A Life Changing Visit

18 Sep 2012 3 Comments

by jeanbriese in Family Reflection, General, Memoir, Reflections Of A Catholic Woman Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Hurricane Katrina was the deadliest and most destructive Atlantic hurricane of the 2005 Atlantic hurricane season. It was the costliest natural disaster, as well as one of the five deadliest hurricanes in the history of the United States.

In February 2007, 18 months later, HIMSS, the Healthcare and Information Management Systems Organization held a conference in New Orleans. I attended for work to support a client who was demonstrating a solution I had sold to them. I was filled with pride to support New Orleans in their efforts to rebuild their economy and their city. I asked my husband to fly out there with me and stay the weekend to see the city.

The trip did not go quite as planned. There was still a lot of cleanup in New Orleans needing to be done. We walked around Jackson Square to find street lights still lying in the road as passersby stepped over them to cross. We read warnings and were advised by locals to stay within a few blocks, as there was still much crime outside of the main tourist areas. We headed out with optimism, eager to spend money with local business owners, and were greeted immediately by a street con man who swindled money from us.

Prior to leaving, a dear friend of mine had recommended, a “place I had to go while in New Orleans.” She wrote the name and address on a slip of paper which I tucked in my bag. I pulled it out our last day in New Orleans, and we decided to check it out. Leery after our earlier experiences, S.H. (sweet husband) decided we could walk, and we grabbed a local map and headed out.

As we walked along the roads, we passed the Convention Center and the industrial district. I don’t remember exactly how many miles we had to go, but it sure seemed like we were walking for a long time. I inquired again as to if we should just take a cab. No, S.H. was sure the destination was not that much further, and suggested a short cut. The short cut took us through a residential area. As we walked down the street, we saw many open doors; I could feel eyes peering at us. I began to feel afraid, which reached its peak as we approached the end of street and it was a dead end! At this point, folks were starting to wander out of their homes to stare at the intruders. I was overwhelmed with fear as they gathered. It was clear that we didn’t belong here. We turned around to walk faster just as it began to rain, catching us with no umbrellas. Now I was frightened, my adrenaline was racing, and I was getting soaked. “I am getting back to the main road and getting a cab,” I said and began to walk so fast, I just might have been running. With adrenaline racing for both of us, it was about as far from a pleasant conversation as you can get. My mind was racing with thoughts such as, “How can you put us in danger, in order to save a few bucks? Who cares if the cab driver goes around the block? At least we would be safe!” I can only imagine what S.H.’s mind was thinking as I walked about 10 paces ahead of him.
Finally, we reached the main road and I hailed a taxi. S.H. wanted to go back to the hotel, but I was adamant that I was going to my destination. Even though we were barely able to speak to each other, we hopped into a cab, and I gave the cabbie the address.
For about 15 minutes, we had a tense, silent ride as I calmed myself down. Then it became apparent we were driving around in circles, passing the same locations and going through more residential districts that didn’t look anything like what we were expecting. Finally, after the third pass of the same place, the cabbie came to a stop and said, “Here’s your address.” We got out, and it was clear this was not our destination.
Honestly, I don’t remember how we made it to the Seelos Center. I think it involved more walking, which is why I have probably blocked it from my memory. When we arrived, the doors were locked. We had come all this way, and it was closed for the day! Unbelievable! I looked up toward heaven and said, “Really God, really?” Just then, the gate opened and a lady with purse in hand, clearly ready to leave for the evening, asked, “May I help you?”

“We wanted to visit the shrine to Blessed Father Seelos,” I stated. “We are closed for the evening, can you come back tomorrow?” “Our plane leaves tomorrow for Arizona,” I said. She paused for a moment as if she was considering any other options. “Okay, come in, I will stay a little late and let you visit.”
Our guide took us into the church and explained that she was the assistant to the pastor. She began to give us a tour of the building. As it turned out, she took us into the church, which, had we been there when it was actually open, would not have been available to visit, as construction workers were present repairing damage from Katrina.
If you don’t know the story of Blessed Father Seelos, visit the web site at http://www.seelos.org/ An amazing man, Father Seelos is most known today for the many healing miracles credited to his intervention. You can purchase relics at the Seelos Center for those who are ill and in need of healing. He was also known as an expert confessor and spiritual director, with folks lining up for the sacrament of reconciliation. The web site tells us Father Seelos’ constant endeavor was instructing the little children in our faith. He not only favored this ministry, he held it as fundamental for the growth of the Christian community in the parish.
Of course, as we walked in, we knew none of this. Since it was after hours, our guide led us through the church and told us about her own healing miracle. Her daughter, born and pronounced severely mentally challenged, blind, deaf and dumb, not expected to live through her first year. Her daughter, when we were there, was a young woman in her twenties, not blind, deaf or dumb and, although still challenged, a functioning beautiful young lady. Her passion and faith were evident as she patiently took us through the church. She left us at the shrine, where people come from all over to pray for their intentions. Although her day was over and she was eager to return to her family, she graciously offered, “Take as much time as you need.”

