As I sat in chapel yesterday morning, reading over the scripture readings for Mass, one phrase especially struck me: "...he chose us in him, before the foundation of the world..."

This passage from Ephesians (1:1-10) explains how God our Father chose us in Christ to be holy and without blemish.  This whole reading is worth pondering, but that would be a topic for another article.

I'd like to go back to the titular phrase of this post: "Before the foundation of the world."

Isn't that amazing to think about?  According to a quick Google search, our planet is about four and a half billion years old!  That's nine zeros (well, actually 8, with the five in place of one of them)!  Can you imagine how long that is? 

If you and I perhaps live to be 80, which seems to be about the average life expectency nowadays, our planet's foundations would have been laid 56,250,000 lifetime's ago! 

Holy macro!

God has had us in mind for a long time!  He's had a long time to figure things out.  Actually, that's not quite right, I think He's had a plan all along.  So when things aren't going well, when things look dark, I can find consolation in this.  I can remind myself of this; He has a loving plan for our good.

I am reminded of a scripture verse which articulates this message well.  It was etched in my memory by a youth group trip a number of yeaers back: "For I know well the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare, not for your woe, plans to give you a future full of hope."  We went around the group (probably on the bus), inserting the name of each person into the passage, ending with an enthusiastic "Jeremiah Twenty NINE Eleven!"

It is beautiful and touching to realize that God's loving plan for my life preceeded the very foundation of the world. 

Today, now, as we honor St. Margaret Mary (known for the revelations of the Sacred Heart), I gratefully recall the words of Psalm 33: "the plans of his heart [stand] from age to age."

If I were to articulate the sentiments on my heart this morning in one word, it would be “gratitude.” 
 
It has been a very busy week, and I’ve been so tired.  Two nights of not sleeping well didn’t help matters. 

Wednesday evening, we had been given a fruit-flavored powder product, along with a variety of other items, by some friends of ours.  It was supposed to be an energy booster and vitamin supplement.  We were looking over all of these donations at the supper table, and I decided to try one of them out.  I enjoyed it, not knowing that this product had as much caffeine as a cup of coffee (which I never drink). 
 
Anyway, this morning, I finally had a chance to sleep in, and it felt WONDERFUL!!  Just having a chance to “breathe,” catch up on rest, and have time to take care of things felt so good.  At Mass, gratitude for the blessings of the day filled my heart. 
 
After Mass, we were talking briefly about the details of our Sisters coming to the U.S.  I brought out Prairie Praise, the history of our community written by our Sister Patricia.  It was fitting, today, that I noticed her poem on the back page: Psalm of Thanksgiving.
 
After this discussion, I still had a little time before I was due at the reception desk, time enough to catch up on another small item that has been on my “to do list” for some time already. 
 
I had been looking through the Lazy Susan over at the convent a few weeks ago, and noticed a box of vanilla pudding.  It was opened, but we don’t remember what it had been used for (unless it was 'imitation eggnog' at Christmastime).  I noticed the “best used by” date was October of 2020, so I figured I’d might as well mix it up sometime so we could use it before it got too old.
 
Today, when I finally got around to doing so, I faced a little problem.  Since the package was opened, I didn’t know how much mix was still left (and thus, how much milk to add).  I guessed there was about 2/3 of a pack left, and went from there. 
 
Previously, we had received some packages of “dry milk mixture” from the food bank.  Lucky me; I inherited it.  It is quite different, and very sweet.  I thought this pudding situation was the perfect opportunity to use some of it up!  I found a plastic container and mixed about two cups of water and milk powder mix with the pudding and cocoa powder, stirring it vigorously for a couple of minutes.  I stuck it in the fridge, hoping to enjoy some with the other Sisters in a couple of hours at lunchtime.
 
At lunch, however, when I pulled it out, it was not set, but instead resembled a dietary supplement drink like Boost.  We decided to stick it in the freezer until later in the meal in hope that it would be more like a milkshake.  Actually, not much happened in that short of time, but Sr. Elaine and I both drank some anyway.  It was okay...I guess.  Sr. Rebecca, who does not care for milkshakes, declined my offer of a glass of it.
 
We had some laughs over the whole ordeal, but decided that this concoction would not be something I would try again. 
 
I asked Sr. Elaine (referring to an express she sometimes uses), “I bet you won’t say ‘play it again, Sam’ about this one, will you?”

In keeping with this morning's sentiments of gratitude, I am thankful that it was only a little over two cups, rather than two quarts, that we have to use up!

What a day!  My feet are telling me, "You've worked us too hard!"  (I guess that's what I get for wearing not-so-comfy shoes for yardwork.)

Yesterday, I decided to pull everything from "Mary's Garden."  I'll admit, it wasn't a bountiful harvest.  The soil was quite compact, despite all the TLC we'd given it.  I won't go off on that tangent, or we'll have another story all together. 

Despite my frustration and disappointment, I was determined to make next year a better season for our growing things.  Someone had donated a tiller this past summer, and I had charged up the battery for the big job it had ahead.  I also have a compost bin ready to spread over the garden before covering it with fall leaves for the winter.

