Holding on to Hope: The Journey Beyond Darkness

I have been a fan of Sister Kathryn J. Hermes, FSP, ever since I read her books Surviving Depression: A Catholic Approach and Making Peace with Yourself. Her words in these books brought me comfort and a sense of community in my darkness, helping me to realize that depression can happen to anybody, but it doesn’t have to define who we are or lead to restrictions in our lives.

In Holding on to Hope I found the same sense of comfort and support that I have come to acquaint with Sr. Hermes. The book is set up with sections on images, scripture, reflection questions, contemplative exercises, resting and inner healing exercises (written by Sr. Helene Cote, PM, MTS.) Throughout each chapter, the reader is lead into a spiritual healing experience based on the life of Christ.

Some passages that I found to be especially helpful for me were those that dealt with the realization that God is always present, holding us as we heal, and supporting us in those moments when we fall back into darkness, such as:

“This is the way it is. We cannot escape the waves of consolation and desolation that wash through our souls…we need to be able to dip back into the darkness here and there with graciousness and without fear in order to learn to relax there, where God is also present.” (p. 74)

But perhaps, the most hopeful and helpful section of all was Appendix Two: A Process for Putting on Christ in Seven Stages. This section dealt with the letters of St. Paul that show his transformation as he “put on Christ.” We, too, are called to put on Christ and can accomplish this by following the example of this great saint. I plan to follow Sr. Hermes’ lead here by praying with her hopeful and serene words: “I want only Jesus, not my perfection or security or happiness. Knowing Jesus is more important to me than any of this. To share His sufferings is my greatest joy because I know He will let me share His resurrection.” (p. 142)

As a wife and mother who has fallen in and out of depression many times in the past few years, I found that Sr. Hermes book, Holding on to Hope, will be a great resource for me to use whenever life becomes difficult and despair seems so near. In those dark times, I will reach for this book and hold on to hope.

Many thanks to Sally Feller at Pauline Books and Media for this opportunity to review Holding on to Hope.

Order Holding on to Hope and support CatholicMom.com with your purchase

Copyright 2010 Anne Bender

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Later in the Liturgy, he assumes a posture of kneeling, as one by one, his brother priests lay their hands upon his head, calling down the Holy Spirit to dwell within his soul, and forever change him.  Each set of hands that presses upon him creates more room within him for the indwelling of the One who will assist him to rise to his new life in the Spirit.

As he is invested with a stole and chasuble, a visible sign that he is one who has “put on Christ”, it seems like a veil has shifted and his appearance takes on the look of one who will rise above the ordinary to that of an extra-ordinary leader, one who will care for others as a father, a mother, a sibling and a friend.  It is clear to see that his call is being fulfilled and his face shines with the brilliant light of Christ.

Finally, kneeling once again, the Archbishop consecrates his open hands with the Chrism that will soak through his skin and become a permanent part of him.  Leaving him with a kiss upon those holy hands, the Archbishop watches him rise to face the church full of witnesses, no longer simply a holy man, but now “a priest, forever”.

This day of Ordination is also a day of Ascension for him, when, like Christ being lifted to heaven in a cloud, he, too, is surrounded by a cloud of sweet and fragrant incense which rises in prayer. The new priest himself becomes a prayer that will rise to bring Christ to the world through his love, his faithfulness, his service and his prayers.

The overwhelming message of this day is “get up, begin, and rise”.  After many long years of preparation, it is time to magnify the presence of the Lord within himself and allow it to surge outwards to all of the faithful.  From this day on, each time he elevates the host and chalice, he himself will ascend to a loftier place, the place of heaven on earth as he acts in persona Christi.  And as the faithful look on, our very spirits rise to heaven with him as we flourish in prayers of adoration for our redeemer and prayers of admiration and thanksgiving for the man who brings the True Presence of our Lord into our hearts and souls at each Mass.

(Written in gratitude for the new priests ordained to the priesthood this Spring, especially for Fathers Matthew Widder, Chuck Wrobel, Erich Weiss and Anthony Primal Thomas who were ordained on May 23^rd at the Cathedral of St. John the Evangelist for the Archdiocese of Milwaukee.  Thank you for answering the call and rising to service in the Church!)

Copyright 2010 Anne Bender

Riding on the school bus during the long 45-minute ride to the forest, the screeching, shouting voices of schoolgirls rang out and pained my ears.   But someone else’s ears were hurting even more than my own.  I glanced at my sweet and sensitive 11-year-old son who was sitting with his friend in the seat behind me.  Tears were forming in his blues, entire body trembling from the pain of over stimulation from too much noise with too little meaning.

At long last, the bus slowed to a stop and we stepped into another world, a natural world of hush.  Here lay silent beauty waiting to engulf our tired, aching spirits and revive our thirsty souls.  My son stayed close to me, in the back of the group, where we could listen to the explanations of the trail guide, yet enjoy the music of the birds and try to pick out their individual calls without the noise of the other students interfering.

Have you ever noticed the smell of spring?  I think it’s the fresh, natural fragrance that brings the butterflies to life and makes them dance among the wildflowers that strain to grow through last autumn’s deadened patches of leaves on the ground.   Watching closely, we saw a toad hop toward the pond, perhaps startled out of his hiding place by the shaking of the ground from the many footsteps passing by.

We were in the midst of God’s arms, walking side by side, just my son and I, as if we were all alone in this beautiful world of nature.  How could we not feel loved by God, as if the wonder of this perfect day in this natural setting wasn’t meant as a gift for the two of us?  At the end of the long hike, we rested our weary bodies on a sunny meadow hillside and watched the puffy clouds pass by, beyond the waves of the birch leaves that danced and whispered in the wind.  And we could breathe our prayer of gratitude in deep, drawn out exhalations of praise.  I was reminded of Psalm 147:8 “He covers the sky with clouds, he supplies the earth with rain and makes the grass grow on the hills.”

