My Prayer of Abandonment, From Deep Down Inside of My Needs

by Kathleen Blease

I was visiting Sarah Reinhard's blog, The Snoring Scholar, and came across her post about The Prayer of Abandonment. I love her perspective and her honesty on why it is hard to pray. I have to admit, there was a time when I, too, struggled with the thought of giving all to God and asking only for his will to be done... and nothing else. Perhaps my resistance reflected that all was going well.

But last year was not so. I found it very easy to pray this prayer. In fact, it flowed out of me with complete, well...abandonment. I didn't even know the prayer had a name and written verse. It was as natural as waking up in the morning.

And that's why the prayer came to me, because I was afraid of what the morning might bring. Or should I say that the prayer came from me, from deep down inside of my needs? In fact, when I read it on Sarah's blog, I was amazed to see that that's exactly what I prayed. Surely, we are built for God, made in his image, and we know instinctively how to turn to him.

During the past three years, my husband has been suffering from an illness that has stymied the doctors. My poor man has been subjected to all sorts of tests, drugs, and various doses of radiation in MRIs and X-rays and yet to no conclusion. He has been pilled, poked, prodded, and scoped, then met with a shrug from doctors who called “uncle.” All this for a man who in the past wouldn't have even taken Tylenol for a headache.

Between Labor Day of 2009 and Christmas of 2010, he lost fifty-five pounds inexplicably. His skin turned blue, while his body temperature hovered at 95 degrees, even on hot days. He wore sweatshirts while the rest of us ducked for shade and sought cool drinks. Slowly, he began to shuffle and his former Viking-strength was waning fast. To top it off, his blood pressure refused to budge from 70 over 40.

During one of his hospital stays, a nurse came in to take his vitals. She wrapped the cuff around his arm and clicked on the machine. Brrrrr. Grrrr. Up went the cuff, down went the cuff. The nurse tapped on a button.

“Hmm. Let's try that again.”
Brrr. Grrr. Up went the cuff, down went the cuff.
Hubby sat quietly.
Tap, tap, tap.
“That can't be right. Hold on, Honey.”
“No, wait, really. That's right.”
“Oh, I'm getting another machine.”
In rolled the new one. Brrr. Grrr. The cuff did its thing.
“Well, now, it's GOT to be the cuff.”
“No, really...” But she was gone.
New cuff. No good.
New nurse. No good.
“I'm tryin' to tell ya. That's my blood pressure. Honest.”
Both nurses looked at my baby in amazement.
“Mr. Blease, how is it you are awake and talking to us?”

How is it indeed.

One night, as we lay in bed, I rolled over to snuggle with him. Roger's hand was draped over his side, and I tried to wrap my fingers around it. Strange. I couldn't do it. I tried again. Again. But I just couldn't get my fingers around his hand. Then I realized. This wasn't his hand. These were his ribs! I spent the night praying and crying. Every night, I slept knowing that the morning just might bring a new reality, and that's what I was afraid of.

It was a tough year. Today, as I sit with my laptop and tap out this essay, I'm happy to report that, while my husband is not healed, he has managed to gain weight and some strength. And his blood pressure is almost normal. Praise God! And I really do mean PRAISE GOD!

So what about the Prayer of Abandonment? During that difficult year, I could think of only two things: keeping my husband, and letting God take over. Many nights I went to bed praying, “Lord, if you take him during the night, please give me strength to follow your will. I just want your will."

The prayer of abandonment came so easily to me because I knew without reservations that only God could take care of my husband. It was much too big for me, for us—and too big for all those doctors we turned to. Remember, too, that in the midst of this, my husband was supporting us and we were raising and homeschooling our children. (He still is, and we still are.)

The Lord does not cause these things to happen to us so we can learn a lesson. No, indeed, although there is plenty to be learned. But I do believe that he allows us to live in our own humanity, and grieves with us and let's us turn to him. He encourages us to ask him to carry us, which he does so willingly. Most importantly, however, he won't force himself on us. He is a gentle lover, so he waits for us to say Yes to him before he will take hold of our lives. Then we need to pay attention, for his moves can be small, careful, and oh-so patient.