I had never used a tiller before, and I had a clumsy start.  I needed repeated coaching sessions from our dear maintenance assistant on loading the battery and getting the thing to go.  (For one thing, I didn't realize I had to press the safety lock at the same time as I pinched the handle.)  Maybe I should get a “Rookie of the Year” award.

I finally got the thing to start, and was (halfway) successfully tilling the garden bed.  The tiller was a bit jerky, and less than obedient to where I wanted it to go.   The name for this new piece of equipment came to me readily as I worked: henceforth, it would be called "Bucky."

Well, my friend Bucky got a little feisty on me.  I was trying to be careful not to get too close to fencing or other obstacles, but the hungry little bugger set his teeth into some chicken-wire before I knew what was happening! 

Once again, humiliated, I had to call upon my patient co-worker to get it out from the tiller's tines.  In the meantime (he was busy with another project), I went on with my day and got a few other tasks finished in the office. 

By late afternoon, I was back out in the garden again, this time even more careful to keep Bucky away from hazardous materials.  After going over the garden a few times with my "friend," I decided to work at the soil myself with a hoe. 

In the process, I found some more root vegetables, small in size due to unfavorable growing conditions.  Bringing them inside and washing them in a pail, I put them together with those I had found yesterday.  I prepped them for roasting in the oven and also cut open one or two small acorn squash.  I stuck them all in the oven, hoping they'd be tender by suppertime. 

I realized that I still had some unfinished business outside.  Bucky wasn't put inside yet for the night, and the tomato cages were still leaning up against the building.  I put things away and came back inside in time for supper. 

Now, Bucky is sitting the garage near my bike, waiting expectantly for his next rodeo.  It might be a long winter for him, but at least he got a good workout today!

This beautiful time of year is rich in so many memories, so many wonderful times with family and friends, along with the beautiful colors of the leaves that are now starting to fall from the trees.  

It’s also the time for high school “Homecoming.”  However, this year, I’m sure events are being curtailed or modified due to the Coronavirus.  

Nonetheless, this week, I had my own sort of homecoming.  I was invited to come down to our provincial house in Hankinson to help with our community’s newsletter.  It’s been a while since an issue came out.  

I had never worked on layout for this particular newsletter before (although I had written a few articles for it over the years), so it was a new experience.  It was a fun challenge to undertake, though.

I arrived at the convent about 1 p.m. Tuesday, and, after bringing my bags upstairs, met right away with the Sister whom I was to help with this project.  

After an afternoon of work, it was time to join the other Sisters in the chapel for the rosary and vespers.
 
As I walked into the large chapel and found the pew that I have been using during recent visits, a sense of homecoming came over me. 
 
This was the place where I had begun my formation for religious life, and where I had made my vows.  It was the place that I had first visited as a 24 year-old, not too long out of college. 
 
While it was not the house I grew up in, as a “Hankinson Franciscan,” it is a sort of spiritual home.  
 
I am grateful to God for bringing me here, for guiding my along my life’s path, and calling me to this amazing (if, at times, challenging) vocation. 
 
I pray and trust that He will continue to be with me on this journey; I hope, too, that one day I may have a final homecoming in heaven. 

Oh; what a week I’ve had!  It’s been Crazy, with a capital C! 
 
A situation came up for me last Thursday (without going into detail) where I felt I was being treated both unjustly and without good common sense.  It has continued all week, unfortunately. 
 
While I’ve been struggling with feelings of anger, and trying to sort through things, Sunday’s readings have definitely given me a strong nudge away from harboring a grudge. (I’ll have to keep working at this!)  The first reading from Sirach exhorted: “Forgive your neighbor’s injustice; then when you pray, your own sins will be forgiven.”  Then the gospel of the unforgiving servant drove the message home. 
 
Monday’s feast of the Exultation of the Holy Cross shed even more light on this lesson of forgiveness: If Jesus, hanging on the cross, cried out: “Father, forgive them; they know not what they do,” how can I harbor a grudge against others, whose offense dims in the light of all that Christ suffered for us! 
 
Yet, at the same time, I know He understands my pain, my situation.  He is with me when I feel angry.  Also, he’s carried it all already.
 
At Monday’s Mass, after communion, I sang the beautiful chant “Adoramus Te, Christe,” having committed it to memory during Holy week a couple of years ago.  The words that really touched my heart now where: “redemesti mundum,” “[because by your Holy Cross] You have redeemed the world.”
 
At Mass, I am able to offer this suffering, this feeling of injustice, this frustration, united to the cross of Christ.  It is wondrous to realize that “he’s got this!” This crazy situation in the world, and in my life, is already incorporated into His paschal mystery. 
 
No matter how dark things may look, we can remember that he has redeemed the world.
 
Adoramus Te, Christe!

Our Lady of Sorrows, Help of Christians and Cause of our Joy, please pray for us!