And on the bus ride home, my son refused his friend’s request to share a seat, in favor of sitting with his mom.  What a joy to my heart, to know that my son, who would soon become a man, wanted to stay close to me and wasn’t at all embarrassed as I rested my arm across his shoulders.  We closed our drowsy eyelids and relaxed in the love of each other and the love of God, holding the silence of the day within us, completely oblivious to the chattering noises of the 5th grade students on the bus, until we arrived home once again.
“I will give you peace and quietness.”  1 Chronicles 16:11

Copyright Anne Bender 2010

Dear God,

I’m not asking for great riches or major transformation, just a little change every day, a little difference that will draw me closer to You.

I could stand on any old street corner begging for handouts, but that’s not the kind of change that will enrich my life.  Material riches won’t give me the kind of gain that will bring about lasting joy in my soul.  Instead, it is the spiritual riches that only You can give to me will endure and bring me peace.

I know that it is not within my power to make anyone else change.  My husband, my children, my coworkers and friends are all going to be whatever it is that you call them to be, even if it displeases me.  But if you would only give me a little change, modify my attitudes and the way I see others, I know that everything in my surroundings will change for me as if I had new eyes and a new heart.  Those things that irritate me in others will no longer be bothersome because the change you give to me will increase my tolerance in direct proportion to the increase of Your love in my heart.

So God, it is to you that I reach out my hand.  The change that I ask for won’t buy me a warm meal, but it will warm my heart and soul with Your gift of love.  This gift would be but a pittance for you to share, but to me, it is worth more than all the gold and silver in the world.  For with your love, I can do more than carry on and accept those around me who cause me difficulty or grief. When I am filled with Your love, I will be able to love others with all of my being.

Please hear my prayer, my plea for change, Lord.  Change me so that through this metamorphosis, the whole world will be brighter and more beautiful.  Amen.

Copyright 2010 Anne Bender

“Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to your brother; then come and offer your gift.”

Jesus,

I am broken. I have separated myself from one of your children, and without that relationship, I am less than I was before. I am looking to be whole again, to be fulfilled in your love with the unity of your child from whom I am now apart. So, I cry upon your shoulder, and I lean upon your strength, because you have known this brokenness. I know that you understand my suffering. I ask you to lay down your cross for me, so that I may use it as my bridge to forgiveness. The slivers that may enter the soles of my feet will be as nothing compared to the pain that has consumed my heart from the disgrace that I have brought to you and your precious child whom you love.

Lead me, Jesus, slowly, across your bridge to forgiveness where joy and love wait for me. I believe that forgiveness will come to me, but until I reach it, remind me to walk softly, to speak gently and to pray deeply.

The wild river of pain and fear rages below me, but your cross will keep me above it all. You will safely lead me across the brokenness.

This bridge seems to go on forever, it takes so long to cross. The wind is blowing against my face and the sun is beating upon my body causing my progression to slow down. I understand that I cannot rush this process, because if I do, the peace of forgiveness will not be true or permanent, rather, it will be shallow and meaningless. What I want is a deep and lasting reconciliation that can only occur by taking one slow step at a time.

But I grow impatient for forgiveness! I hunger for it and the hunger burns in the pit of my stomach! There is nothing to nourish me and satisfy my hunger on this bridge. I can feel my hunger turn to bitterness. I am very afraid of this bitter feeling, I’m afraid that I will grow accustomed to it and begin to embrace it. I’m afraid it will move from my stomach to my heart and prevent me from ever loving anyone fully. I want my heart to remain soft and supple and loving.

I trust you Jesus, to bring me safely across this bridge, to overcome the pain and burden of this brokenness so that when I reach the other side, the glorious joy I will feel will be worth all of the pain that I have carried in my heart. On the other side of this bridge, a reunion awaits me, and you will hold our hands in yours so that we will never be separated again. Amen.



Copyright 2010 Anne Bender

“Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you. And when he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, receive the Holy Spirit.” John 20:19-23

“There appeared to them tongues as of fire, which parted and came to rest on each one of them. And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit.” Acts 2:1-11

A few years ago I was undergoing a difficult time, struggling with a deeper conversion into my Catholic Faith. I was completely caught up in my thoughts and prayers and had a hard time focusing on my daily family life. I was deeply drawn to adoration and daily Mass and spending time in prayer at church. The priest who was giving me spiritual direction at the time wisely reminded me that my first and true vocation is that of wife and mother and that I could just as easily find God in my home as I could find him in the church. I told him that I so desperately wanted to hear the still, small voice of God and thought that it would only happen while I was in prayer at church. He lovingly teased me and said “Anne, I don’t think you will ever hear the still, small voice of God. For you, I think it will be the loud, booming voice of God!”

Pentecost Sunday arrived a few weeks after that conversation with my spiritual director. I was preparing a large Sunday breakfast for my family as usual. My son, Jack, was sitting at the kitchen table coloring pictures. He said, “Mom, I’m drawing a picture of a campfire.” “That’s nice,” I replied as I continued to stir the eggs. Then he said, “No, Mom, its not a campfire, it’s the flames of fire on the apostles heads!” Again, I distractedly murmured something about that being very nice, and went on with my breakfast preparations. Jack finished coloring, taped his picture to the kitchen cabinet, and our family went on with our breakfast and preparations to leave for Mass.

Jack’s picture stayed on the kitchen cabinet for several days and I really didn’t give it much thought. One evening, my husband took our five children over to the playground to have a baseball game, and I stayed at home to wash the windows. One of our kitchen windows was broken and wouldn’t stay open without a brace. I had forgotten about that in my still distracted state. I raised the window, and then turned to walk away, when the window came crashing down on my head, shattering into thousands of shards. As painful as that experience was, it was probably just what I needed to wake me from my dream state. As the window hit me, I was looking at Jack’s Pentecost picture. Suddenly, the words of my spiritual director came back to me “You will find God at home, following your vocation, and God’s voice will be loud and booming.”

