​Things are quite lovely around our Provincial House here as we continue to celebrate Christmas.  As you might expect for a Franciscan convent, manger scenes are quite prevalent here.  I got to help put up one on the second floor here.
 
As Franciscans, this Christmas is a special one for us as we mark the 80th anniversary of St. Francis’ first reenactment of the nativity scene at the town of Greccio at the midnight Mass on Christmas Eve, 1223.  This allowed people to enter into what that experience must have been like. 
 
It is sometimes noted, even in our Constitutions, that St. Francis had great and special devotion to Jesus: “in the Crib, on the Cross, and in the Eucharist.”  
 
These pivotal aspects of our faith, especially as Franciscans, were beautifully depicted to us this Christmas in our chapel. 
 
Here, Sr. Mary Ruth and Sr. Susan Marie, made a lovely display which included a cross, the Baby Jesus and a chalice. 
 
As the new year approaches, may we rededicate ourselves to striving to grow in love for our Lord, who is so generous with us.  We would do well to make time to ponder on these three great mysteries with gratitude.

This morning, I got out of bed at the sound of my alarm and got ready for the day before heading down to chapel.  Since it was Saturday, we would use the small, Sacred Heart Chapel for Mass.  Before Mass, there would be Simple Exposition, where the tabernacle was opened and Jesus was visible.  
 
This would not be happening for a while yet, though, and so when I got to Chapel, I prayed the rosary, enjoying the dark stillness around me as I sat in His presence.  
 
I finished my formal prayers and, by this time, our Sister sacristan was preparing for Mass.  I got my missal ready for meditation on the day’s readings.  
 
I saw her light the candles by the tabernacle and prepare to open the door, kneeling for what I knew was soon to come.  
 
It was a treat being able to glance up at Jesus as I read and prayed with His Word.  When this form of Exposition takes place in our large chapel, I’m not able to see Him; I love the closeness of this smaller space where I have most of my private daily prayer time.  
 
At 8 a.m., we had Mass.  Father consecrated an extra large host to “refresh” the Blessed Sacrament ​in the luna.  When it came to Communion time, I received part of the same large Host which had been in the tabernacle earlier this morning.  
 
I was awed and grateful at the realization that the One whom I had adored and communed with during this recent time of adoration was now coming to me physically, entering my very being.  I really knew this already, but the logistical fact of receiving from the same Host illuminated this wondrous mystery for me today.
 
What an amazing gift!  
 
As we prepare to celebrate Christmas tomorrow night, I realize that this same One is also the newborn King whose birth we are anticipating in joyful hope.  
 
I would like to close with a simple, but beautiful prayer which we traditionally make in our community during these days of Advent.  I feel it fits with my musings this morning:
Jesus, Jesus, come to me; make my heart a crib for Thee

I’m sorry that it’s been so long since I’ve posted here.  Life gets busy and time gets away from a person!  
 
This past week, I worked close to 40 hours in the kitchen, filling in for one of the cooks who was out.  
​
During my time preparing meals, St. Martha and our Blessed Mother are always my special friends and intercessors.  I’m so grateful for their help which enabled me to make meals that people mostly enjoyed rather than starting a fire or putting cumin in my bread pudding again instead of cinnamon (that’s another story - you can ask me some time.).
 
This week, I made turkey rice bake; chili with twice baked potato casserole; corn and potato chowder soup served with calzones,  sloppy joes, green bean casserole, and cole slaw; sauerkraut, sausage, boiled potatoes and dumplings, and warmed up leftovers a couple of times.  We had several visitors, so it was a little bit of a challenge guessing how much food to make.  I was grateful this morning for the chance to sleep in a little and enjoy a slower-paced day.  
 
This evening, I went with Sr. Donna to see the Canadian Pacific’s “Holiday Train” as it made a stop in Hankinson with its colorful lights and musical entertainment.  We weren’t able to hear much as the streets were so crowded that there was no place to park and get out to watch.  When we got back home, I made popcorn for the young people attending Sr. Mary Ruth’s “Youth Night at the Convent.”  
 
I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but one thing on my list is practicing the organ for Sunday Mass.  Since it will be Gaudete Sunday, I tried to pick hymns with joyous undertones and cam up with: “Lift Up Your Heads, Ye Mighty Gates” and “O Come Divine Messiah.”  
 
I hope and pray that your Advent, short as it is, is going well.  God bless you all!

Today, along with being the 800th anniversary of St. Francis’ rule by Pope Honorius III, is the annual feast of all the saints of the Franciscan order!
 
Although we mark the feast of All Saints on November 1st, most Catholics probably aren’t aware that we, as Franciscans, have a special celebration this day as we near the month’s end.  
My work at this time, as we remember the dead and celebrate the holy members of our order, has been very appropriate.  
 