Although he's not a patron of mine, or a saint of our Franciscan order, today's memorial of St. Peter Claver has resonated with me during my adult life. 
 
On this feast, which I also remember as the birthday of the sister of my best friend from childhood, my mind tends to go back to a visit I made with the St. Peter Claver Sisters, who had a house a little ways away from my home.  When I was first exploring religious life in my early twenties, I spent a day or two with them for a brief experience of life as a Sister.  I even volunteered a little for them afterward, helping with a writing project for their Echo magazine.  I pray for both these Sisters and the sister of my friend on this memorial.
 
In his homily today, Father mentioned the aid, physical and spiritual, that St. Peter gave to the African slaves as they arrived in Colombia.  I was reminded of the movie Roots, which I saw as a child or early teen.  It definitely made an impression on me; I can still remember seeing footage of captives in the terrible conditions of the slave ship, practically piled on top of each other.  It was only years later that I learned about the Saint who met these poor people and shared Christ’s love with them. 
 
St. Peter Claver’s example of charity is a reminder to me of the call to love those who the world might see as “the least of my brothers.”  This gospel call aligns with our mission to the elderly and disabled here at St. Anne’s.  Today, if I let it, can serve as an examination of conscience and an impetus to do better in my own life. 
 
An amazing fact about St. Peter Claver, also mentioned in today’s homily, is that he baptized about 300,000 people during his 40 years of service to the African captives.  According to my calculations, this means that about twenty people a day were brought into God’s family through his ministry!
 
St. Peter Claver, please pray for us!

​​When I was down at our Provincial house earlier in the month, I helped a fair amount in the convent library, working with A/V materials.  A CD caught my eye.  Entitled “Myths & Misconceptions Concerning Vocations,” it was by a Norbertine priest, whose lectures for the Institute on Religious Life we had used during my postulancy.
 
The curriculum during that time had been very influential to me, teaching me more of the beauty of the consecrated life and thus increasing my desire for it.  I thought it would be enriching for me to listen to material of this nature again now, and I was right.
 
The CD, which I finally got around to listening to late yesterday afternoon, detailed several different myths/misconceptions about priestly and religious vocations which prove to be a hindrance, both in young people in following this call and for those around them, in encouraging and supporting a religious vocation.
 
The first myth was that a person has to be perfect, that religious life presumes exceptional holiness.  Father explained how this is not the case, and that religious, while definitely called to holiness, are still on the way.  Convents and monasteries are full of sinners striving to be saints one day, rather than full of people who are already “perfect.”
 
The second myth is that celibacy equals loneliness and unhappiness.  Father shared statistics on the number of priests/religious who leave after making vows as compared to the number of marriages that “don’t work out.”  Celibate commitments, according to his statistics (dated, by now), had a 1 in 10 “dropout rate” as opposed to the 50% divorce rate.  The unhappy priests or religious, he stated, get the press, but they are not the majority!
 
Another myth shared in the talk was that religious life limits one’s freedom.  In actuality, it makes us more free.  Father stressed the fact that often people rush into a marriage, caught up in their emotions, and don’t go through adequate time, preparation, or testing (including experiential learning) to make a totally free and rational commitment.  On the other hand, religious formation gives one a lengthy and experiential knowledge of the vocation, with ample opportunities to step away.  He mentioned that there is no stigma in leaving before profession; in fact, religious formation or seminary experience has prepared many young people to embrace married life. 
 
At this point, the presenter went into greater reflection on the role of parents, who sometimes are afraid of limiting freedom.  The above-mentioned lengthy process enables great freedom and time for discernment.  The decision is not made overnight, but rationally and with maturity.  We should never be reluctant to encourage young people to explore the possibility of a religious vocation.
 
The final misconception he shared was that a religious vocation is “rare.”  Father stressed that God is generous.  Although we do not know exactly how many young people are called to this life, saints have estimated that it is quite a high percentage.  Man’s generosity is what is rare, rather than God’s great gift of a vocation.  Father brought out the Old Testament precept that the firstborn should be consecrated to the Lord, and shared his reflection that the precept could be extended to families today, though the term “firstborn” need not be a chronological term. 
 
The speaker also stressed the point that Christ advised the living of the evangelical counsels and that it would make sense to follow this form of life, unless one had good reason not to do so.  He shared that in times past, in early centuries of the Church and in a more Christian age, people would presume one had a religious vocation because this was the better way suggested by Christ. Now, in our more secular time and culture, the opposite is true. 
 
This is not to say that everyone should become a priest or religious but that we should not be afraid to encourage young people to explore this gospel way suggested by Our Lord.
 
Father made another point that the Church needs religious and priestly vocations and is dependent upon them. 
 
That a religious vocation is rare, exceptional, and extraordinary, is a lie.  It is meant for normal Christians who are striving to keep the Commandments.
 
He encouraged us to get the truth out and dispel the darkness by what we say and how we live.

It’s been another busy week around here, and we’re not even through hump day yet!  Now, during this pandemic, things seem to be more crazy and unpredictable than normal. 
 