Nothing could have been more loud and booming than a window shattering on my head! It was as if God woke me up out of my daze and said, “Look at that picture! Look what Jack drew! He drew a picture of Pentecost, your new spirit! Your life is in this home and in this family. Pay closer attention to your children, they understand more than you can ever know!”

That picture stayed on the kitchen cabinet until my spiritual director came over to bless it. Then I framed it and placed it in my prayer corner so that I would always remember that my Pentecost, my new spirit, is in my family and in my vocation as wife and mother. I will always find God in my home and I can hear his voice anytime, anywhere, soft and still or loud and booming.



Copyright 2010 Anne Bender

Jesus, my wonderful Jesus, your face is covered with sweat and blood. Let me gently remove the thorns that pierce your brow. I will gently wipe away all of the hurt and sorrow from your face along with the sweat and blood. I will wash your hair ever so tenderly and rinse it with my tears. I will pour you refreshing water to drink to quench your parched lips and throat.

My starving Jesus, let me cook a meal for you to satisfy your hunger. Sit at my table and I will serve you nutritious food to help you grow strong again. Your weak body will be revived. Your growling stomach will be satisfied.

My freezing Jesus, let me clothe you with soft, warm, comfortable clothes to take your chill away. Come; rest your tired head on my soft pillows. I will cover your tired body with warm blankets. I will play soft music to comfort you as you drift off to sleep.

When you awaken, Jesus, you will feel refreshed and renewed. Your smile will return with the knowledge that you are loved. Your hurt and pain will be diminished and you will begin to heal. You will begin to feel strong again. You will begin to feel happy again.

Jesus, my renewed, beautiful Jesus, I will always love you and care for you. I will always comfort you when you are in need. You can turn to me and I will be here, ready to hold you, to feed you and to give you rest and joy.

Amen.



Copyright 2010 Anne Bender

“My most gentle Jesus, how many times You have forgiven me; and how many times I have fallen again and begun again to offend You! By the merits of this second fall, give me the grace to persevere in Your love until death. Grant, that in all my temptations, I may always have recourse to You. I love You, Jesus, my Love, with all my heart; I am sorry that I have offended You. Never let me offend You again. Grant that I may love You always; and then do with me as You will.”

As Jesus made that tragic journey along the Via Dolorosa to his crucifixion, whatever energy he might have had at the beginning was surely depleted by the time he suffered his second fall under the weight of the wood that transversed his back. There he lay, face in the dirt, dripping sweat and blood, scraped knees embedded with gravel, shoulders aching, in fact, everything aching! Our sin did that to him. The weight of our many sins crushed Him to the ground. And the excruciating pain that he endured wasn’t simply physical, but it was also a mental, emotional and spiritual trauma. What he wouldn’t have done to just end it right there!  Yet the Seventh Station was only the halfway point to the end. He still had so far to go. Somehow, he had to pick himself back up and continue all the way to the end, to the brutal crucifixion.

Our lives can be like that as well. We come to mid-life and we’re halfway done with our time on earth. We’ve experienced so much of the joys and sorrows of life. There are times when those sorrows weigh us down so heavily that we become tempted to give up right then and there. Prayer becomes dry. Chores become meaningless. Joy seems non-existent. We wake in the morning and long to pull those covers back over our heads and stay right where we are. But God is not done with us yet. Somehow, we have to pick ourselves up, swing our feet out of bed and onto the floor and rise to face another day. Somehow, we have to continue with our prayers, our chores and our lives. We have to move past the Seventh Station.

We can’t possibly know how long it will take us to reach the end of our journey. We don’t know what pains may still be waiting for us as we carry our own crosses through life. All we can do is continue on in faith and trust, day after day, holding on to our hope in Christ Jesus and his great love for us.

How fortunate we are that we can look to Jesus and his experience of the Seventh Station. We are not alone in our failures and struggles. Jesus lived it as well. He found the strength to get up again after he fell and to carry on, to continue his torturous journey to the end. He will help us if we but ask for His assistance. When we fall, we only need to lift a hand to the Lord, and He will be reaching down to lift us up. He will lift our cross onto His shoulder and help us to carry it. He will walk every step of our own way of the cross with us and when we reach the end, He will be there to guide us into heaven.

Image: The Seventh Station of the Cross Cathedral of St. John the Evangelist, Milwaukee

Copyright 2010 Anne Bender

“And a sword will pierce even your own soul.”

I have a friend from work who recently delivered her first baby early in Advent.  I treasure the memory of the moment when she first told me that she was pregnant.  Lissa’s office is right across the hall from mine, and we will often just lean back in our chairs and talk across the hall to one another.  If something is really important, however, we get out of our chairs and walk over to each other’s offices to share our stories.  Last spring was one such occasion.  Lissa walked into my office, quietly asked if she could tell me something, and then pulled an ultrasound picture out from behind her back!  She was already three months pregnant before she told anyone!

Lissa is well loved by everyone at work.  She is sweet, kind and hard working.  She always has a smile on her face and is a source of great comfort to others when they are hurting.  We all doted on her as best we could during her pregnancy.  We watched her eat well, keep all of her doctor appointments, and exercise daily by walking on her lunch hour.   We all eagerly shared our own personal pregnancy and mothering stories with her.

I’d often step into her office to see her dreamily rubbing her belly.  Once, she suddenly grabbed my hand and put it to her stomach so I could feel her baby moving before the little kicks from within gave way to peaceful slumber.  Lissa’s entire pregnancy was blessed with good health and joyful anticipation of the gift of new life.