Yesterday, I finished digitalizing one of our gems: the book of our province’s history compiled by Sr. Patricia Forrest entitled Prairie Praise.  Now, we have an electronic copy which we can easily search for names or topics, and which can easily be shared.  
 
As I was nearing the end of this project, Sr. Donna came in with a brown box, asking me to re-type the cards contained in it.  
 
A card is made for each Sister in our community, detailing her important dates and details of her various assignments in religious' life.  Over time, many cards had been amended in handwriting and could use freshening up.  Also, having these  on computer, as well, will be adventagous in the future.  
 
I am happy to be able to help the community in these ways, but equally so, for this opportunity to immerse myself in our history.  
 
It is wonderful to be reminded of all that our Sisters have done over the many years of their collective religious lives.  It is an inspiration and impetus for me, whose years in community pale in comparison to theirs.  
 
I trust that these Sisters who have gone before us, and all the saints of the Seraphic Order, will intercede for us.  
 
We need their prayers.  

After weeks of working on this project (off and on), I am happy to announce that our next issue of The Franciscan Review​ is now out, that is sent to the printers.  
​You can view it here!

November 11th has long been known as “Armistice Day” or, in this country, Veterans Day, and rightly so.  It is the anniversary of the end of the first world war, in which countless lives were lost.  
 
Another connection making the eleventh day of the eleventh month a fitting time to honor those who have risked their lives for their country in military service is that the saint whose feast we mark was, himself, a soldier.  
 
Saint Martin of Tours considered himself a soldier for Christ, and would eventually resign from military service to embrace the monastic life.
 
A less-known fact about his feast day is that, in times past, it was seen as the beginning of a more penitential time in preparation for Christmas.  Just as, before Easter, we prepare by roughly forty days of fasting, prayer, and alms-giving, people would prepare for the Lord’s birth in a somewhat similar manner in late fall and early winter.  The time beginning on November 11th, St. Martin’s Day, became known as “St. Martin’s Lent.”  
 
This reminds me of St. Francis, who also could be called a soldier for Christ, as he would undergo periods of fasting outside of those prescribed by the universal Church.  He would fast between the feast of the Assumption (August 15) and the feast of St. Michael (September 29).
 
Even if you and I never engage in military service, we, too, can be soldiers for Christ like St. Paul who “fought the good fight.”  
 
A large part of this battle is against our own selves and our sinful desires.  
 
We can look to saints like Martin and Francis for inspiration and prayer as we seek to serve our King, whether by offering our fasting, forgiveness, faithfulness or friendship.

This past month, I've been doing a bit of cooking here, filling in as needed.  

I've done some baking. too, and, yesterday, I served a spice cake for Sr. Mary Ruth's birthday.  

Although I enjoy cooking, I'm glad that my three day stint is almost over.  It takes some energy planning and preparing meals and doing the dishes and cleanup afterward.

This morning, as I was preparing a family favorite for our entree, Sr. Mary Ruth passed through the kitchen, making a comment about a “cooking pumpkin.”  
 
She saw that I was wearing my jack-o-lantern costume which I’d made with my mom in grade school.
 
She teased that she didn’t smell roasted pumpkin.  I responded that I was a roasting pumpkin, as I was now very warm with my sweater, costume, and apron over my jumper.  Need I mention that I was working with the stove and oven?
 
Later, a nurse from our infirmary stopped through as well.  I decided to show her my costume, as I thought we had talked about it recently.  I took off my apron and she took my picture.
 
This afternoon, having finished cleaning up and doing dishes, I took a look at the photos she had sent me.  I noticed that my costume looked wrinkled.  I hadn’t taken the time to iron it this year, and thought it would be good enough.  
 
Before heading over to St. Gerard’s (our nursing home across the street) to help with trick-or-treaters this evening, I may try and see if I can’t get it pressed.
 
Before that, though, I should get my numbers changed…
 
I am leading Office this week, and thought I was being really on top of things by putting the new numbers up before morning Mass.  I thought I was ahead of the game!
 
However, this afternoon, when I had time to breathe and think, I realized that tonight we begin the celebration of All Saints with Evening Prayer I.
 
The numbers I posted are wrong and will have to be changed!
 
So much for working ahead and being well-prepared!

​Happy All Hallows Eve!

This afternoon, I received a phone call from someone who works here, asking if I could take care of cleanup after supper again this evening.  

I really don't mind KP duty, and told her as much.  She said I didn't have to do dishes if I didn't want to, but I figured I'd might as well. There was no sense in leaving dirty dishes sit overnight for someone else to have to deal with in the morning.  