A year ago, I’d have never believed that I would be monitoring temperatures of people here and, at other times, attend to the temperature of hot liquids on the activity room stove (namely jams and jellies)!
 
I must say, I’ve come to realize how much there is, in the world, to know, and how much I still don’t know; in learning a lot over the past months, I’ve also been reminded that there’s a lot I have yet to learn. 
 
With each new kind of fruit that’s come in (and that I’ve processed), I’ve probably learned a new lesson.  Too bad I didn’t know it all before I started my first batch several years ago! 
 
One thing that is the same just about every time is the feeling of satisfaction I have when I lift the last jar out of its water-bath, or when I wipe the last kettle dry and clean out the sink!
 
This time, my happiness was doubled; I had finished all the fruits I had saved in the freezers for jam and jelly.  I was finally DONE making jam and jelly! (for now)
 
I told my co-worker, “If any calls come in, offering us fruit or produce, you can just tell them, ‘Thank you, but we have quite enough.  Thank you for thinking of us, though.’ ”  [half teasing/half serious]
 
Having made about a dozen batches over the past week or two, and many others earlier this year, I’ve come to the conclusion that: “I think that’s enough for a while.” 
 
We’ll see how long that lasts!

I recently spent a little over a week down at our provincial house in Hankinson, ND.  It was so good to get away!
 
Since returning to Grand Forks early Sunday afternoon, though, my life has been quite a hodgepodge of events and undertakings.

Monday morning, we got a pickup-full of corn in, donated by a local family in keeping with their annual tradition.  After Mass, we started husking and cleaning.  After lunch and the “freedom ceremony” for Sister Elaine’s newly-emerged Monarch, Charlie, we continued. We (residents and I) had to quit around 3 p.m. since I was due at the front desk soon.  The rest of the corn, we put out for our staff and apartment residents to take.
 
When all we had done was counted, we had 71 bags of corn to freeze, equaling about 850 ears to be enjoyed in the coming months.  I was quite spent by the end of the ordeal. 
 
Normally, I have a spring in my step and walk at decent speed, but, as I neared the convent to take care of something before my shift at the desk, there was no “spring” to be found. 
 
The next day, being Tuesday, was to include leading Bible Study or hymn-sing.  I hadn’t known if we would do more corn that morning so I hadn’t prepared anything.  I just grabbed my music binder and sat down at the piano, gathering residents to enjoy some hymns together.
 
In the afternoon, my thoughts turned toward making jam.  We’re planning a little outdoor sale a week from Saturday, and I need to get some of the frozen plum puree and chokecherries made up into jam.  I have to squeeze it in when I have windows of time free. 
 
I realized, though, that I was running short on lids.  I was waiting to hear back from our staff who had gone out shopping that morning to see if they were able to find more.  When I learned that they had not found any, I spent quite some time calling around to local stores and even looking online.  In frustration, I realized that I could have had a batch of jam made in the time it took to do this investigation!  As I type this, I am waiting on a few people who either have lids or are going to check.
 
We have care conferences this afternoon, but I hope to do some batches of plum jam after that. 
 
Oops; I think I got ahead of myself – back to yesterday’s hodgepodge…
 
After sorting out my jars and collecting my ingredients, realizing there was nothing more I could do, I went out to tend to my garden. 
 
I’ve been a little concerned about my squash since they hadn’t yet flowered.  The afternoon’s outing to “Mary’s Garden,” however, brought some uplifting discoveries!  One or two of my tomato plants that I’d started from seed now were bearing, and the squash had now had some flowers! 
 
Late last evening, at the desk, I printed the recipe for plum jam, and was doing various other work, when an urgent call came in and someone needed help.  What a day!! 
 
Today, while working here, I’ve continued various tasks and research on how to use the steam-canner we received recently. 
And, the hodgepodge of events continues…
 
I stepped into the little break room behind the office to get coffee grounds out, and naughty the pot spit at me.  Thankfully, we just brought Aloe Vera plants back from Hanksinson, and I could use a piece to treat the burn, which is starting to smart.
 

This morning at Mass, I happened to look up after Communion to see Father purifying the sacred vessels, the chalice and ciborium, just used to hold the precious Body and Blood of the Lord.  (As I type this, I am awed by the mere thought!) 

(I am probably a bit more mindful of these things since I have the job of setting up for Mass and taking care of neccessities surrounding this.)

I pondered the history behind why these vessels are always made of highly valued metals.  It does make sense, though, in light of their amazing purpose.  They are made to hold the One whom even the highest heavens cannot contain (1 Kings 8:27). 

As I reflected, I though, too, of the song "Earthen Vessels," which draws from a passage from 2 Corinthians; it says that "we hold this treasure in earthen vessels."  Having just received Communion, we were holding Jesus within our bodies, physically.  Despite our fragility and our sinfulness, we are given this privilege!  

Through the reception of the Blessed Sacrament, and through God's presence with us throughout our day, we truly do hold a Treasure!  We can be deeply grateful for that in the midst of these trying times.