I can honestly say that when there is no one or nothing that can solve the problem, it a great comfort to know that God' will will prevail. It is a joy that lives inside our sorrow. Just think of the cross and the crucifixion. A glory from suffering. The cross, what was once considered a symbol of shame, is now a symbol of glory and abiding belief in Christ's complete love. He showed it to us in the place of skulls.

Each day, I asked the Lord and His Father in Heaven for his will, and he usually called me to do simple things. Foot rubs. Cups of tea. Another blanket. Keeping the kids a little quiet(er). A few kisses on the forehead. Sometimes I wanted to say, “Hey, Lord. That's it? In the face of all this, this is it? A foot rub?” Surely, I can handle more than this. I can enact something bigger and better. I can take charge. But, no. The Lord binds our wounds first and gives his loved ones comfort. He calls us to be his hands. I was his hands.

I was beginning to understand St. Therese of Lisieux, the Little Flower, and her little ways.

Whatever your sorrow might be, whatever difficulties you might face—whether they are small or big—know that God has cultivated a special plan for you and just for you—the ultimate copyright, if you will. You can find out by following his will. There is no other way to see what he wants for you. Be not afraid. “Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” Don't discount small steps he might ask you to take. Last year at this time, the future seemed so big and ominous. But now I can see that many times the big leaps are made in tiny, faithful, and quiet ways. We just need to abandon ourselves to them.

The Prayer of Abandonment

by Charles de Foucald

(a French martyr of the 20th century)

Father,

I abandon myself into your hands; do with me what you will.

Whatever you may do, I thank you:

I am ready for all, I accept all.

Let only your will be done in me, and in all your creatures.

I wish no more than this, O Lord.

Into your hands I commend my soul;

I offer it to you

with all the love of my heart,

for I love you, Lord,

and so need to give myself,

to surrender myself into your hands,

without reserve,

and with boundless confidence,

for you are my Father.

God bless!

St. Therese Peering Out at Me



The Little Flower is very gentle.

by Kathleen Blease

I had to look twice. My husband was sitting next to the wood stove, enjoying its warmth on this damp and early Spring day. His reading glasses were perched on his nose, and a cat was hanging over his bent knee. Her paws dangled down around his legs and she breathed in a big sigh.

I was standing in the kitchen, wiping my hands with the kitchen towel.

Rog was deep into what he was reading, curious. His fingers were wrapped around the glossy newsletter and lay across a large photo of St. Therese of Lisieux, the Little Flower. She was peering out at me.

"Watcha readin', Hun?"
"Oh, just about the Eucharist."

I soaked in the scene, my non-Catholic husband reading about the Holy Eucharist... in a newsletter that has been arriving for several months now. As usual, this new issue sat in a pile of the week's mail, cluttered with junk mail and bills, mags and a diocesan newspaper, many of it sorted and ready for recycling.

St. Therese knew the secret. Patience. I can be patient. She is gentle and quiet, and she doesn't mind waiting her turn. I can wait.

A few Sundays ago, my sons and I arrived a little early for Mass. We always do. You see, at our parish, there is a demand for the front pews, and since I'm a little claustrophobic, well, I need to sit where everyone else is beyond me. So as we were walking up the aisle, it was hard to miss what our pastor was doing. He was comforting an elderly woman.

She leaned on her walker, eyes cast down. Father put his hands on her shoulders, bent down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Think of Mary," he said. "She was patient. She waited thirty years until her son began his ministry. Then she waited three years while he worked in the public. Then she waited three days after his painful crucifixion to see His glory. She was a patient woman. And you're a patient woman, too, I know it."

Indeed, patience. St. Therese knew it. Still, I liked seeing the portrait of The Little Flower in the hands of my husband. Thank you, Society of the Little Flower.

St. Joseph: The Greatest of All Earthly Fathers

Today is the feast of St. Joseph.

There was a time when my husband and I were facing some very difficult decisions, the kind that would change our family's life for a very long time. It was wrenching to face those challenges, but we did...with the help of St. Joseph...and succeeded.