This isn't my first time helping in this capacity since moving back to Hankinson, but I kind of enjoy running the dishwasher.  It’s kind of fun in its own way.  
 
So after supper, I put things away in the dining room and wiped off the counters before proceeding to the dish room.  

Doing dishes here brings me back to my days as a postulant, under the watchful eye and instructional supervision of Sr. Sara Marie.  She taught me pretty much everything I know about running this wonderful piece of equipment, about how to put the plates in the right way so that no space is lost, how to wipe down the counters afterwards to make sure the stainless-steel stays looking nice and untarnished, and more!  
 
I was glad for this thorough instruction again this evening, as I did the dishes by myself.  
 
All those times of doing dishes with her and the other Sisters during my “initial formation” served me well.
 
I’m not saying that I did a perfect job, though…
 
For one thing, I forgot to put the dish and spoon fsed for ice through the dishwasher!!
 
It will be seed for tomorrow.  
 
At least the sink and drain are cleaned, the counters are wiped, towels are taken to the tunnel for laundering, and the dishwasher is turned off and airing out.
 
I hope I did a satisfactory job.   

Recent circumstances in our chapel here made me think of the gospel passage of the “Greeks” who came to the apostles, wanting to see Jesus - and - of Zacchaeus climbing a sycamore tree to this end...
 
As I unpacked last week, I happily removed the pair of binoculars from a suitcase, realizing that they could come in handy for me here in my new home.  
 
In fact, they could come in handy in chapel!
 
The chapel where we pray our common prayers is very large, and I sit quite far away from the tabernacle.  Actually, the sanctuary and space in front of the high altar is large, so anywhere one sits in the pews is at a distance.
 
During the week, we have simple exposition every day, in which the tabernacle is open and Jesus is visible.  
 
However, with my limited vision and the distance, I can’t really see Him.  I can’t distinguish or make out the form inside.  (From where I sit, I had thought I was simply seeing the ciborium containing the Blessed Sacrament.)
 
Having been told that Jesus is actually visible in a special pyx (the exact term escapes me now), I had been wondering about this.  However, I couldn’t just walk up close during this time of prayer together, so my lack of clarity and curiosity remained.
 
Now, though, with my binoculars which had been given me when I was gardening in Grand Forks, I was prepared to finally see Jesus at this time of prayer.  
 
I brought them to chapel in the morning, and was able to see clearly where Jesus was visible in the tabernacle.  This was really neat!
 
I’m still faced with a dilemma, though.
 
I’d love to be able to use the binoculars to look at Him in adoration, but I don’t want to distract others or draw attention to myself.  (I don’t want to look silly, either, I must say.)  Maybe, I sound silly writing this!
 
I guess that maybe I should learn a lesson from Zacchaeus, though, who didn’t let any pride stop him and found salvation for his house that day.
 
What a gift we have as Catholics, especially in places where there is frequent or perpetual Eucharistic adoration.  We can see, can have an audience with our King, without any special appointment.  Even if we can’t see Him, we can still visit and spend time with Him!  
 
What a gift!

It’s been a most unusual summer (and year, for that matter).  
 
I find myself, now, trying to settle in to new surroundings and a new routine.
 
I spent the day yesterday unpacking suitcases of items I just brought back from Grand Forks to our provincial house in Hankinson.  
 
I was surprised and almost embarrassed by how much “stuff” I’ve accumulated over my fourteen years there.   
 
I try to live simply, and take my vow of poverty seriously but, somehow, time marches on, and with it comes any number of items.  
 
Some things I had forgotten I even had.  They sat quietly on my bookshelf while the hours, days, weeks, months, and years passed by.
 
The strangest item I found on my shelf was a big saw! Rather than bring it with to Hankinson, I offered it to our maintenance man in Grand Forks.  I had been gifted it several years ago by one of our apartment residents for the purpose of “butchering” pumpkins.  
I have since learned an easier technique of using a hammer to push the back of the knife down into the hard flesh of these orange cucurbits.
 
Anyway, yesterday as I unpacked and put things away, St. Francis’ example of poverty was in the back of my mind.  
 
I tossed some useless items, brought unneeded notebooks down to the common office supplies area, etc.  I’ll have to do more sorting, organizing, and tossing, though, in the days to come.  
 
Satisfied with yesterday’s progress and having other things on my mind, I haven’t done any more of this today.
 
I have been thinking, though, of Sister Rebecca, whose birthday was today, and remembering the chocolate zucchini cakes I used to make for the double celebration of her birth and Order’s founder.  
 
As I write this, I am grateful for the many blessings that surround me, for community, family, friends, faith, and the wondrous fall afternoon outdoors, to name a few.  I’m also very pleased with the new arrangement of the room here, which is so cozy and homey.