In doing a little research for this post, I realized that the titular phrase refers to air rather than water, being from the air force hymn.
 
Oh well, for some reason, this patriotic song popped into mind while I was swimming this afternoon.  (I suppose a musical program from the recent Fourth of July holiday probably had something to do with it.)
 
I now have a standing invitation to use the private pool of some friends of ours, and today was the second time I’ve taken advantage of it.  An hour of fun in the water was “just what the doctor ordered” for me! 

I didn’t know if my tentative plans would work out, due to time limitations and impending rain, but I am grateful for God’s providence in allowing me this much needed opportunity!
 
I’m glad my college swimming instructor wasn’t there watching me, because I really didn’t follow all the rules for proper strokes.  I didn’t care, though: I got some good exercise, had fun, and was able to work out some tense muscles.
 
I enjoyed swimming under water, floating on a foam “noodle,” and even jumping off the diving board (until my ears popped, that is).
 
The world under water certainly looks a lot different than that which we’re accustomed to seeing above. 
 
It does the soul (and body) good, however, to get away from the stress of everyday life once and a while; going off into the “wild blue yonder” with an afternoon swim can be a great way of doing this. 
 
Together with the water creatures who, in Daniel 6 are urged to “bless the Lord,” I was moved to give thanks to Him whose “mercy endures forever.”

Is it just me, or have the last three and a half months been especially challenging, stretching us in unprecedented ways?
 
This has definitely been my experience, in more ways than one.  Working in a long-term care setting at this time can certainly be described as “stressful.” 
 
Between being on high alert, sanitizing surfaces and taking temperatures, etc. to dealing with tensions that arise from people being frazzled and exhausted, to facing uncertainty and seemingly constant changes, these times certainly take their toll on a person.
 
I am reminding myself, as I write this post, to be careful not to let this stress get the better of me!  (I’ll admit that it has, on occasion, in the past.) I need to try not to be short or unkind with others as a result of the pressure. I am so grateful for the fresh start given in the Sacrament of Reconciliation!
 
I’m glad, too, that all of this struggle does not go to waste. 
 
Years ago, I learned to offer all this “stuff” of my daily life, the “prayers, works, joys, and suffering,” as well as any concerns, placing it on the altar (in my mind’s eye) at the time of the offertory at Mass.
 
Not only can I bring these challenges to Jesus during private prayer in front of the tabernacle (or throughout the day), I can also lay them all before Him, on the altar, when “assisting” at Mass.

This afternoon, one of my co-workers asked if we had an old wire coat hanger around.  She’d locked herself out of her car, and wanted to pick the lock.  (I must confess, I don’t know how that’s done.)
 
I lit up…I knew just the thing!  I’ve kept an elongated hanger near the door in the sacristy to use on disorderly candle wicks, to push them back to the center (when we had Adoration here before COVID-19). 
 
I hurried into chapel to find this item, excited to have what she needed readily available, despite the fact that it was an unusual request.
 
I went to the corner, where I conveniently kept the hanger, but it wasn’t there!
 
In the back of my mind, I remembered working in there recently and seeing the hanger.  I had debated whether or not I should leave it there, since we didn’t presently need it.  I couldn’t remember, however, what I ended up deciding and doing. 
 
To further complicate matters, the night staff had cleaned in Chapel last night, and someone could have moved or discarded the unusual piece of wire.
 
I’ve told myself before, “Don’t change things up; you might not find it again in a new spot that you’re not used to.”  (I have been in this frustrating situation at least once before.)
 
Now, I’m waiting to hear back from one of the night aides.  In the meantime, my co-worker will have to catch a ride home with someone.   
 
I do hope my treasure shows up again though, because it is handy for multiple purposes. 
 
I guess I have another mission for our good friend Saint Anthony!

This morning, as we finished the first Mass at St. Anne’s since March 18th, the closing response seemed especially appropriate!
 
Due to the ban on visitation in light of COVID-19, St. Patrick’s Day was the last time we were actually able to have Mass celebrated here. 
 
Yesterday afternoon, we learned that a priest who recently moved in here was interested in offering Mass here on the morrow at 9 a.m.; it would be open to us and our residents. 
 
I’d have to dust off my sacristan hat in a hurry! 
 
I had to make sure the wine and hosts were still good, and change the lectionary and missal from Lent to the twelfth week of Ordinary Time.  I had to find a Mass stipend, and attend to other details. 
 
I guess, I was still a bit rusty because, at 8:58 a.m., Father asked me if I was going to light the candles.  After struggling to light the new lighting taper, I finally got the candles lit.  (Fire Hazard Warning: You cannot blow out a match while wearing a mask.  Make sure to take off your mask before working with matches to avoid burns or uncontrolled flames.)
 
I got back to my seat and remembered that I needed my bell to ring at the epiclesis and consecration.  Back to the cupboards I went!)
 
Other than that, everything went very well.  We felt so blessed to have Mass here once again.  It was wonderful!
 