Don and I silently offered our prayers. My mind wandered to my daughter and to my grandchildren. A single mother, she has done an amazing job supporting her children. I prayed for her and my grandchildren to find their way back to their Catholic faith. Desperate for my daughter and grandchildren to have the peace of Christ, I bargained with God. “Father, please bring my children back to their faith and, when I get home, I will get Children’s Liturgy started in our parish.” I have no idea where this thought came from, but I was suddenly passionate about the children. “Father, take care of mine, and I will help take care of yours,” I bargained. I wrote my intentions for my daughter on a slip of paper and left it in the box provided.

The return home was almost as eventful as the trip to the shrine.  However, we made it safe and sound. I later discovered that my husband’s intentions, although we had not discussed or even been prepared for, were the same as mine. The next morning we boarded the plane to return to Phoenix. As our plane landed, I received a phone call from my daughter. “Mom, I am thinking of going back to church,” she stated. “I was driving by St Patrick’s and I stopped in and talked to someone. I signed the kids and I up for classes and I want to go back to church. The reason I liked St Patrick’s was because they offered Children’s Liturgy of the Word at all the Masses and they seem so welcoming to children. My kids need that since they really haven’t grown up going to church.”
Wow, talk about an immediate answer. Thank you, Blessed Father Seelos!
As I had promised, I called our Director of Faith Formation and inquired, “What would it take to get Children’s Liturgy started at our parish?” Her response was, “I am all ready to go, I found a great assistant who can help with lesson plans, I have the materials, would love to launch it.” “What is stopping you from moving forward?” “ I need volunteers,“ she said. Volunteers! That is all that’s needed?” “Consider it done,” I said. “Tell me how many you want, and let’s set a date for the training class and launch.” And we did just that.
Looking back now, five years later, what an amazing chain of events that all came together. Only our God could have known how our parish in Arizona was in need of the intervention of Blessed Father Seelos. I didn’t know until this writing of his passion for teaching children our faith! “God you amaze me every day. I am humbled and honored to follow wherever you lead.”

Are you in need of a miracle?…Believe.

Toilet Paper, Stickers, and The Great Helper

26 Feb 2012 6 Comments

by jeanbriese in Family Reflection, General, Reflections Of A Catholic Woman Tags: , , , , ,

When Allison was a toddler, we used to hold her up to the wall where all our family photos were displayed and play “Who’s that?” You have probably played this with your own kids. “Who’s that?” we would ask. “Grampa Briese,” Allison would reply. This was a way for Allison to know her great extended family, to learn the names of those familiar faces and to learn about family members like Grampa Briese, who passed away before she was born. She could tell you, “Grampa Briese is Papa’s daddy.“ So too, we introduced her to Jesus, Mary and the Saints in the same way. When we played “Who’s that?” Jesus, Mary and sometimes other Saints were always part of our family photos. I didn’t want Allison to only learn of Jesus in “church” or to learn of Jesus in a “special” conversation. I wanted Allison to know Jesus as part of her family, as the King of our family.

 
And so too, in her room, she has a picture of her two year old self, taken with her great-grandmothers. One of these grandmothers has since passed away. Next to her picture of her grannies is a prayer card with a smiling Jesus, laminated for little hands. She will take both of these down from time to time and kiss them, her grannies and her Jesus. Next to these, she has a statue of Mary (which she always wants to sleep with) and a statue of a young Jesus. We start our day with “Good Morning, Jesus. Good Morning Mary.” We end our day with “Good Night, Jesus. Good Night, Mary.”