​​We just finished our six-day silent retreat last evening.  It was a challenging week for me this year.  For some reason, I found myself getting very restless during this time set aside for spiritual renewal.
 
Nonetheless, it was a fruitful time.  I pray that the graces given during these days of prayer and quiet will take root and bear fruit in my life in the days and weeks to come.
 
One thing that stood out to me from the retreat was not from our conferences in chapel twice each day.  Rather, it was from the reading of our Franciscan Rule at breakfast one morning: “For all that happens to them let them give thanks to our Creator” (7.24).
 
This simple passage inspired me that, according to this book of spiritual instruction which I have promised to follow, I am to give thanks for everything!
 
During this retreat, I began to try to do that, thanking God for the blessings I could clearly see, but also for other things that didn’t strike me at first as being blessings.  
 
Before retreat, I knew it was good to be thankful, but this reading during a time of less distraction and more reflection gave me a “needed nudge,” you might say.
 
I pray that I may be faithful in following this exhortation in my life today, tomorrow, and the next day.  
 
Another insight came from conferences we had, in which I was reminded to pray before beginning interactions and to ask for the Holy Spirit’s guidance on my day.  I was also reminded me of the importance of praying during times of temptation or difficulty, reinforcing something I had been realizing.  
 
During the retreat, I ended up praying that I might more readily remember to pray for help at such times so that I don’t fall into sinful or unfortunate behaviors.  I also prayed for this grace for any times in the future when I might forget to ask for help.  
 
Despite the difficulties I experienced on this retreat, I do want to give thanks for the “needed nudges” that I received.  

​This morning, in chapel, my eye glanced passingly at the gospel passage; I noticed it was quite long.  Though I wondered what it would be about, my focus returned to the first reading, which I would be proclaiming from the ambo in a short while.  
 
Having finished meditating on the epistle and psalm, I turned to the gospel, anxious to see what it would be about.  
 
As I read, I realized it was the familiar parable of the talents.  
 
Later, at breakfast, the question arose as to what a talent was and how much it was worth.  A quick search now, on my part, showed that five talents would be worth about  two million dollars by today’s standards.  I had had no idea previously.
 
Anyway, as I continued my morning scripture reading, the refrain, “Come, share your master’s joy,” struck a chord in my heart.  
 
It may be unique to Matthew’s gospel.
 
These words sounded so tender, so beautiful.  The master in the parable was inviting a mere servant to share his joy.  
 
As this is a gospel parable, we know it has implications beyond the surface, and possible implications for us.  
 
Although I know the words of this phrase would refer largely to the end of a faithful person’s life, when he finally meets his Lord, I realized that this gratuitous gift of sharing our Master’s joy is not entirely reserved for after one’s particular judgment.  
 
Joy is one of the fruits of the Holy Spirit; it comes to us through the Holy Spirit’s presence in our lives.  
 
As children of God, baptized and confirmed, we are enabled to taste the joy of our Lord on this side of heaven.  
 
We are enabled to be joyful investors of His gifts, and joyful laborers in His vineyard because we are not alone; He is with us!  

Yesterday was a good day…
 
As the first Sunday of the month, it was “Recollection Day” here at the convent.  This means that we keep silence until suppertime.  
 
It’s a chance to prayerfully think over the past month and look ahead to the new month just beginning.  
 
It’s a good day to spend some extra time in the chapel, reflecting with the Lord on the direction we’re going and listening for His voice.  This month, I found it to be a day of really seeking His help and action in my life.
 
After supper, we played a couple of games of Farkle.
 
After this, I went upstairs and started thinking about our women’s retreat coming up next month, calling one of our team members and visiting about details.
 
In the meantime, I got a message from an online acquaintance who is trying to help me learn to play the feet pedals on the organ.  She asked if she could “call me.”  
 
So, a little background is needed…
 
I am in a group on social media for Catholic organists, and had posted a question about a week ago, looking for pointers or anything that I might need to know to fulfill my dream of learning to play the foot pedals on the church organ.  This woman had reached out, all the way from Australia, offering to help me.  
 
She’s given me pointers and even sent some music!  
 
I am touched by the kindness of a stranger on the other side of the world!  
 
Anyway, I since I wasn’t able to take her call at the time, and asked if I could reach out later, and she agreed.
 
By the time I was free, it was kind of late, after 9 p.m., so I took a walk away from the bedroom I’m staying in here (We try to keep silence in the area by that hour).  I went outside and walked around the grounds while she tried to coach me on organ pedal technique for beginners.  
 
It was quite the experience to be getting guidance from someone so far away, even getting video ‘footage’ of the technique!
 
This evening, it occurred to me that this kind woman was really providing help down under!  

Pun intended!