Baby Kelly was two weeks old when I called Lissa to see how the newest member of her family was coming along.  I was taken aback to hear the shaky sound of a tearful voice on the other end of the phone line.  I expected her time at home with the little one to go as smoothly as her pregnancy did, after all, Lissa and I work with young mothers and their small children all day long.  We see baby after baby and spend our days encouraging and reassuring mothers in the care of their little ones.  We are both certified breastfeeding educators, so I didn’t think she’d struggle at all regarding the needs of her baby.  I assumed that she was well prepared.  But talking about feeding and caring for babies is really completely different than feeding and caring for them yourself.    Lissa confessed that she had been crying all day, every day, since coming home with the baby.  “I never expected it to be so hard, or to feel so tired and overwhelmed.  She’s always hungry and all I do is feed her!  She cries so much and I feel so guilty.  I don’t want to leave her for a second, not even with my husband.  I don’t know if it’s my hormones and postpartum blues or just exhaustion, but Kelly cries, and then I cry and I think my husband might like to shorten his paternity leave and go back to work soon!”

The sword of Motherhood of which Simeon prophesied to our Blessed Mother, Mary, has pierced Lissa.  She is learning that the deep love with which a mother embraces her baby hurts sometimes.  It takes a part of who we are away from us, and we can never get it back.  We lose just a little bit of strength, a little energy, a little joy and sometimes, a little bit of our figure with each new life in which we cooperate with God’s creativity in bringing to fruition.  We love that little life so much, that all of the aches and pains that hurt the babies hurt the mother even more, and that continues beyond infancy, well into adulthood.

But, if we take the time to ponder the new life entrusted to us within our hearts, as Mary did, we also find that what we gain is so much more than the losses we endure.  We gain the wonderful gift of love that can only be felt by touching another’s life with our own.  When we allow those tiny baby fingers to curl sweetly around our own, those sacrifices of our own blood, sweat and tears that pierce our hearts as we lead those hands through life, bring us one step closer to the hand of God.  And then, the only pondering we will be doing is that of gratitude at how blessed we are to spend eternity with the creator of all life.


Copyright 2009 Anne Bender

“A man with two sons told the older boy, ‘Son, go out and work on the farm today.’ ‘I won’t,’ he answered, but later he changed his mind and went. Then the father told the youngest, ‘You go!’ and he said, ‘Yes, sir, I will.’ But he didn’t. Which of the two was obeying his father?” Matthew 21:28-31

Sometimes we try to shut out the word of God and His will for us while we enjoy the indulgence of worldly pleasures. We pray with St. Augustine, “Lord, make me chaste, just not yet!” In this season of silent waiting, sometimes it is God who patiently waits for us to accept His will for our life.

Thirteen years ago I was pregnant with my third son in three years. I had just quit my job to stay home with the babies, when my husband lost his job. Frantically worried about how we were going to manage, I decided that I knew better than God did about what was best for my life. Deciding that I would ignore the teachings of the Church, I told my doctor that more children could not possibly be a part of my future. I signed a paper to have a sterilization procedure performed after my son was born.

On the drive home from that doctor appointment, a song from church “I Say Yes, My Lord” kept running through my mind. Tears started falling from my eyes as I realized that I had been acting as if I knew more than God did about what was best for my life. I was telling God “no,” not “yes.” I had been putting my trust in the world instead of in God who always knows what is best for me.

As soon as I arrived home, I called my doctor and told him to tear up that paper. I had changed my mind like the first son in Matthew’s Gospel passage, and I was going to keep myself open to all of the future lives that God intended for my husband and I. Had I not changed my mind and allowed God’s will to penetrate my heart, my two youngest children who bring me so much joy, would not be a part of my life.

When have you been tempted to tune out God’s will for your life and follow your own path instead?

What does it take for you to open your heart to trust in God’s divine plan for your life?

Copyright 2009 Anne Bender

Now for the reality check.  It’s true we make a beautiful Advent wreath each year and lovingly place it at the center of our kitchen table.  It’s true the children take turns lighting the candles and saying the prayer.  But I’m sorry to admit that it is not as beautiful as it sounds.  Each night, after the children are called to the dinner table, the arguing ensues before anyone even sits down.  “Mom, can I light the candle tonight?” comes out of nearly every child’s mouth, followed by “You did it last night, it’s my turn!”  And “No, it’s my turn!”  As whose turn it will actually be to light the candle is decided, the arguments begin over who will do the reading of the prayer.  The older boys have long since decided that the fight is not worth the effort, as the smaller ones almost always win out with their louder cries and complaints.

I often wonder if anyone is actually paying attention to the prayer, as it often turns out that the child who is lighting the candle struggles with the lighter and everyone tries to help.  Then, the prayer reader usually struggles with some difficult words which seems to take a great deal of meaning out of the prayer, as the sibling next to the reader helps with pronunciation.  By the time the candle is finally lit and the prayer is said, my family often has to rush through supper as our busy evening of homework, dishes, basketball practice, laundry and volunteer work looms overhead.  The lighting of the candle and the reciting of the prayer seem like one more thing we have to get through, rather than something to slow us down and change our focus from busy activity to quiet contemplation.

Now you may be thinking, why not make a schedule?  Or, why bother at all?  Believe me, those same thought often cross my mind as well.  But, I believe that somewhere down the line, my children will remember this tradition, even with the fighting included, and have fond memories and traditions to pass on to their own children.  I believe that in their hearts they will remember the meaning behind the tradition.  They will remember that our main intention was to invite the light of Christ into our home and our hearts, day after day, no matter what challenges stood in the way.  They will remember that our family dinnertime was important enough to take place before all of the busy evening activities, and that our family prayer time was important enough to take place before our family dinner.  Christ comes first in our lives, then family, then busy activities.  They will remember that they had to learn to work out their differences.  They will remember the satisfaction of learning to be patient with the lighting of the candle and the reading of the prayer.  They will remember how good it felt to forgo their turn at candle lighting to let one of the younger ones enjoy that privilege.