I really am blessed!  Despite living in a very challenging time, I have so gifted!  Along with the greatest blessing of life and the sacraments, God continues to bless me in so many ways; if only I would remember that more!
 
I’ll share a couple of timely examples:
 
This week, we received a donated Baldwin piano!  We’re having trouble with the electric piano we have, and I’ve been dreaming of a real piano for a while now.  Now, this dream has become a reality!  I’m looking forward to playing it for our residents Sunday afternoon.
 
Also, a friend of ours has offered me the use of her private swimming pool.  This evening, I’m finally going to be able to take advantage of it!  This is very exciting because I’m a little fish (I love the water), but rarely get to swim anymore.
 
As if that weren’t enough for a list of blessings, we are getting company this evening for tomorrow’s board meeting.  I am very much looking forward to a visit from three of our Sisters. 
 
With all of this in mind, especially the blessing of having Mass in our own chapel again, it was with great fervor that I responded to Father’s closing statement: “Thanks be to God!”

This afternoon, when I got off work at the front desk, I had one destination in mind - Poppler's Music!

We are promised a new (to us) Baldwin piano, and I’m itching to get it in and try it out!
 
In the meantime, I got permission to order a book of large print hits from the ‘60s, which promises to bring much enjoyment to us at St. Anne's on quiet Sunday afternoons.
 
When working the desk this morning, I got the anticipated phone call that the book was in and ready for pick up.
 
I hadn’t taken “Neumann Wheels” (as Sr. Elaine’s dubbed my bike) out for quite some time, so it was kind of fun wheeling it out of the convent garage for the two-mile trek down Washington Street. 
 
It was also enjoyable seeing some of the sights of the city.  Living and working within one square block, I don’t get a chance for this too often.
 
I got back to St. Anne’s with the book in my basket, and tried out the new book right away.

Along with "The Lion Sleeps Tonight," I enjoyed playing "Downtown," an appropriate song for the afternoon! 

I've been meaning to write this for a while, now.  (It's been a couple of weeks since I've posted here last.) 

Hovewever, since returning from Retreat at our provincial house in Hankinson, I haven't had much spare time.

I wanted share with you from my experience of "collecting precious metals," as I dubbed an experience I had with Sister Mary Ruth down there over the weekend (after retreat was over).

She had just offered a day of reflection, and had placed metal rods out on the grounds to form a large outdoor rosary.  After the day was over, she needed to collect them again.  Thus, I ended up helping her a little with the project.

She had me drive a little golf card named "Donkey."  I don't ever remember driving one before, and it's been over fifteen years since I tried driving a car.  (I had gotten my permit but never actually got a liscense due to my vision.) 

I was a bit rusty manuvering a steering wheel.

Riding "Donkey" took a little getting used to, but it was kind of a fun adventure, driving around the grounds as Sister Mary Ruth gathered the spikes, her "precious metals."

After that, we drove around the areas that were littered with downed twigs and branches from strong winds the night before.  "Donkey" proved to be the perfect aide in easily gathering these and bringing them back to be discarded.

When we were finished, I was grateful that my companion did the honors of "putting donkey to bed" (placing "him" back in its nook in the shed) as I don't think that would have gone well for me.  (As it was, I managed to incur minor property damage by taking out a wire from the close-line...that's another story all together!"

This afternoon, while working the front desk, Sister Elaine mentioned to me: “No mail tomorrow.”
 
“That’s right,” it dawned on me…“Tomorrow’s Memorial Day, a national holiday, so there will be no mail.”
 
I practically jumped for joy; I guess my feet did actually leave the floor. I was so happy!
 
I really don’t mind sorting mail too much, but during the last two months, the daily routine of mail delivery has become an added stress point in the day. 

Whenever anyone comes to the door (even just the outside set), we’ve developed the practice of wiping surfaces with a disinfectant wipe.  We’re not allowed visitors, but still have mail carriers and pharmacy personnel coming by.  Here and there, someone will come to drop something else off.
 
Working at the front desk, some stretches of time are quiet.  However, all of a sudden, it seems like everything happens at once.  It can be overwhelming!
 
Consequently, the thought of another day without the added commotion of dealing with the mail made me exultant.  (I mean no offence to our wonderful mailman.)
 
Amidst this challenging, stressful time, I’ve found other moments of joy as well, gifts sprinkled into my life from above:
 
We had a nice visit today from our “Rugby Sisters” on their way back to our provincial house for the summer.  They’d just finished the school year, which had proved to be a very interesting one. 
 
Later this afternoon, I went out to water a bit in the garden, and noticed that my onions are actually growing.  (I was afraid they might not make it.)
 
Another joy which I am anticipating is that, when I go to our provincial house for our annual retreat in a week’s time, I will be able to go for six whole days without wearing a mask or taking my temperature. 
 
To use St. Francis’ expression (albeit out of context), that will be PERFECT JOY!