Image cropped from 
https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/a/a9/Latina_Sacratissimo_Nome_di_Ges%C3%B9_consolle_organo_Migliorini.jpg

I just got done working half the night in St. Mary’s, our infirmary unit at our provincial house in Hankinson.  I’m here helping out while two of our Sisters are in Germany to attend the General Chapter of Election.  
 
I’m grateful that the night went very smoothly, and I even had time for prayer and spiritual reading (plus a little light library work to help me keep awake).  
 
We have morning prayer and Mass here in about an hour, so I’m trying to keep busy until then so I don’t get too tired and doze off.  
 
A long summer’s nap is definitely on my agenda for later!  
 
Anyway, as I was just looking over the Mass readings for this Seventeenth Sunday in Ordinary Time, a couple of things stuck out to me.  
 
The first was King Solomon’s prayer for “an understanding heart.”
 
Although I know that I’ve read this passage before, it struck me this morning as a really beautiful prayer, no less relevant today than it was almost 3,000 years ago when the young monarch so famously uttered it.
 
As I moved on to the second reading, another well-known passage from Romans 8, another verse struck me: “We know that all things work for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.”  
 
It “popped out” at me because I had just read it an hour or two ago in a book I had picked up for spiritual reading.  
 
This verse is often quoted, especially in protestant circles, but sometimes I’ve found it difficult to understand or even fully accept.  When times are hard, and no progress seems to be made, it can be difficult for me to believe that it applies to my life, too.  
 
As I walk this journey, and as you walk your own, I think we do well to pray for this “understanding heart,” that we may gratefully acknowledge God’s working in our lives for good, even when we don’t see it.

The opening line of this Sunday’s epistle is one that makes my heart take a little leap!  Paul tells us that “the sufferings of this present time are as nothing compared with the glory to be revealed for us.”  
 
Wow!  
 
I don’t know about you, but I feel like I’ve had a fair share of suffering in the last few years.  From dealing with the manifold affects of a pandemic to workplace struggles to everything in between, the beginning of this second decade of the century hasn’t exactly been a breeze.  
 
There isn’t a time in history, though, that’s been immune from suffering, unless maybe you count the time before Adam and Eve made a world-shattering decision.   So, suffering is part of life for everyone, but that’s not my point.
 
The striking part is that, here, Paul is teaching us that despite how burdensome our current sufferings may seem, God’s plan is for something far greater.  Even if we feel like we’re in an abyss of sorrow, His plan for us in heaven goes to the opposite extreme - and beyond.  
 
Now, that’s encouraging!
 
Later in his passage, Paul brings in the image of a woman in labor, which fits in well with the above reflections.  I’ve never been in labor, but the analogy of creation groaning in labor pains makes sense to me.  It strikes me because a couple of people I was with were recently discussing the pains of childbirth and how their memory is soon overshadowed by the joy of a new life among us.  
 
I hadn’t realized that this poignant passage was in Romans, chapter eight, but I guess it shouldn’t come as a surprise.  This chapter, which comes right in the middle of the letter, is really a treasure-house of scriptural gems.  
 
Perhaps my favorite passage in the entire Bible comes a little later in the chapter, in verses 35-39, where Paul ponders over the power and steadfastness of Christ’s love:
“What will separate us from the love of Christ? Will anguish, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or the sword?…No, in all these things we conquer overwhelmingly through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor present things, nor future things, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

I was doing a bit of reading earlier today from a book discussing the Divine Mercy devotions.  
 
Interestingly, the author was trying to make a distinction between one of St. Faustina’s experiences and other some visions of saints.  He mentioned how, at that time, children outside of her convent had been drawn by a bright light coming from there, concluding that Jesus had actually come to the saint’s cell in His glorified body.  
 
I had never heard this before and found it thought-provoking, if nothing else.  
 
Without giving this assertion much additional consideration, I went on with my day, which included a visit to the Blessed Sacrament for some prayer time.  
 
As I was praying before the tabernacle, it dawned on me that Jesus had actually come here in His glorified body as well.  
 
In the tabernacle, there He was…there He is!  
 
We are so blessed!  We need not be a mystic or visionary to experience our Lord’s physical presence!  
 
I am not meaning, in any measure, to diminish the significance of one of the greatest saints of the past century, but, these reflections stirred my heart to greater appreciation for the gift of Christ’s Eucharistic presence.
 
His wondrous, physical presence is only as far away as the nearest tabernacle!
 
In the meantime, before I visit Him next there, I remain grateful for His presence with us spiritually.
 
He is faithful to His promise: “…I am with you always, until the end of the age!”

"One shoe off, and the other shoe on,
Diddle, diddle, dumpling, my son John."

Some days a person just wonders what’s going to go wrong next…such was yesterday!  Thankfully, I was able to laugh to myself about the whole thing!