This was when I finally learned more about Jesus' foster father and why he is the greatest of all earthly fathers. What a gift he gives to us!

At the end of the post linked below, I give you the prayer of intercession I turned to during those tough times. After I said my rosary, I prayed this prayer, then--and this is important--I reflected on St. Joseph's role as husband, father, protector, and provider. In other words, I didn't just rattle off the prayer and expect something magical to happen, although magic did happen, which I noticed only in retrospect. But in the meantime, I was so happy to be able to call upon him in Heaven, and then ask him to take my prayers to his little boy, Jesus. He was a great comfort to us.

Click the link below to read my reflection on St. Joseph. God bless!

Kathleen's Catholic: St. Joseph: The Greatest of All Earthly Fathers: "by Kathleen Blease What a tender sight to see: Our Lord, a little boy, leaning his head on his daddy’s chest. Do you remember your little ..."

Why Flip-Flops and Blue Jeans Attend Sunday Mass

top reasons folks won't dress appropriately
by Kathleen Blease

Right now, I think my parents would laugh, and laugh hard, if they were to read this post. Growing up, I was just as difficult about dressing for Mass as any teenager, and that was....er....okay, well... thirty years ago (Yikes!). This issue is tougher to address these days, isn't it? Why is that? Because those teens are now adults (that's us), and we still want to do our own thing. Boy, do I understand!

There are two ladies who completely changed my mind and convinced me that jeans and flip-flops have no place in Sunday worship. First and foremost is my mother. Mom wouldn't give up. When we attended Mass with our parents, all four of us were expected to dress appropriately and pass a basic look-over. Of course, I whined and  cried when I couldn't wear my brand new Calvin Kleins. And, yes, I found ways to wear them anyway....like waiting until the very last nano-second to show up in the dining room where Mom was waiting. Sigh. I remember, I remember. (Sorry, Mom.)

The second lady who had a big impact on me entered my life in my adult years, after I was married. My brother's wife, Maria, taught me a thing or two about presenting myself at Mass, in front of Our Precious Christ. Maria grew up in a large family who immigrated from Brazil when she was a child. Her mother insisted that the girls wore dresses always. And they all looked beautiful. They learned to be aware of their appearances as children of God at all times, not just at Mass. Over the years, their example has very much affected me. I have to tell you, the ladies in Maria's family are beautifully, modestly, and simply dressed. They are in no way frumpy or matronly, and they believe in maintaining their appearances without gaudy remedies, such as thick mascara or lipstick.

I have made a one-eighty, from a tempramental teenager to a Mom who is watching over her sons' souls. So I'd like to share with you how I have been able to work myself through the various arguments against dressing appropriately for Mass. And, yes, it does have to do with the soul. I'll cover that briefly below. Here we go...

1. Too expensive. "I don't have money like you do. I can't afford nice clothes and jewelry like yours." This is the big one, so let's start here. Granted, there are those who legitimately cannot afford more than very basic attire, but even during the Great Depression every man owned a suit and took care of it. Every woman had a Sunday dress. It was unheard of not to own these. But we're living in today, so here's a timely remedy: Try looking into thrift shops, re-sales, and consignment stores in your area. My boys dress in khakis, button-down shirts (topped with sweaters in winter), dark socks, and belts every Sunday, and it costs under $10 per child, for the entire outfit. They look presentable, neat, and appropriate. Granted, I do think their hair could use a better combing!

As for myself, I find the vast majority of my outfits at thrift stores. The Goodwill in our area is a beautiful, small facility that has fitting rooms, a return policy, and a credit card system. I've found lots of pretty sweaters, blouses, pants, and skirts for around $3 a piece, and they are all in excellent condition and appropriate for the season. I HATE shopping, so I use very little of my time to find clothing. It doesn't take much effort or money. Let's be honest. If it's not getting done, then it's not a priority. When I finally digested that and accepted the responsibility, the job was already half done.