I guess I’ve been praying for some unusual, even unprecedented things lately: that we can have Mass here once again, that we can open our doors to visitors, and that we can be done with taking temperatures and wearing masks (all safely and preferably sooner than later).  I guess it should come as no surprise, then, that yesterday afternoon I caught myself raising another unusual prayer request heavenward. 
 
After getting off duty at the front desk, tying up some loose ends, doing a read-a-aloud, and getting my supplies ready, I spent the rest of the afternoon out “digging in the dirt.”  I was grateful for the help of several of our residents in this big project.  By suppertime at 5:30 p.m., we had three rows of onions in, with carrots planted in between each onion seedling.
 
I was amazed by the small size of the carrot seeds!  How can so much information be stored in such a tiny thing as a carrot seed?  It is truly amazing!
 
I had been tending the onions indoors for the past few weeks, and they were really doing well.  As we worked so hard to get them in the ground (which, unfortunately, was kind of hard despite my tilling efforts), I found myself praying: “Please bless my onions.”  After all this work, it would sure be a shame if they drooped over and died! 
 
I know there are certainly more important petitions in the world today, but I can’t stop myself from praying for these small, vulnerable, delicate little plants! 
 
I know that One who will see us through the Corona Virus pandemic can also take care of my little garden.  (I trust that He will.)

This evening, as we were praying vespers, one of the antiphons struck a chord with me, reminding me of a song I learned during my college years: “To the King of ages, immortal and invisible, be all honor and glory, alleluia.” 

This song (paraphrased from 1 Timothy 1), has always been powerful in lifting my heart up in praise.  Since praying the antiphon this evening, now, that song has been coming back into my mind - it’s kind of catchy.  (Sometimes, not being able to get a song out of your head can be a good thing, too.)

I was also struck this evening at how many times the prayers referred to God’s kingship. 
During this time of seemingly unprecedented realities, this “age” of physical distancing, wearing masks, staying home, and rising numbers of ‘confirmed cases,’ it is good to remember that Jesus is truly the king of ALL ages.  He is with us as he promised “even until the end of time.” Also, to quote another song we can remember that “He’s got the whole world in His hands.” 

This is good news which can inspire our hearts to break into praise even (or especially) during the “age” of COVID-19.
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“To the King of ages, immortal and invisible, be all honor and glory, alleluia.”  

Our dietary department is starting to have problems getting some food items normally on the menu here at St. Anne's, particularly certain meats and vegetables.

Somehow, in the course of discussing matters, our administrator shocked me by offering us a part of the yard as a vegetable garden.  I didn't see that one coming!

Several years ago, I had suggested the idea of having a small garden for our residents, allowing them the opportunity to "dig around in the dirt" and enjoy watching things grow.  Permission want granted, a bit reluctantly perhaps (She didn't know if we could count on our residents to follow through with helping.)   We were given an old-fashioned bathtub to use.

Perhaps a couple of years later, I came home from being away to see two beautiful raised garden beds out on the east patio - an early birthday present made by a neighbor friend of the Sisters at the lake house. 

Last year, when someone donated strawberry plants, more raised beds were found on sale and given to us to allow more garden space.

Now, we are expanding again; the space we're getting certainly won't feed everyone here for weeks or months on end, but hopefully it will help a little. (It’s about 8’8” x 12’6”.)

This past weekend, I didn't get much embroidery done; I was busy mapping out my plans for the various small raised gardens and the newly promised garden patch in our back yard.

Monday morning, our maintenance men had to run out to Menard's to pick up various supplies, so I rode along to visit their garden center.  Picking out seeds was more challenging this year with my vision partially blocked by a face mask (not my favorite piece of apparel).  Thankfully, I had carefully figured out which vegetables (and how many) we would be planting.  It was, however, still a tricky task.

I got back home and that afternoon and the next day, I got the seeds planted which I wanted to give a head start (tomatoes, broccoli, herbs, and onions).  We don't plant outdoors before mid to late May.

Over a few days’ time, I had collected and rinsed about 80 half-pint milk cartons from our residents' dining room (actually, staff were very helpful and saved most of these for me.)  The cartons are lined up on plastic trays.  If there is danger of frost, I will bring them indoors.

The cartons are filled with dirt, complete with little incisions for water drainage, and little seeds are now preparing to peek their heads out. 

I'll be watching to see when they emerge (in a week or two). 
 
This experience of preparing to garden has been good for me, especially at this time of pandemic and crisis, when the world is so different and when so much stress and uncertainty faces our world. 
 
It is beautiful to be able to take part in the wonder of God’s gift of the natural world; it’s exciting to prepare and wait for new life to start!

This morning, I had a little extra time in my schedule and decided to go out for a good walk.  This past Saturday, I had been out for about an hour, and the experience had thoroughly refreshed and encouraged me.  I know that exercise is important, even during a pandemic!

On this morning's walk, I had multi-tasked (as I often do) getting my rosary in as I trekked the familiar route. 