The night before, we as a staff had been informed that there was an issue with our fire panel.  Until it could be fixed, we’d have to do hourly fire safety rounds and take special precautions.  

Being sacristan here, I did think about the chapel and how it would be important to include it in our frequent tours of the building.  It might be easy to forget, but with burning candles, frequently checking the chapel would be crucial.  

Our maintenance man stopped and we touched base about the situation.  He advised that there really should be no (unattended) open flames at this time.  I mentioned that we really need to have the sanctuary lamp, but that I would look into what could be done.  

After making contact with the diocesan liturgy director and receiving needed approval, I got an electronic candle from our convent.  (I’m really not a fan of ‘fake candles,’ as I call them).  

It was, thankfully, already attached to an extension cord, and I brought it into the chapel.  I fed it through behind the tabernacle and plugged it into a nearby power strip.  Nothing happened.  No light.  

Just minutes before, it had been ‘burning,’ so I was baffled.  I tried plugging its extension cord directly into the outlet – nothing.  I tried plugging the light (minus extension cord) in, but nothing happened either.  I tried monkeying around with the little bulb, but nothing seemed to work.  

Finally, I got a hold of our maintenance man and he but a new bulb in.  I came into the kitchenette, where I had left it for him, and it was ‘burning’ brightly.  

I unplugged the flameless candle and brought it back into chapel, refeeding it through behind the tabernacle.  I got it plugged in and positioned inside the red globe from which I had just removed the real sanctuary lamp.  

Once the electric one was burning brightly inside the globe, I blew out the real flame and brought the candle into the sacristy.  

Realizing a few things were not quite tidy in place as they should be in the closet where I keep the candles, I placed the newly extinguished candle on the floor beside me and proceeded to make arrangements in the closet, removing a now empty box, etc.  

In the process, I bumped the candle that was on the floor near me.  I quickly caught it, but not before a big puddle of wax had run out onto the tile floor.  

Not only did the floor get a waxing, but one of my sandals did, too!  

Yikes!

Now, what was I going to go?  

I quickly removed the sandal and rushed over to the other side of the sacristy to get paper towels from their storage place.  I sopped up as much wax as I could quickly before it cooled and solidified.  Then, I left chapel and went down the hall toward the beauty shop (diddy diddy dumpling-style).  I got the key from the front desk and went to my destination in search of a hair dryer.  

After looking around a little, not being sure exactly which drawer it was in, I found the apparatus and returned to chapel, walking as if I had a limp due to the unevenness of my feet.  

As I neared the puddle, I remembered that the hair dryer’s cord was not very long and I would need an extension cord to connect it to the power supply.  To get a cord to use, I did not want to go through the ordeal of unplugging the flameless candle and having to get it back in place again.  Then I remembered the fans!  

It’s truly a summer to remember as our air conditioning is also out in chapel.  To keep the chapel a bit more comfortable, we have several fans running.  I unplugged one and borrowed its nice, long, orange extension cord, affixing it to the hair dryer.  

Then, I got back down on my hands and knees, and with paper towels in one hand and hair dryer in the other, I successfully removed the wax from the tile floor and my sandal (or at least most of it).  

I unplugged the cord, took out the hairdryer from its plug, and reattached the fan.  Once the fan was back in motion, I returned with the hair dryer to the beauty shop.  

The day went on, not without event, though.  Since this is already getting long, I will spare you the other details, except for one final little story.  

We were invited over to our friends’ home to celebrate birthdays, and returned late in the evening with a little container of non-GMO papaya seeds.  I love starting plants and experimenting with new things so, with encouragement from this friend, I was going to try and see if I could get a papaya tree growing for in our atrium.  

Anyway, I had stuck the seeds in a gift bag I was bringing home (with a small birthday present).  As I descended the stairs, however, I noticed that something had fallen.  As I stopped, I realized that it was the plastic container of seeds, wet and gooey!

Most of the seed had dumped out onto the carpeted stairs.  So, at 9:45 last night, I was again on my hands and knees, trying to collect all the little messy seeds.  I also noticed a few cobwebs while I was down there, so I used the cloth I had grabbed from our laundry room to clean both the carpet and the corners.  

Needless to say, I slept pretty well last night!

I know that one of the hymns for Pentecost uses the noun finger, but my adventures surrounding this word today have had nothing to do with that.
 
As I left chapel and made my way to the front desk for my shift, one of my morning duties was turning on the music in the lobby, where I also opened the shades and windows, to let in sunshine and fresh air. 
 
One of the windows, however, did not stay open; instead it fell shut, with great force, on my right index finger.  Ouch!
 