2. No time. "Hey, I'm lucky to get there (meaning, to Mass) at all." What we are really saying is not that we are lucky, but that the Church is lucky that we have decided to attend. I do think we're lucky. What I mean is that we are lucky to be Catholic and witnesses to the greatest prayer on earth, the Mass, to Christ and Heaven touching our world right on the altar in front of us. No time? Consider this: It takes the same amount of time to pull on a pair of jeans as it does to pull on dress pants or khakis. Even less time to put on a dress. No time for ironing? My kids' pants haven't seen an iron in years. Just wash, dry, and hang up.  It's a new invention (not really) called wrinkle free, care free fabrics. Gotta love that stuff.

3. Peer pressure. "My kid feels like a dope when he has to wear dressy clothes in front of his friends." Ah, yes. I've heard this one, too, from my own boys. Teens have the ability of taking a simple line of logic and using it to its extreme. Hey, we're not talking about a suit and tie here, just a nice pair of pants and shirt. Don't give in. We're not at Mass to please some buddies. We're there because Christ gave Himself to us on the cross. We should take a good look at a crucifix, and then tell Christ, who was stripped and humiliated and tortured, that we don't want our kid to feel out of place. We really should feel some shame if we do that and still feel right about it.

In addition, kids should be given the chance to rise to the challenge--it's all part of growing into a sound adult. Last school year, I led the local Boy Scout Troop in earning the Catholic Religion Emblem, the Ad Altare Dei. After much thought, but from the beginning, I realized that the boys should wear their dress uniforms (called Class A's) to each of our meetings. This would help show our respect for the topic at hand, Our Lord and the Catholic faith. I had been told that the decision should have rested with the boys, not me. But I disagreed. I was there to teach the scouts, and this was definitely part of the lesson. I held my ground, took a deep breath, and announced it to the kids. I heard not a whimper. No problem. Why? Because each boy did it, so no one was considered odd for dressing appropriately. It was expected and supported. They rose to the challenge. Wouldn't it be great if our children and their friends got together and agreed to dress appropriately for Mass? To unite? To be "cool" by showing Our Lord the respect He deserves? Let's start by making that pact in our own homes.

4. Husband pressure. "My husband thinks it's ridiculous to dress up and won't get behind me on this."

I personally have never had to deal with this. My husband has always supported the boys dressing for Mass, but this is an argument I hear a lot from moms, so let's address it. I suspect that most husbands would LOVE to see their wives in something feminine and pretty, instead of the daily frumpy jeans and T-shirts. Even though my husband doesn't attend Mass, he does notice my appearance on Sunday morning, because it is the only time I get to play dress up. He once said, "I need to take you out, so you can dress like that for me!"  I'm not talking party clothes here, just outfits that present you as the Catholic woman you are. I wouldn't be surprised that after seeing his wife dress in this way, a husband would gradually support her cause. Even if he doesn't, then the wife is doing well for her own soul.

There's something special about preparing to see our Lord, even if it's done under pressure, and the interior can't help but get in the right frame of mind. Yes, even when the kids are driving you nuts. (To learn more about the beauty of being a Catholic woman and living out your femininity, you might want to click on The Authentic Catholic Woman: A Book Review.)

5. It's a hassle. "It's a job just getting everyone out the door each Sunday." Oh, boy, do I hear you!! Last weekend, I was upset with my kids for dragging their feet--again. We have been attending Mass every Sunday at 10:30 since they were babies, and still it's a mad dash. Every family goes through this. Yes, it is a hassle. But let's remember the "hassle" our Lord went through so He could give us ("us", as in you, and you, and you.... I don't mean this collectively) His body, blood, soul, and divinity in the Holy Eucharist. Since my boys are teenagers, they are old enough to understand, and so I finally laid down the law: Be in the car at 10:00. If I leave without you, you are grounded. No yelling, I promise. Just grounded. (Which means they go to bed very early that night. Not a tough grounding, I know, but they definitely don't like it.) Gulp. I think I had better be on time! I will let you know how this works out. Please know that you are not alone! Hang in there and don't give in!

