to accusations that he has behaved inappropriately with female patients. Of course, the reporter didn't stop with just the basic information; he had to go into great deatail about just what sort of inappropriate contact the doctor had been alleged to have had with the women filing the complaints against him.

This happens to be... my doctor. He's also a fellow Catholic, a member of my original parish, a husband and a father. When my ex-husband had a medical crisis early in our marriage, this doctor was his admitting physician and saw both of us through a difficult and, for me, frightening episode. I've seen him since for sinusitis and other general ailments (fortunately for me, the only sorts of ailments I suffer).

When I started attending Mass in anticipation of converting, he and his wife were among the first people I became (re-)acquainted with. They were warm and welcoming. At one point they looked at property that was for sale adjacent to mine, and I had hoped we would become neighbors. I've observed this man with his family in Mass and at local restaurants -- I've seen his patience and kindness with a highly energetic son and with crying babies.

I don't understand how a man, serious about his religion and blessed with a lovely and affectionate wife and beautiful family, could fall in such a flagrant way, but I know it does happen. I don't know how a woman, knowing her husband, the man to whom she is linked, body and spirit, has violated the promises of their marriage covenant, can survive such a blow... but women do it every day.

But this wife has the additional burden of particular details of her betrayal and humiliation being placed in print for the general public to read and talk about. The extent of the detail was certainly not necessary; it seems to me that prurient interests were being catered to, not genuine reporting.

Whatever happens in their family, this newspaper article has made their situation even more difficult. There must be some means of holding reporters and publishers to moral responsibility, sensitivity to those innocent people whose lives are disrupted by scandalous disclosures, common decency.