When I arrived back on the St. Anne's campus, a resident who also was outside at the time greeted me, while also providing feedback on my attire: "Those boots kill the dress."  She was just being friendly and throwing in a little humor...I didn't mind her lack of appreciation for the fashion statement I had unwittingly made. 

I can't help if my wonderful boots that my mom gave me last fall don't match with the jumper I was wearing, in this lady's mind.  With water on the streets and sidewalks, there was no prudent alternative. 

Besides, "these boots were made for walkin'!"

This morning, during the Mass live-streamed from the local parish church, my ears delighted on hearing the notes of the "Easter Alleluia," as Sister Elaine calls it.  (This particular musical setting was used at the Easter vigil when she was young.)

Other than at last weekend's Masses, this was the first time I had heard the alleluia sung for several weeks.  (We don't get much of that during Lent, you know.)

It was so beautiful to here this joyful song of praise amidst the turbulent times we are facing. 

Here we were, watching the Mass on a large screen (in a gathering of less than ten people), still singing this age-old canticle of praise.  Long ago, the psalmist sang this ejaculation, lifting up heart and voice in thanksgiving. 

This morning's alleluia was a fitting reminder to me, during a twenty-first century pandemic, that it is truly "right and just" at all times to give thanks and praise!

What a Holy Week!

Over the past nine years, I have become accustomed to a very busy, pressured Holy Week as I work to set up and organize for liturgies in our chapel at St. Anne’s.  Our first year of doing this (after Sr. Annella left for health reasons) was especially daunting, as we strove to figure out what we were doing. 

After that, we put together a “Holy Week Instruction Sheet,” complete with items needed (and their storage location), liturgical ministry roles, etc. which we referred back to each year.  This made life easier, but this beautiful time of the Church year has continued to be very involved.  People outside have no idea what all is entailed in setting up for these liturgies!

This year, however, is proving to be very different.  Now, instead of preparing candles, helping appoint people for various roles, marking the missal, etc., my job has become that of setting up equipment (computer, projector, and screen) and dealing with internet connection problems for live-streaming the Mass from St. Michael’s.  By the time this pandemic is all over, we should have all the glitches ironed out, right?

Amid so many things being different this year, I decided to maintain one tradition: making hot cross buns to serve to our residents Holy Thursday afternoon.  As I type this, the crossed buns (fruits of yesterday’s labors) are set out on trays, covered with parchment paper, awaiting their demise at afternoon snack-time.  (Hopefully, there will be a few left over for us to enjoy at supper tonight.)

Even the bun-making took a twist this year, though!

I had decided to try using frozen sweet dough this year, but found out upon reading the package that each loaf in the pack of three only served nine – I had thought it would be twelve.  This left me short of the amount of buns I hoped to make.  Sr. Elaine, however, offered that there were some frozen cinnamon rolls (un-raised, un-baked) in the freezer that I could use if that would help.  I decided to give it a try, and asked her to pull them out and keep them in the fridge for me overnight as I was working at the front desk late. 
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In the morning, I pulled out the frozen bread dough to thaw as well.  After working my shift at the front desk and having lunch, I started on my buns.  I decided to begin with the rolls, since they were more thawed.  I didn’t want them to raise too much before I accomplished my transformative efforts.  Since they were still very cold, they were hard to work with.  However, I managed to unwrap three of them, removing much of the filling and then kneading them into buns.  I left the other dozen in the pack of fifteen in the fridge.  I would see how many buns I got out of the frozen dough.

I made up the first dough loaf into buns, and set the cookie sheet to rise.  After care conferences, I continued with the rest of the dough, ending up with a total of 30 buns.  Satisfied with this quantity, I decided to leave the rest of the rolls intact, and ended up making a pan of caramel rolls with them.  (The other Sisters can enjoy some of them for Easter Sunday.) 

Waiting for buns and rolls to rise can be an exercise in patience! 

After baking the buns and letting them cool, I made a cross with frosting on each one. 
By the end of the day, when I finally came home and settled in for our “community study night,” my feet were telling me it was time for a rest!

Last night, as we were finishing vespers (Evening Prayer) in our chapel, the burning sanctuary lamp caught my eye.  Although it was as simple thing (a candle in a red globe mounted on a wall), it was rich in meaning.  The little flame spoke volumes, reminding me of the wondrous fact that Jesus remains with us in our tabernacle.  Though the world seems to be spinning out of control, His sure and constant presence is there for us to fall back on. 
 
At a time when so many people have to be distanced from the sacraments due to this pandemic, I feel more than ever the blessing of working in a Catholic facility and living in a convent.  Both at home and at work, I am privileged to have Jesus physically close by, and I still get to receive Him each day.  (I’m spoiled, I know.)
 
At this difficult time, I need the strength given by our “daily Bread,” Jesus Himself.  I need His patience, His wisdom, and His love to penetrate the rest of my day. 
 
At this time when there are so many restrictions and nothing is normal, the steady flame of the candle in our chapel reassured me that Some-ONE is constant and dependable in the midst of it all.  I’m so grateful that we still have a candle!