6. God loves us anyway. "And we love him with all our hearts and minds." Hmm. Doesn't seem that we're using our minds here. By saying, "God loves us anyway," what we really mean is, "No matter how little we give Him, He still loves us." Do we really want to give little? Most of us really don't intend on doing this. But intentions and actions are two entirely different things. It's not good enough to intend on giving Him our hearts and minds. We have to do this through our actions, and it's very pleasing to Our Dear Lord. And when it comes down to it, just how difficult is it--really--to dress appropriately for Mass? You might want to check out What Kind Of Spouse Are You?. It's a post about being devoted to Christ and how we show it.

Phew! I'm exhausted! This has been a very enlightening post for me, and I hope it has been for you, too. It's good for me to review the sound reasons for presenting ourselves to Our Messiah in a pleasing way. Please share your thoughts on this. I need to sign off now. God bless all of you!

An Angel by His Head

We’ve read lots of stories about guardian angels on the job, and now we have our very own. I’ve said it before, so forgive me but I just can’t help but say it again… Grace drizzles in! Sometimes it takes a sore bruise to help us see it.

I tell the rest of the story of how an angel protected my husband the other night at CatholicMom.com. See you there!

Remedy for the Bah-Humbug

Check out my new column at CatholicMom.com. Click here to read about combatting the dreaded Bah-Humbug!

Have a blessed Advent!

Beautiful Life

by Kathleen Blease

Dear Reader,
This post is similar to my recent article at CatholicMom.com, entitled A Very, Very Atrractive Man. For this reason, I hesitated posting Beautiful Life here. But after a little prayer, it occured to me that it was written to be read. It wasn't meant to be stored somewhere in the arhives of Kathleen's Documents. So here it is. God bless. Kathleen


There was a strange man in the driveway. I had never seen him before. He was thin and little bent over, and he was shuffling as he walked. His clothes hung on him a little and his demeanor was quite sad. Who was he? What did he want? Neighbors in this area are very much Pennsylvania Germans and are rather private people, so it is unusual for a stranger to stop by just to say hello. When he finally came closer to the house, at the end of the sidewalk, I recognized him.

He was my husband.

Before he made it in the kitchen door, I put down the dishes I was stacking and made a hasty retreat to the powder room where I had a good but silent cry. I splashed cold water on my face, then returned to the kitchen to greet my husband after his day at work.

This occurred last fall, and by that time my husband had been sick with protein-losing entropathy—a fancy way of saying that his body stopped absorbing protein all together—for about three years. Roger lost fifty pounds, most of his muscle mass, his straight posture, strength, and even some of his baby fine curly locks..

I had no idea at that time that it was about to get worse. The winter brought cold weather in eastern Pennsylvania, and Roger hadn't the strength to keep up his body temperature. His skin turned blue and he was ice cold to the touch. By this time, he had undergone every kind of medical test under the sun, at least the ones doctors hoped would bring answers. With each test, our hopes would rise. Then they were dashed when yet one more came back marked negative or inconclusive. It was an emotional rollercoaster.

As my husband grew weaker and still bluer and thinner, I prayed that he would last through the nights. Many evenings, I went to bed mentally preparing myself that he just might slip away during the night. (I only recently admitted this to my husband.) It was indeed rock bottom, and we were both very scared, praying with all our hearts.

We had family members pray. We had friends say rosaries. My sister-in-law called upon the Carmelites to put Roger on their list of special petitions.

By April, Roger had a little more spring in his step, but by May he landed in the hospital with a blood clot that began in his right neck. It developed in his jugular vein and ran down his arm an unbelievable twelve inches. It then came up the other side of his arm, making it a full twenty-four inches of clot. The doctors were very concerned, and they went into action trying to prevent a stroke—not a healthy prognosis for a man of just forty-five.

It was a difficult month, but we all pulled through, and prayer was at my personal center. St. Joseph guided me and offered me his comfort. I thought about him often. As a father living in a dangerous culture, he protected and provided for his family through the most difficult of terms. Of course, he would understand what Roger was going through. What a struggle for my husband to continue running his little company—which rest solely on his expertise—all the while providing for his wife and children who depended on his one income! Surely, St. Joseph understood, and I asked him to pray that my husband would be encouraged and inspired.