 
Allison is now four years old. Most work days my schedule allows me to not worry about getting into my office at a certain time, so the morning “get out the door” routine is not rushed. However, there are exceptions, mornings when I do need to leave by a certain time. One particular day, when I needed to leave early, Allison wasn’t in the mood to be rushed. “Allison, go get dressed,“ I said. “Okay, Gramma,” she responded. A few minutes later, she returned from her room, pajamas still on, arms overflowing with toys, talking about something that happened at school yesterday. “Allison,” I cried in frustration, “we are going to be late.”

 
“You are going to be late, Gramma, I’m not.” Well, I guess that put things into perspective for me. She was right about that. She doesn’t have to be anywhere at a specific time. “Let me go with you and help you get dressed,” I responded, as we headed to her room.

 
As I was standing in the bathroom, waiting for her to choose her hair barrettes, I noticed the empty toilet paper roll. I took the empty roll off just as she cried, “Gramma, I want braids.” Setting the toilet paper holder down on the bathroom counter, I braided her hair for her. Concentrating on the braid, I didn’t notice that she had picked up the toilet paper holder and pulled it apart so the spring came out and it was in pieces.

 
Now Allison is a curious girl, and very smart. I get that and, trust me, she gets plenty of opportunities to explore her curiosity. This, however, was my last nerve. “Allison!” I exclaimed in a loud enough voice to startle her. Why do you insist on taking everything apart? How many times have I told you that you need to ask before you take things apart? That’s it! I need a time out,” and I stomped out of the bathroom.

 
Papa went in while I calmed myself down. He fixed the toilet paper holder and when I walked back into the room, Allison was hugging Papa. When she saw me, she came running over to embrace me and said, “I’m sorry, Gramma.” “ Yes, Sweetie, I know.” After explaining to Allison the importance of taking care of our home and our things, Allison nodded in agreement, saying she understood.

 
I left to get my shoes and told Allison to get her sweater for school. As I came back into the bedroom, I caught Allison attempting to scrape stickers off the wall of her bedroom. We had that discussion yesterday when I came into her room to find stickers everywhere: on the walls, the furniture, and on her stuffed animals. I thought we had removed all of them, but we missed some and Allison was busy trying to remove them. I was so touched that she understood what I said. She was trying to make up for disappointing me and trying to do what I asked of her. As I walked closer to her, I noticed she was using something to lift the stickers from the wall…. what was it?

 

It was her Jesus prayer card. 

 

 “Allison, are you using your prayer card to get the stickers off the wall?”

 

“Yep, Jesus is my great helper.“

 

“Yes, yes he is.”   Thanks, Sweet Baby, for reminding me of that today.

 

During this Lenten season of repentance, we may stumble during our 40 days of sacrifice. Let us fall on Jesus. Let Him be our great helper in getting us back up and staying on our path. We may need to face the difficult things in our life that we don’t want to hear, that may even startle us. We may need our Heavenly Father’s embrace to find the strength to apologize for our transgression.

 

Will you let Jesus be your great helper?

 

Jesus, Allison’s Great Helper

 

Allison and Her Grannies
 

The Valentine Gift

12 Feb 2012 2 Comments

by jeanbriese in Family Reflection, General, Reflections Of A Catholic Woman Tags: , , , ,

I had a doozie of a secret I was keeping from my husband.   I am not sure really how it started;  an oversight perhaps, a simple mistake, maybe I genuinely needed help (gasp).   But once this simple little error was born, I conceived in my mind that it was something I could “fix” later.  No need to tell S.H. (sweet husband).  After all, he would only worry, and I was going to fix it.  And it was something we had argued about in the past. This would just make him angry, no need to tell him.

Another month came, and I was not able to fix things.  Signs of my secret began to show.  Now I was embarrassed.  So when S.H. unexpectedly asked me about it, I reacted out of my fear and shame and embarrassment.  I lied (another gasp). 

Still determined to fix things on my own, I continued the charade.  As with most secrets, the only person who I was fooling was myself.  I convinced myself that to tell the truth to my life’s partner was not a good solution.  I knew that I was wrong  and,  rather than trusting my spouse to work with me toward a solution, maybe even to help me when I needed help, I feared he “wouldn’t understand.”  I feared the “difficult” conversation.  I feared his disappointment in me.  Indeed, my mind imagined the worst, and I feared it would destroy our relationship.  Because, seriously, how could I expect him to trust me?  And how do you maintain intimacy with a person you cannot trust?  No, I just had to figure out a way to fix this and try to make it all go away.   