As we journey together through the dark days of Advent, the light of God must be entering our hearts without our awareness, because little by little, the arguing gives way to loving assistance and patient understanding, until the arguing is all but forgotten and only the joy of our Advent waiting in family love remains.  Not only do I wait patiently for Christmas, but I also wait for the day when our children will have all left home and Paul and I will be left alone to fight over who gets to light the Advent candle and say the prayer.  So I whisper my own little prayer to Jesus, “Take your time, let us enjoy this present moment of dark Advent waiting, and let us enjoy this present time with children in our home to love and enjoy.  Teach us not to hurry through Advent and not to hurry through life.  Teach us to find you, right here, right now, God with us, Emmanuel.  Christmas will “come”, the day that the children leave home will “come”, but for right now, let us remain in the gift of the present moment, even if we do have to put up with a few fights now and then.”



Copyright 2009 Anne Bender

Tonight, when I found those apples in the store, I was overcome with nostalgia and love for my dad who has passed away over three years ago. I couldn’t wait until I got home to eat one, and peel and cut it like he did. Instead, I immediately bit into it and enjoyed memories of my dad with every bite, all the way home. Recalling the memories of those apples led me to remember another food that was a favorite of my dad’s, gingersnap cookies, which is also a food that feels like autumn…

Gingersnaps
Crisp
Spicy
Aromatic
Delicious

These are the traditional joys
of gingersnap cookies.
But to me, gingersnaps offer so much more
than these sensory attributes.

Gingersnaps are a memory of love.
They remind me of my Dad
who loved gingersnaps more than any other cookie.

That rich molasses flavor
hooked him
and he was in love.
There was nothing he loved better
than dunking them in his coffee.

When he was feeling generous
he would buy a bag or two
for my family and I to enjoy.

When I was feeling generous
I would spend an afternoon
baking them from scratch
for him to enjoy.

When my children were small,
their favorite job
was rolling the balls of gingersnap dough
in the dish of sugar
and flattening them with the bottom of a glass.

Whenever I see gingersnaps in the store
or even better
smell gingersnaps
baking in the oven
I am immediately
transported back to another time,
a time when I could share love
with my dad
through a gingersnap cookie.



Copyright 2009 Anne Bender

She really is a much better friend to me than I am to her.  It’s Judy who always comes to my house to pick me up when we go out for dinner and drinks.  As I get ready to go out, my kids all ask “Who’s Judy, again?  Which one of your friends is she?”  As if I have so many friends they just can’t keep track!  HA!

So, when Judy arrives, I round up the family from their activities and re-introduce them to her.  As soon as they see her, instant recognition lights up their adorable faces!  “Oh, Judy!”, they say, “how could we ever forget you!”  Judy laughs and says picking me up for our annual night out is like taking someone on their first date.  Before we can leave, she has to meet the whole family to make sure they approve!

It makes me think of some of my other friends who I don’t make contact with very often, my friends the saints.  Sure, I have my favorites like St. Gianna Molla, St. Francis de Sales, St. Jane de Chantal, St. Mary Magdalene and St. Joseph.  It’s easy for me to have frequent prayerful conversations with these saints that I identify with so easily.  But what about those saints that I hardly know or easily forget about?  How can I keep in touch with the many, many holy souls in heaven that I’ve contacted on occasion, but fail to remember on a daily basis?  That’s where the litany of saints comes in.  How I love the Feast of All Saints Day when we try to remember them all.  It’s like my annual night out with Judy, a chance to reconnect with some old friends.

Every once in a while, it’s a good idea to run through that list of names, maybe learn about someone we didn’t know, possibly make a new heavenly friend.  I love the Litany of Saints and the chance to roll my tongue across some exotic sounding names and ponder how it is that they served the Lord so as to earn the title of Saint.  I pray that those Godly examples of Sainthood, will ponder my name as well, and keep me in their own prayers, so that one day, my name will be sung out with theirs in that glorious Litany of Saints.

Response: pray for us

Holy Mary, Holy Mother of God, Holy Virgin of virgins, St. Michael, St. Gabriel, St. Raphael, All you holy Angels and Archangels, All you holy orders of blessed Spirits, St. John the Baptist, St. Joseph, All you holy Patriarchs and Prophets, St. Peter, St. Paul, St. Andrew, St. James, St. John, St. Thomas, St. James, St. Philip, St. Bartholomew, St. Matthew, St. Simon, St. Thaddeus, St. Matthias, St. Barnabas, St. Luke, St. Mark, All you holy Apostles and Evangelists, All you holy Disciples of the Lord, All you holy Innocents, St. Stephen, St. Lawrence, St. Vincent, Sts. Fabian and Sebastian, Sts. John and Paul, Sts. Cosmas and Damian, Sts. Gervase and Protase, All you holy Martyrs, St. Sylvester, St. Gregory, St. Ambrose, St. Augustine, St. Jerome, St. Martin, St. Nicholas, All you holy Bishops and Confessors, All you holy Doctors, St. Anthony, St. Benedict, St. Bernard, St. Dominic, St. Francis, All you holy Priests and Levites, All you holy Monks and Hermits, St. Mary Magdalen, St. Agatha, St. Lucy, St. Agnes, St. Cecilia, St. Catherine, St. Anastasia, All you holy Virgins and Widows, All you Holy Men and Women, Saints of God, make intercession for us.

Copyright 2009 Anne Bender

“I love to think of the cross as Jesus’ marriage bed where he laid himself down, body, soul, mind and heart, thus giving himself completely to his spouse, which is all of us, reborn in baptism.  Just as Eve comes forth from the side of Adam as he sleeps, so, too, the church is born from the wounded side of the crucified Christ.