I also prayed to Mary, Mother of God. Surely she could help me as I watched my loved one suffer. A perfect mother, a perfect sole, the first tabernacle...how could I go wrong turning to her guidance and intercession? Through her, I could see the suffering face of her Precious Son in my husband's, and I could see then that I could comfort Jesus, if only a bit, by comforting my husband. Back rubs were a welcomed gift, and asking, “Can I get you something to help you feel better?” were somewhat soothing. But the hardest task for me was actually to hold somethings back—they were, my opinions and suggestions. My husband will probably testify (if you force him) that I failed at this many times. The truth is, someone who is sick really is trying to do his best to get better. He doesn't need yet another home remedy or Internet-induced medical opinion. He just needs comfort and love. Better to find a sore spot and rub in silence. It does wonders for the spirit.

Throughout my husband's illness, each day Christ is present in our home. There in the face of the sick and needy is Jesus hanging on the cross, saying “I thirst.” He doesn't thirst for drink. He thirsts for you and me and all God's creation to come to him. Through Holy Communion, Christ is physically present, yet hidden, to give us grace to make it possible to live His will. Now my ailing husband was giving a face of my dear hidden Jesus. At first, I had a hard time coping with the daily sickness, and I prayed to Christ to ask him to heal Roger. But then my prayers became more of this nature: “My dearest Christ, please show me what to do for my husband. Your will be done. Show me your will.”

I know the Lord doesn't will my husband's illness, but by giving back to Jesus all that comes with my husband's suffering, Roger and I can join Him at the cross and personally witness His sacrifice and His devotion to His creation (that's us). Does that make sense? All I know is that it's a remarkable gift, this opportunity to witness His love in the unique way. It's not easy, but it is precious.

When I left my husband in the hospital in May, it was hard to walk out of his room and close the door. I remember feeling the cold, clunky door handle and thinking, I don't like this place. It's not home. And by the time I made it to the elevator, I was crying. I hated leaving him there in the steel and brick building. With all the beeps and clicks of the machines, with nurses who pushed computers from room-to-room, with food that showed up on black trays—with these I couldn't imagine leaving him. And I hated that bed. It made it impossible for me to reach my husband. The best I could do was lean against his bent knee and rub his legs. Not much hugging and snuggling there!

But something began to calm me during my drive home. There was lots of time to think, and I slowly realized that all this suffering Roger and I witnessed together lead to a truth I couldn't deny. It's this: We live a beautiful life. Jesus has been beside us all along, from the moment we met and married. But now...now we can actually see Him, the Hidden Jesus revealed. How much more beautiful can life get?

God bless!

Post Script: Since this post was written, my husband has gained a little weight and strength, and he is under the care of an excellent hemotologist. However, the doctors are still no closer to finding the source of his illness. Nevertheless, I am thankful that we'll be entering the winter months with Roger a little stronger than he was last year. Please continue praying for him. This means a great deal to us! And realize that the face of Jesus is in each person who is suffering! Peace.

A Very, Very Attractive Man

When your spouse becomes ill, it changes your life and your marriage forever. In my new column at CatholicMom.com, here's one way it has changed our lives for the better, if just a little bit.

I hope you enjoy the column. Click here.

God bless!

My Envy At Mass Was Finally Put Away

by Kathleen Blease

Going it alone was hard, but the Lord gave me my solution.

I used to sit in Mass, in between my two boys, and look around and notice all the families. Moms and Dads flanking the kids. I envied them. When one child acted up, Dad was there with silent discipline. When the family prayed the Lord's Prayer, they were united with clasped hands. Kids could look to the left and see their mom, then look to the right and see their dad. When my children were little and hard to contain, I longed for my husband to attend Mass with us, but I knew I couldn't force it. Yet my longing turned into frustation and then into envy as I watched other families march to Holy Communion together.