I danced around a bit, and went on with my morning, practicing some for the vocal music I would need to help lead at Mass. 
 
Sr. Elaine and I had decided to play together for today’s great feast, and had even practiced last evening.  We have two keyboards in our chapel, and years ago, we used to do this for great feasts.  It was nice to revive that custom.
 
When I got back to chapel, though, right before Mass, the finger injury represented itself as a hindrance.  Successfully striking a match is not so easy with an injured finger.  I soon learned that playing organ/keyboard is also a bit more challenging under such circumstances. 
 
I made it through pretty well, though, using other fingers in the injured finger’s stead and occasionally even using the poor index finger. 
 
The music went alright, except for the fact that by the time I was finished singing the sequence, I didn’t have much air left and had to read rather than sing the gospel verse. 
 
At the end of Mass, after the closing song, a few of us chanted the Veni Creator Spritus, which we’ve been planning and practicing for a number of weeks. 
 
As this day and week goes on, I need to continue my prayers for the Holy Spirit’s guidance in my life as well as in my workplace and world. 
 
I’d better stop typing now, though, because my finger is starting to throb. 
 
Happy Pentecost!

In praying with this morning’s readings, a couple of points in the passage from Acts stood out to me.  The letter and exhortation from the first council of the Church, that of Jerusalem, among other things instructed the gentile Christians to abstain from the meat of strangled animals.  I couldn’t help but wonder why this was considered important. 
 
There are some different explanations offered for this, but I guess, of greater importance is the other point that really struck me. 
 
According to the comments of “the apostles and presbyters” in this important gathering, the reason for this session was to restore the peace of mind of the gentile believers who had been upset by other teaching and whose peace had been disturbed. 
 
The Council met to determine what should be required of these converts, and they settled on some minimal requirements. 
 
I found it interesting that this Church directive (if you follow my logic here) was given to restore peace.  Wouldn’t it be great if more people today saw Church teachings as instruments of peace, as given for our welfare, rather than seeing them as restrictive or in a negative light? 
 
During these days as we prepare for Pentecost, might one of our prayers be that the Holy Spirit would enlighten more hearts with an appreciation for the Church’s motherly guidance for our lives?
 
Another prayer might be that each of us, by our gentleness and kindness, as friends of Christ, might be instruments of His peace to hearts that are troubled. 

This morning, as Father was praying the Collect, a phrase stood out to me: “The brave shepherd.”  In this prayer, he also referred to us as the humble flock and to Jesus as the brave shepherd. 
 
Brave isn’t an adjective that I usually associate with Our Lord, but it really should be.  As I thought about it more, I realized what heroic courage it must have taken for Him to undergo His passion and death willingly, when He easily could have said “No thanks; I don’t think I’m up for it.” 
 
This bravery of Jesus speaks to me as I am faced with challenging circumstances which are pretty much out of my control. 
 
How do I face difficult days?  Do I run to my room and hide, or do I turn to my “brave shepherd,” relying on His grace and strength. 
 
Unlike Him, left to myself, I do not have what it takes to deal with my crosses.  However, as I prepare for Pentecost, I am reminded to ask Him to send His “Spirit of wisdom and understanding…of right judgment and courage,…of knowledge and reverence” (Rite of Confirmation) to help me. 
 
I need this “Gift of God Most High” to guide, strengthen and sustain me on the journey to where “the brave Shepherd has gone before.”

This guiding, shepherding presence was certainly with me last night as, despite my weariness, I was intent on getting a little table with the Good Shepherd statue set up behind the office for today’s “Good Shepherd Sunday.” 

Sr. Rebecca had always done this before, and I hadn't been able to locate the soft green cloth that she used. 
 
Dealing with another situation that I had not bargained for (and about which I was less than excited), I happened to go with a coworker into Sr. Rebecca’s storage room. 
 
There, sitting out, was the lovely green cloth that she had always used (or one that certainly resembled it). 
 
I spotted it with delight! 
 
After a little work, I had it on the table and a decorative square cloth even in place.  It will stay there for several weeks, if not months!
 
Now, whenever I pass by this area, I can be reminded of the brave Shepherd, on whose grace and help I am completely dependent.

This has been an unusual week, with much for which to be grateful.  However, my gratitude list, in itself, might strike some as unusual.
 
Last Thursday, I was privileged to join two others of our Sisters on a trip to Mundelein, IL for the Institute on Religious Life’s annual meeting, a weekend of sessions to be enriched in our faith and vocation while meeting other religious from around the country.  It truly was a time away for which I was grateful.  The last time I had attended these sessions was as a postulant back in 2005, the weekend that Pope St. John Paul II died!
 
It was a lovely time, except for the fact that somewhere, along the journey, I managed to contract Strep throat.  I got suddenly sick on Sunday.
 