Every wife and husband that marry in Christ are committed to loving each other sacrificially, unselfishly, completely, exclusively, permanently, because that is how God loves all of us through Jesus.”

Fr. Don Hying, Rector, St. Francis de Sales Seminary, Milwaukee

That first summer when Paul and I met, we spent a lot of time at the State Fair because Paul was working at a restaurant there.  I would wait for his shift to end, and then we’d wander the fair enjoying the sights, sounds and each other’s company.

As we walked through the vending hall, admiring all of the wares for sale, laughing at the gimmicks of the salesmen trying to pass off another “Ronco slice ‘em, dice ‘em” cutting machine and counting the number of people walking around with mops they had purchased, Paul suddenly stopped in front of the booth of golden jewelry.  “Pick something out”, he said.  “I want to buy something for you.”  My eyes landed on a beautiful golden cross.  On top of the cross was a golden dove with an olive branch in its mouth.  After paying the vendor, Paul lovingly clasped the necklace around my neck.  After 5 years of dating and 18 years of marriage, that cross is still my favorite necklace, as meaningful to me as our wedding rings.  None of the jewelry that Paul has bought for me since that day has ever held as much meaning for me as that simple cross necklace that I wear almost daily.

Over the years, the weight of that cross around my neck can get to be pretty heavy as we battle with harsh words and cold shoulders, and struggle through the difficulties of parenting and family life.  But no matter how heavy it can feel at times, the dove of peace and forgiveness always moves his silent wings to lighten the load for us.  In every marriage, challenges are sure to arise.  There are times when Paul and I look at each other and wonder, “What in the world was I thinking when I decided to marry him/her?  How am I going to stand one more day of this marriage?”  But then, the spirit of love and forgiveness fills our hearts again and we think, “How in the world could I ever live without him/her?  I pray that our marriage lasts forever!”

Throughout the days of stress and worry that are part of all marriages, one action has kept us close and carried us through many storms.  We have made a habit of rising early, before the children are awake, and enjoying a long embrace before Paul leaves for work.  It is impossible to be angry or unhappy with someone when you are holding him or her close, feeling the rhythm of their heartbeat, hearing the sound of their breath, securely wrapped in the arms of the one you’ve promised to love forever.  But Paul and I are not alone in our daily embrace, for the love of human spouses just can’t be strong enough to survive on it’s own.  As we hold each other close each morning, it is God who is holding us even closer.  We can feel the arms of His love embracing us both, His heartbeat uniting ours together, His breath warming us both.  That daily embrace between God, Paul and I starts the movement of the wings of peace that lightens every cross that threatens to weigh down our marriage.

God of love, God of peace, be with us as we begin each day with a prayer and an embrace.  Let the wings of peace carry us to Your heart whenever the burden of the cross threatens to weigh us down.  Unite us forever in Your love.  Amen.

Copyright 2009 Anne Bender

Jack is ten years old, and will be eleven next month. He is in the 5th grade.  But to me, I can’t ever imagine him as anything except a sweet and innocent little boy and I’m amazed every time I realize that he’s growing up so fast.  He was born with developmental apraxia of speech, but we didn’t realize he had this disorder until he was two years old and wasn’t talking.  The apraxia means that in his mind, he knows what to say, but something breaks down between his mind and his mouth, and the words wouldn’t come out, they’d stay kind of stuck in his head.  It was extremely frustrating for him.  So, just before he turned three years old, he began speech therapy, and he continues to require this weekly service.  Of course, he really speaks very well now and most people can understand him and don’t even realize that he has this disorder.  I am most aware of it when he is sick or tired and it is then that his speech becomes more garbled.

Jack works very hard to overcome this difficulty.  Most of the time he is a very quiet boy and he easily disappears in our loud and unruly family.  When he is stressed, he can barely express himself except through tears.  But when he is relaxed and happy, he can turn into a real chatterbox, especially if he is talking about the current sport of the season.  I always thought that God gave Jack the gift of athleticism to compensate for his speech difficulties.  As he began his school career, I worried that he would be teased because of the robotic way he spoke and that friends would be few and far between.  But Jack found a way around his speech difficulties by bringing a ball of some sort to school every day.  Other children always gathered around him to play and he quickly became quite popular.  Nobody cared about whether or not he spoke well because he was fun and kind.  He included everyone in his games and shared his balls with others.

Whenever the talk of future careers comes up in our household, Jack always spoke of a career in sports that is typical for most boys.  Whether the season was football, baseball or basketball that is the sport he wanted to play as a professional when he grew up.

Until last year.  Then Jack started expressing an interest in the priesthood.  I didn’t pay too much attention thinking he was just copying his older brother John, who is feeling called in this direction.  And when I would watch him fidget in church, constantly checking his watch to see how long the Mass lasted, I would completely disregard the possibility of priesthood for Jack.

I like to visit the Seminary Library, and when I’d take Jack with me, he began to ask the librarian for books about the priesthood.  She would apologize to me because she didn’t have much on the subject for younger children.  I always said, “It’s ok.  He really doesn’t read much anyway, you’d just be wasting your time hunting some down.  As soon as we get home, he’ll be outside playing instead of quietly reading, because that’s what Jack does best.”

Here’s where God surprised me…Jack had a few hours unattended this week, while the rest of the family was busy with other activities.  He told me that he spent that time looking at our Seminary’s “Think Priest” website.  I smiled and told him what a good boy he was and that I was glad that he was interested in that, and then sent him off to bed.

Last night I received a phone call from our Associate Pastor.  Fr. Dennis asked me if I knew that Jack had sent him an email.  (I didn’t.)  He told me that Jack had complimented him on his All-School Mass Homily and then said that he wanted to be a priest.  Fr. Dennis said the email surprised him because Jack never says a word to him in person, he won’t even crack a smile, but rather is always very serious.