Then one day, it hit me. It was so clear. It happened while I was teaching our boys about the Mass, how the gifts are taken to the altar. And when the bread, wine, and treasure are offered to the Lord, we should be putting ourselves there on the altar as well. We should offer Him everything, I told them. Offer your successes throughout the week, your failures, your fears, your celebrations...everything that is in your life and in your heart. Who knows you better than Our Lord? He will treasure what you give to Him.

Yes, there it was. All those years when I stewing in my envy I should have been offering the needs of my husband and putting them on the altar. At first, I offered his discernmnet of conversion, not sure there even was a discernment, but it didn't hurt to try. Then over time I decided to forget about what I wanted my husband to be, and I began to think about what my husband really needed on a daily basis. Even though he hadn't detailed his challenges in a list for me, as his wife I knew well what those were. So I offered them at the altar, right along side my own little successes and failures and needs and fears and wants. And, yes, even my envy. I finally gave it to the Lord. It was time to give it away for good.

A Great Way to Start the Day

by Kathleen Blease

When you first open your eyes in the morning, make the sign of the cross and say a little prayer. I like to say, "Blessed are you, Lord God of all creation!" Say it silently if you must, so you don't disturb anyone, but say it with fervor in your heart. It feels so good.

Then before you get out bed, gently place your hand over your sweetheart's heart and silently ask the Holy Family and all the angels and saints to pray that his or her needs throughout the day will be met. Ask the Holy Spirit to guide your spouse, and ask Him to guide you as well, so you both can live God's will by saying all the little yeses asked of you throughout the day. Seal it with a kiss.

God bless.

St. Valentine's Day Surprise

by Kathleen Blease

(photo source: www.twoheartsdesign.com)

I wasn't going to write a post today. I thought I ran out of things to say about St. Valentine's Day. But then I went to Mass. You never know where and when you will find suprises of the heart.

I'm going to tell you a secret. Yes, I'll make it public. I am a claustrophobic. Haven't always been, but I am now. Sitting in crowds is a big problem, including at Mass.  And so there's one thing I need to do every Sunday-- I sit in the second pew, as close to the altar as I can possibly get, with everyone else behind me. (In the first pew sits the same elderly couple every week, so I don't want to take their seat. It's a small pew.) In my usual seat, I see only the priest and the altar. And I also have the privilege of seeing special moments, like the one I witnessed today.

Right after the homily, Father reminded us that today is National Marriage Day, as well as St. Valentine's Day, so he called all married couples to the front of the church. Little by little, couples timidly made their way to the altar. Father had one child hold a rose for the wives. Another child held a candle for the husbands. Then Father announced that the couples were there to repeat their Baptismal promises and their Wedding vows.

One young father seemed a little nervous. He stood with his wife, looking back to his small children. He took a few steps to rejoin them, but thinking twice, he returned to his wife and took her hand. When I peeked over my shoulder, I saw three children, the youngest about two years old, quietly peering over the pew.

Father continued with the baptismal promises and the vows. Then I noticed some movement up the center aisle. The two year old toddled up to the man. Without even looking up to be sure he had the right person, he wrapped his hands around his daddy's leg. Dad's hand came down to rest on the little one's head. Eventually, the little guy scootched down, and his Daddy and Mommy repeated their wedding vows while their little boy was sitting on Dad's foot. Tiny penny loafers peeked out from between Dad's feet. Tails from his oxford shirt hung out from under his cable sweater. He arms were wrapped tightly around his dad's leg.

Oh, how I wish I had a camera! What a way to celebrate the Feast of St. Valentine. Somehow, I think the saint is in Heaven smiling in pure delight. Yes, I'll bet he's thinking, this is good. God bless.

St. Valentine's Day with Kids

by Kathleen Blease

(learn to make your own at  808-creative-cards.com)

These last few days I have been pondering what I can write about St. Valentine's Day that could stir the soul and make it a memorable feast. But to tell you the truth, I don't have anything grand to tell you. (I think St. Valentine's life is testimony enough!) My favorite valentine memories are quite simple, and they revolve around our kids.

When our boys were little, my husband and I tried in vain to enjoy a romantic dinner for two at a posh restaurant, only to find it expensive and empty. Then it finally dawned on us what was missing--our kids! Perhaps it was the babysitter who had the best time, drawing and crafting with the kids while we dined in quiet surrounds.