I cannot describe to you how horrible this was for both myself and S.H.  I began to awake in the night, unable to lay in bed next to the man to whom I knew I was lying.  I began to assume that I wasn’t worthy of his love, so I didn’t do all the loving things that we normally would have done.  

Finally, S.H. confronted me.   It was horrible.  My head pounded and my stomach was nauseous, as I finally told him the truth.  For several  hours we talked.  He was angry and rightfully so.  There were tears, as I finally had to confront the truth myself.  I was in over my head.  I needed help.  I should have trusted my husband, instead of trying to “protect” him from worry.  And the most evil truth of all, I had lied to my husband.  How could I do this?  I had to look at myself and realize how quickly this got away from me,  and how easy it is to slip down the wrong path.  How could I have taken what now seemed like a simple mistake and turned it into this?  

And how did S.H. react?  After the anger, after the truth, after the hours of talking,  and still upset,  he embraced me.  We agreed to work through a solution together.  We agreed that we need to be able to trust each other.  I needed to trust in him and not try to fix things “on my own.”   And he needs to be able to trust in me.  We came up with a plan together.   

 I cannot tell you how much I love this man, who loves me with all my flaws.  

As I sat in Mass, I couldn’t help but realize how my reconciliation with my husband is so like our relationship with God.  My relationship with my husband was not damaged by the error I made.  It was damaged by my own choices.  Rather than admit my error and ask for help, in my humanness,  I easily fell into all the enemy’s traps.  I tried to hide my mistake,  I tried to pretend it hadn’t happened, I foolishly thought I could fix it “on my own’.   In my shame,  I began to “stay away” from my husband.  It was these choices that damaged my relationship.  And just like my husband never stopped loving me, no matter what I imagined, our God never leaves us or stops loving us.  There is no sin too big for our God.  We know that the only sin that He cannot forgive is the one for which we do not ask forgiveness. 

Reflecting back, I can see how easy it is to convince ourselves that our actions are “justified.”  Even when they are wrong and we know it.  I can see how easy it is to hide in our shame, even from our God. And then the enemy takes hold.   When one starts thinking I must fix it “on my own,” that is the enemy.  That is when we need God’s grace the most, like an unruly child who needs to be embraced.  New lesson for me, “on my own” is a red flag, as is “secret.”      

Reflecting back, as we approach Valentine’s Day, a day that has been turned into another commercial exploitation of a wonderful grace, I realized that the best Valentine’s gift I could give our marriage was to face the difficult thing between us.  Because once the difficult thing was in the “light”, the enemy could live there no more.  

Do you have a secret?  How about letting this Valentine’s Day be the day that love shines?  Find a safe person, and tell your secret.

Community

28 Jan 2012 3 Comments

by jeanbriese in Family Reflection, General, Reflections Of A Catholic Woman Tags: , , ,

One Sunday morning after Mass, I was having a conversation with the priest, and somehow the subject turned to community. “You do not have community here,”  he stated.

I asked him why he felt that way and he replied, “People are here for Mass and they put on their “Mass” face. After Mass, they leave quickly and go back to their own lives. You do not see folks invite a new person to coffee. It is worship and leave.  There is no real connection that extends after Mass.”

What? I have had many people over the years comment about how warm and welcoming we are as a parish. Indeed, I feel that the people of this parish are in many ways extended family. They have held me up when I was unable to stand on my own, providing meals and support when Don’s mother passed away. And I will never forget one day, early in my years as a parishioner, when I was very distraught over personal troubles. The women of this parish physically surrounded me. They, when I couldn’t, brought me to a group of women, sat me in the middle and surrounded me. Just their presence all around me gave me a sense of security when my world was feeling like it was falling apart. There was no talk, no advice, no generalities offered to make me feel better. We simply sat in Mass, I surrounded by women whom I knew cared about me. It was hard for me to hear this priest say we did not have community. This was a troubling thought to me.

A few months later, I found myself sitting at a dinner party with a different priest, Father Bona, visiting from Nigeria. Father Bona mentioned that Americans do not understand community, that we do not have community. Again!