I went outside to find Jack racing up and down the street on his scooter and told him that I wanted to talk to him.  He immediately assumed he was in trouble for something and the tears began.  He sat on my lap and I asked him about the email to Fr. Dennis as I wiped his tears away.  He said yes, he had sent it.  He also sent one to our Pastor, Fr. Dave, our friend Fr. Don, who is the Rector at the Seminary and to Mr. Wisniewski, the school principal.  He said he established his own email address and told all of these men that he wanted to be a priest and was wondering if they had any tips for him.

Now it was my turn to cry.  Could God really be calling two of my four sons to the priesthood?  What moved Jack to send these emails without telling me his intention?  Is this just a phase that he is passing through?

I watched him closely at Mass this morning.  I saw him fidgeting with the eraser that was in his pocket during the homily.  I saw him looking intently at Fr. Dave during the consecration.  I noticed him smile and wave at Fr. Dave during the sign of peace.  My heart is pondering the wonder of it all.  But I know that all I can do is stand back and let God work.  After all, Jack has always been His child, long before he was my child.  In the end, it will be God’s will that wins.  It will always be God’s will.

Copyright 2009 Anne Bender

Sure enough, as nine-year-old Justin sat face to face with the priest, he drew a perfect blank about what he wanted to say. So, he pulled that paper from his pocket and “read” his sins to Father. After he received absolution, the priest asked to see the list of sins. As Justin handed the paper to the priest, Father immediately tore the paper to shreds. He told Justin, “This is what God has now done to your sins. God has torn your sins to shreds; they are gone forever. You should completely forget about them.” What a wonderful symbolic action on the part of this priest! Justin left the confessional just beaming!

I need to frequently remind myself of the lesson Justin learned that day, because although I know that my sins are permanently absolved in the Sacrament of Reconciliation, my good old Catholic guilt won’t let me forget them. I keep trying to pick up those scraps of paper and glue them back together again. I keep trying to tell myself that my sins are so bad I can never be redeemed. How that must hurt Jesus to know that I can’t seem to accept his forgiveness wholeheartedly, that part of me continues to hang on to my sin. I need to remind myself over and over again that God loves me, right here, right now, whether I am sinful or redeemed from the state of sin. I’m certain that he would love nothing better than to pick up those scraps of paper that have been torn to shreds and burn them in the fire so there will be no way I can try to pick them up again. All I have to do is let Him.

Dear, sweet, forgiving Jesus, help me to remember that my sins, once confessed and forgiven with the blessing of absolution, are no longer mine to hold on to, they are now yours to do whatever it is you wish with them. It was a precious gift of love when you took my sins upon yourself through the suffering you endured on the cross. Help me to show my appreciation for that gift by forgiving myself as you forgive me. Amen.

Copyright 2009 Anne Bender

“Though he was in the form of God, Jesus did not deem equality with God something to be grasped at…rather, he emptied himself and took the form of a slave.”

What does it mean to empty yourself?  It means to give your all, to give when it hurts, to do things that other people might consider to be beneath themselves in order to show deep love. It certainly was beneath God to take on human form with all of the suffering that humanity entails.  But this is exactly what God did in the incarnation of Jesus; he took on the suffering human form.  So now, as Christians, we are all called to follow this example and empty ourselves to show our love for others.  We are called to serve others even in ways that may be unpleasant.  We are called to serve others in ways that we may dislike, in ways that may hurt us, and in ways that may cause us suffering.  By serving others in this way, we are emptying ourselves and showing our kenotic love in our following of the incarnated Christ.

My favorite example of kenotic love is really quite simple.  Kenotic love can be found in a dishwasher.  When my husband Paul and I were first married, I read a marriage advice column where the columnist advised “If you really want to make love to your wife, do the dishes.”  His point was that every day love wasn’t found in dramatic, romantic displays such as buying flowers or candy.  Every day love was found in helping with routine chores, and in doing this simple activity of washing the dishes, however unpleasant that may be, a husband would be showing his love for his wife, and in return, she would be drawn closer to him in gratitude.

Now with children, it’s another story.  Doing the dishes has become a dreaded and fought over chore.  As evening dinner draws to a close and the nightly dish chores are assigned, we often hear a tremendous amount of groaning from the kids.  Common complaints such as “I just did them last night!” or “I have dibs on drying!” echo around the table.  Paul and I find that our kids hate doing the dishes so much that we have begun to assign it as our favorite punishment for misbehavior.  “What?  You got a “D” on your test?  Dishes for a month!  “You hit your brother again?  Dishes for a month!”  Of course the other kids catch on pretty quickly, and are thrilled when someone is given this punishment, because that means they are off the hook for a month.  Sometimes, I suspect they look for ways to get each other in trouble just so they can avoid the chore for lengthy periods of time!

Recently, we invited a dear friend for dinner.  It was his first time at our house.  We know that he works really hard and we wanted to show him a relaxing time.  No sooner was the meal finished, than he stood up and said “Well, now I’m going to wash the dishes!”  Like Peter when Jesus wanted to wash his feet, we all protested in embarrassment.  We wanted him to relax, not work!  But it was too late, his sleeves were rolled up and he was running the water, and so, he washed the dishes!  It actually was fun working together, freely talking and enjoying music.  He said he enjoys doing dishes because it yields the satisfaction of a completed job, dishes put away in the cupboard and the sink shining.  It was a good point in this world of loose ends.

By his simple act of washing the dishes, he showed gratitude for the meal and he set a good example for the children.  But more than this, he showed kenotic love.  He emptied himself to be of service to my family.  It was such a humble and yet profoundly beautiful act.  We will never forget.  What a beautiful example of living the incarnation of Christ!