Now, every year, my husband cooks a gourmet dinner. I set the table with china, linen, silver, and crystal, and the boys fashion valentines out of construction paper and stick glue. Candles stand at the center of the table. We eat, we drink (sparkling cider for the boys), we tell the boys stories of how we met, fell in love and married, and, of course, we share those times when we were anxiously expecting the arrival of our baby boys. The food and drink are wonderful. The company is terrific. And the valentines are adorable; each year they reflect the boys' ages, artistic abilities, and, of course, their sense of humor. To top off the evening, we savor chocolate-covered strawberries.

The pile of valentines I now have is growing, and the years are certainly rolling by! Now in their teens, our children still look forward to our traditional St. Valentine's Day feast here at home.

It all seems to make sense to me. I asked a little girl last week what she plans to do for St. Valentine's Day. She looked at me a little confused and said, "Oh, no. Valentine's Day is for grown-ups, not kids." I have to disagree. St. Valentine devoted himself to marriage and family. What better time to instill in our children how much we (husband and wife) love each other with tender devotion! What better time to throw open the heavy curtains of daily life and let your children see your warm, fuzzy, googly-eyed feelings for your sweetheart! It might become a habit. And, you know, they just might like it.

Happy St. Valentine's Day! God bless.

Six Days Until St. Valentine's Day

Dear St. Valentine,

Pray for our hearts and minds. Pray that we are filled with the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that we may celebrate the love that has walked into our every day lives!

Amen.

(photo from www.zastavki.com/.../wallpaper-4959.htm)


"The first time two hearts connect, that is the day to mark and celebrate, for it’s the birthday of life. The first day of life as it should be!”

from Introduction by Kathleen Blease, from Love In Verse: Classic Poems of the Heart

Countdown to St. Valentine's Day!

Seven days until St. Valentine's Day is upon us! So why do we celebrate love so urgently?

Maybe because...

“The path we travel before love is found often seems to be a tangent without destination, but then love steps in front of us and our destination is made perfectly clear. The path brought us right here. Arriving at a beautiful surprise, arriving at love."

from Introduction by Kathleen Blease, from
Love In Verse: Classic Poems of the Heart

If Your Husband Isn't Catholic

by Kathleen Blease

If your husband isn’t Catholic: You have the joy of seeing someone you love understand one more piece of the Faith and be amazed by it. Enjoy!

If your husband isn’t Catholic: You are called to pray for him—and for his family. In this case, there usually isn’t anyone else to pray to Mary and ask her to intercede for them. And there is no one else who can put the saints in Heaven to work for them. You’re it. Go for it!

If your husband isn’t Catholic: You have the motive to study your Catechism with the eyes of an adult. Your 8th grade answers need more depth. Find it and love it!

If your husband isn’t Catholic: You have a babysitter when your two-year-old just can’t sit still in Mass. Enjoy your peaceful time with Christ!

If your husband isn’t Catholic: You have the opportunity to learn patience, watching Christ fill your husband a little at a time. Grace drizzles in. Pay attention!

If your husband isn’t Catholic: You have the joy of introducing him to the liturgical year. Fish on Fridays, Advent Wreaths, Holy Days and Feast Days. Make it count!

If your husband isn’t Catholic: You hold back the tears when he goes to Christmas Mass with you and the kids, sings out his lungs, prays The Our Father, and kisses you at the Sign of Peace. If you see a mom get mushy at Mass, remember why.

If your husband isn’t Catholic: You get an extra special thrill when he finds you a statue of Our Lady, Queen of Peace for your home’s entrance...or garden. Display her happily.

If your husband isn’t Catholic: You might overhear his friends and family say, “Well, she’s Catholic, you know.” Be glad they notice!

If your husband isn’t Catholic: You get a special view of love and faith and thank God for bringing your sweetheart to you. Don’t take Providence and grace for granted.

If your husband isn’t Catholic: You have to remember that…you are! Rejoice and be glad!