I was kind of in denial about the whole situation until last night.  My lack of energy was Improving and I thought I’d be on the mend, but, then, I woke up with terrible pain in my throat that told me that all was not well.  
 
“Maybe, I do have Strep,” I acknowledged.  
 
Early afternoon, I got into urgent care, and didn’t have to wait long.  After examining my throat, the doctor remarked something to the effect of: “I can run a culture if you want, but I’m quite sure it’s Strep.”  I needed no reassurance, and gratefully accepted a prescription for antibiotics.  
 
I was so grateful for a painless visit, quick attention, and for not even needed to get gagged!  
 
During these days since I’ve been back, I’ve had another cause of gratitude: In our convent here, my room is just down the hall from our chapel, where Jesus stays in our little tabernacle.  I find immense joy and consolation in the knowledge that He is so close.  
 
Even when I’m resting in bed, it is so consoling to remember His nearness, physically.  I am grateful.  
 
Having been away, and not in as close of proximity to Our Lord’s Eucharistic presence, tends to renew and increase my gratitude for this immense gift.  
 
I know that I daily receive countless blessings of which I am not even aware.  
 
I need to continue to remember to say “thank you” to Our Lord for His goodness to me.  

Saturday evening was a bit tough for me. 
 
I was pretty tired, after helping prepare and assist with the Holy Week liturgies, decorating chapel for Easter, dyeing eggs with our residents, and working my job at the reception desk.  (I’m not complaining, just stating facts.)
 
There was, however, to be no “early to bed” on this Night of nights. 
The Easter Vigil at the local parish church was to start at 8:30 p.m., and I was to do a reading. 
 
It was nice to only have one little responsibility after days of coordinating so many little details for liturgies at St. Anne’s.  Due to the late hour, we do not have a vigil here, where many of our residents retire early.
 
I walked the ten blocks to the church, navigating massive quantities of water from melting snow. 
 
Once the Mass started, I found myself struggling to stay attentive through the beautiful liturgy, though I was grateful to be there.  (I hadn’t had time to use the ladies’ room in advance, which did not help my efforts to keep focused.)
 
When the final ‘alleluias’ had been sung, we departed; night had fallen and so I rode back with my fellow Sister.
 
We got back to St. Anne’s and I finished preparing the chapel, placing the white cloth on the altar and adorning it with gold trim. 
 
I got into bed around midnight, thankful for being that far.
 
Easter Sunday ended up fairly busy as well, with various responsibilities. 
This morning, it was with continued satisfaction and joy that I returned our “Holy Week suitcase” to the sacristy cabinet, with cross veils, clapper, instruction sheets, and cross for veneration back inside again. 
 
As I had prayed, at the onset of Holy Week, for an open heart to enter into the mysteries at hand, I am now praying the same for this Easter season, which can also be difficult to enter into, since our minds which cannot grasp the wonder of it.

I’m preparing to give a talk to our women’s group regarding the importance of humor in our Christian lives on Saturday, April 1st.  Spoiler Alert: I’m going to ask those in attendance to think of the last time they had a good laugh before I begin.  
 
For me, the last time a had a good laugh was actually this past Saturday during vespers!  Let me explain:
 
Since I was working at the front desk, Sister Elaine joined me there so we could pray together.  This lovely, but sometimes distracted custom of praying together “at the desk” has come into existence for us after Sister Rebecca’s death.
 
Anyway, we were almost finished with our evening office when the aide on duty came to the desk.  I doubt that she knew what we were doing, and she starting explaining her plight.  I might have asked her about the object in her hand, not a usual tool used on p.m. rounds.  She had a knife in hand and was headed upstairs to try to unplug a toilet that wasn’t responding to plunging.  
 
I asked her why she didn’t look up diy solutions to this disgusting problem, to which she replied that she didn’t want to have: “how to get poop out of a plugged toilet” on her search history.  
 
Consequently, I did it for her, without hesitation.  We learned that a good dose of hot water on top of baking soda should do the trick.  I further suggested that if that didn’t work, a shot of vinegar to soak wouldn’t hurt.  
 
Once the situation was on its way to being rectified, I turned to Sister Elaine and asked, “Where were we?,” having forgotten where we had left off in our prayers.  
We were at the intercessions: “…show us your love.”  Somehow, it struck us both so funny that we were making this type of petition at this time of toilet troubles.
 
We couldn’t contain our giggles, or should I rather say bursts of laughter.  It felt so good to laugh.  (I guess, maybe you had to be there, but we both were in stitches.)
 
It had been a rather tense and stressful few weeks, and I, for one, was sorely in need of some comic relief.  
 
His love was, indeed, shown to us in the wonderful gift of humor and laughter.