Copyright 2009 Anne Bender

Seven people in our household adds up to lots of laundry, sometimes 3-4 loads a day!  Laundry gets done in our house seven days a week, holidays included.  It’s no wonder that I’ve come to consider myself to be somewhat of a laundry expert.  Please note it is not with pride that I give myself this title, but rather, with disdain.  Laundry is one of my most dreaded chores.

A priest once told me that laundry could be a prayer.  “Easy for you to say,” I scoffed,  “you only have to do laundry for one, your laundry prayer only occurs once or twice a week instead of once or twice a day!  I happen to be a prayer snob.  I prefer to offer daily prayer in other, less mundane ways.”

But it seemed, that ever since he told me that laundry could be a prayer, I kept running into the “laundry as prayer” theme over and over again.  This constant attention to praying with the laundry has caused me to ponder the possibility of this type of prayer more than I would have cared to normally.  My usual habit was to do the laundry as quickly as possible, chuck it all into the dresser drawers, and then try to put it out of my mind.

I think that the only time in my life that I might have considered laundry to be a real prayer were the years when my children were babies bundled in cloth diapers. I tried to accomplish  the daily chore of lugging the heavy, smelly diaper pail down two flights of stairs to the basement as quickly as possible to limit my time spent inhaling the odor.  Although, I can’t forget the time when those diapers smelled sweet instead of disgusting.  That was when two-year-old Justin poured all of my perfume into the diaper pail.  He was ahead of his time for the scented-diaper market now so popular in the disposable diaper world!  Anyway, I would quickly deposit those diapers into the hot bleach water, run the wash cycle twice for good measure, and then hang them, now sparkling white and fresh, on the backyard clothesline to dry.  There was definitely something prayerful and old-fashioned about standing outside in the backyard with clothespins in hand, creating white surrender flags with the diapers.  It was as if I was surrendering my life to God so he could use me in any motherly fashion he needed me to be at that time.  Then, quietly folding those diaper flags of surrender into neat piles contained in the laundry basket, symbolized how contained I felt in my life at home with all those babies.

But today, as I sort endless socks, looking for the lost partners, I could use a little guidance to find the prayer in it.  Maybe I could focus on how those socks cover feet so sturdy and strong as they wander God’s lovely world.  But, then again, maybe sock-sorting is really meant to be a penance instead of a prayer.  I can just imagine the hushed voice of the priest in the confessional… “As your penance, say three Hail Mary’s while you fold the family laundry!”

I know that I am in good company in my complaints about this never-ending chore.  Not too long ago, my family and I visited one of those living history museums that showcased life from the 1800’s.  One of the houses on display belonged to an immigrant widow who made a fortune washing other people’s laundry.  The tour guide explained that whenever someone had some extra cash, the first thing they did was to pay someone else to do their laundry!  The letters that women wrote to each other were filled with complaints about how much they hated washing the clothes and hanging them to dry.  I guess some things never change, do they?

Maybe I spend too much time worrying about whether or not laundry is a prayer.  Maybe it’s time to teach my children to press their own shirts, and press forward in my heart to ever-new ways of praying to my God.  Could it be time to consider the dusting?

Copyright 2009 Anne Bender

We all have annunciation moments, but unfortunately, we are often unaware of exactly what is happening to us.  Sometimes in our busyness we become so preoccupied with ourselves and our own needs that we fail to recognize those angels when they come to us.

In my job as a WIC (Women, Infant and Children) Nutritionist, I have found that the angels of annunciation come to me nearly constantly.  I can be so focused on what I have to do after work, or some problem with my children that nags at the back of my mind, or my own level of fatigue from lack of sleep, that I can let those angels in and out of my office all day without realizing who they are.  What a shame!

But when I open my heart and open my eyes, I see that angels of annunciation are plentiful.  God is trying to speak to me through them all day, every day, and when I recognize them, I can’t help but be changed by their message.

I recently met an angel who was a drug addict suffering from the horrific pains of withdrawal.  Instead of sitting in my usual seat of judgment, I opened my heart to recognize that the message she was telling me was “Do not be afraid, God is calling you to see through my addiction, to find Jesus inside me.  Jesus suffered just like I am suffering.  Are you open to helping me?  It is you that God is calling, you are the favored one.”  So I listened to her story, with tears in my eyes and I was able to offer her comfort and assistance.  I became the handmaid of the Lord.

I also met an angel who was a student working through her internship requirements for graduation.  Instead of rushing through my usual day trying to get my job done, I opened my heart to recognize the message that she was telling me was “Do not be afraid, God is calling you to see that you were once in my shoes.  Are you open to helping me?  It is you that God is calling, you are the favored one.”  So I slowed down from my busy agenda and found the patience to teach her the steps required to give nutrition counseling to young mothers in need.  I became the handmaid of the Lord.

One of my favorite angels was a two-year-old girl going through the negative stages through which every two-year-old must pass.  Instead of becoming irritated by her temper tantrums and constant use of the word “NO”, I opened my heart to recognize the message that she was telling me was “Do not be afraid, God is calling you to offer me kindness, to remember that it is the little ones such as these to whom Jesus offered the Kingdom of God.  Are you open to helping me?  It is you that God is calling, you are the favored one.”  So I turned to her with a smile.  I offered her a book, a compliment and a pat on the head.  She walked out of my office with a smile on her face, calling out “I love you!”  “I love you, too!” I called back.  I became the handmaid of the Lord.

God’s angels of annunciation are coming to you as well.  They are in every person that crosses your path.  Will you be open to their messages?  Will you hear them say “Do not be afraid, you have found favor with God?  Will you feel God’s Spirit coming to you and allow yourself to be open to it?  Say yes!  Become the handmaid of the Lord and watch the world transform into a beautiful place!

Copyright 2009 Anne Bender