So I challenged him. “Father Bona, do you think this is a cultural difference – your idea of community and an American idea of community?  Because I feel very connected to the people of St Gabriel’s. I feel like they are extended family. “ Yes,” he responded, “there are circles of people who share a joint interest. But when was the last time you came to Mass on Sunday and met someone new? When was the last time that you invited someone who is not Catholic or practicing their faith to come to Mass with you on Sunday? Community extends beyond Mass,” he said. “To have community means to participate in the Catholic community.  Have you participated in any Catholic events outside of St Gabriel’s? “

Truth was, as he asked these questions, I could honestly answer yes to each question. I had met new folks at church, invited folks to Mass, and attended events outside our own parish. Maybe this is why I was having a hard time understanding. I pressed him further.

And he replied, “Let me tell you a story.” (This is one of the things I adore about Father Bona; he can always break it down to a simple story.)

“I was a visiting priest in a parish in Mesa, and while there I celebrated a funeral Mass. After the Mass ended, a young man came up to me and engaged me in conversation. He asked me where I was from and how long I would be staying, and we chatted. As we spoke, I learned that he was not Catholic, he was of the LDS faith. He was a Mormon. We continued to visit and, before he left, he asked me if there was anything he could do to make my stay more comfortable. He took my phone number, and the next day he called to ask if I needed anything. He continued to call. Sometimes we would just go to lunch and visit. He continued to ask how he could help me, if there was anything I needed. In a parish full of Catholics, he, the non-parishioner, the Mormon, was the only person reaching out to me. Now, I ask you, who practiced community?“

“The Samaritan,” I shouted in reply.

We know this is true. It isn’t easy to love your neighbor, even when we desire to do so. Our lives are busy. Coffee after Mass? I only have two days off from my work week. I have groceries and laundry and errands to run. We work 10 hour days and barely have time for our families. When do we have time to love our neighbor? Then you throw in all the time spent volunteering. I don’t have time to “chat.” Maybe something needs to change.

In the parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10 29:37), the story concludes with Jesus asking which of the three was neighbor to the victim? And his questioners respond, ”The one who offered love.” Jesus said to them, “Go and do likewise.”

How will you extend community to your neighbor this week?


What changes do you need to make so you have time to love your neighbor?

A Prisoner’s Story- The Story of Jim

01 Dec 2011 11 Comments

by jeanbriese in General, Reflections Of A Catholic Woman Tags: , , , ,

He was just eight years old the first time he was incarcerated.  A baby really, a sweet innocent boy whose worst crime was being born to parents who couldn’t figure out their own lives.  A typical youngest child, he was the family clown.  Always sporting a bright smile, always wanting to please, he was adored by his oldest sister.  She, at 10 years of age when he was born, thought of him as her responsibility, as her “baby.”  She would wake at night to feed him when no parents were home and tried to fill the gap as best as a young girl might. 

Neglected, physically and sexually abused, his life had been one of constant shuffling back and forth between divorced, alcoholic parents, who gave little supervision and no direction to this growing boy.   Shuffling, that is, until at six years of age, when his mother went out one night with a boyfriend and did not return. 

It was two weeks before Christmas.

Eventually the food ran out for the children.  His sister asked a neighbor to call the authorities and report that they had not had a parent in the home for about a week, and they had nothing to eat. 

One would have thought things could not get worse.  But oh, this was just the beginning of the descent.  How do you tear apart four children whose only safety net was each other?  There was no room in one foster home for four children.  His oldest sister, now a teen, would have none of it;  she disappeared from his life as she went off to fight her own demons.  His only constant was gone, as his life majorly changed.

Christmas?  It was too close to Christmas to accommodate four more children.  There would be no Santa Claus, no gifts, no Christmas cookies or Christmas cheer.  He must be a very bad boy if Santa isn’t coming.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone really, when at eight years old, Jimmy became the youngest ever boy at Arizona Boy’s Ranch. You might wonder what crime an eight year old could commit to warrant incarceration.  He was a chronic “runner.”  He wasn’t running away, as much as he was desperately trying to run toward a better life; toward the life he should have been given.  For this he was labeled incorrigible and  locked up with teens the size of men with serious criminal backgrounds.  This little boy’s path went from bad to worse.  The stories he tells of his time here will make you cry.  

At nine years old, he visited his sister for Christmas.  Newly married, in her own home, she and her new husband had cut down a Christmas tree.  Never having done this before, they found a spectacular tree and chopped it down to discover that, because the tree had grown against another tree, the backside was completely bare.  The tree was beautiful from the front, so they took it home and placed it against the wall.  Jimmy was so excited as they decorated the tree.  When it was all done, they placed the angel on top, turned on the lights and stood back to admire the first Christmas tree he had since he was four years old.  Already off-balance because there was only one side to the tree, the weight of all the decorations slowly toppled the tree.  They stood and watched as the beautiful Christmas tree came crashing down.  Jimmy cried and cried.  He was, after all, still a young child of nine and it was too much to watch his hopes for a “normal” Christmas come crashing down.

Sometime in his teen years, he was ready to be released.  His sister wanted him to live with her.  The authorities disagreed.  She now had a family, with two young children of her own.  The authorities felt that Jim needed to be with someone trained to handle “troubled” kids,  someone more mature, that could understand a teen-age boy.  But Sis insisted that he needed the love of his family.  And so Jimmy was released to her care.

He adored her children, and they adored him.  But it wasn’t long before his anger and his troubles brought turmoil to their home.  He stole from them.  He lied.  Indeed, the authorities were right, the young couple did not know best how to deal with his issues.  His sister loved him, but couldn’t put her family at risk.  She too, after all, was fighting for a normal life.  

And so Jim was incarcerated again.  Only for a short time, and then he was released to his dad.  At 17 years old, he was working a summer construction job.  He was 40 feet above the ground, placing beams in a steel frame of a soon to be high-rise building, when the beam fell.  Instinctively, he reached for the falling beam, and as he did so, he tumbled off the beam.  On his way down, his head hit another steel beam.  He hit the ground, and the force of the fall caused his body to bounce back up in the air and hit the ground again.  He was air-lifted to the trauma center, where upon arrival he was so badly swollen from head to toe that he had no facial features, and they could not determine his age.  The x-ray of his skull looked like a jigsaw puzzle, his skull shattered like a clay pot.  His hips, his legs, his arms were all broken.  But would he survive the head injuries?

Jim was a fighter and a survivor.  In a coma and hospitalized for months, he fought his way back to life.  His memory and his spatial judgment are forever affected. He will never be able to work or drive.  As a young man who finally had freedom and was trying to build a life for himself, he was now angrier than he had ever been.  He had years of reconstructive surgery ahead of him, to rebuild his face, his arm, his hip, his leg.  It is perhaps not surprising that his next obstacle in life would become a prescription drug addiction. Too bad all the physical therapy didn’t include emotional support and someone to watch over the prescription drug use; but that was 20 years ago.  One can only hope things are different today.

Today Jim is 43 years old.  He sits in an Arizona prison, a place he has called home for most of his life.  Oh, he has been released a few times, only to face the same issues on the “outside.”   Still not able to work or drive, what else is there to do?  It is only a matter of time until he finds his way back to the drugs.  Most of his time in prison is in protective custody.  No one comes to visit him, he has never made friends outside of prison.  He gets angry at times and punches himself in the face.  He writes to his mother, with requests and tales that are childlike and absurd.  One wonders if he has any sense of reality at all. 

” Lord, when did we see you ill or in prison, and visit you?”   And the King will say to them in reply, “Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for these least brothers of mine, you did for me.”   Matthew 25:40

This Advent season, I will do something I have never done.  I will attempt to visit someone in prison.  I have helped to feed the hungry, I have welcomed strangers, I have clothed the needy, and cared for the ill.  I have never visited someone in prison.  The thought creates a physical reaction in me.  I have been around juvenile institutions and just remembering those visits makes me cry, makes my stomach twist into a tight ball and ache.  And truthfully, over the years I have developed a “tough love” approach to prisoners, reasoning that they are there because they deserve to be.  They are adults, they made their choices, and now they can pay the consequences of their choices. 

On Christ the King Sunday, as we listened to the reading above, the words jumped out at me, “When did we see you in prison and visit you?”  I knew what I had to do.  On the way home, I told my husband that I had often struggled with the part of this reading that speaks to visiting those in prison.  I “justified” it by telling him I had different talents, and I was called to other ministries.  Visiting those in prison is for someone else, someone who can “stomach” it.    My sweet husband, the cop, whom I expected to be embittered and cynical with all he sees in his daily profession, said to me, “You have to remember that not everyone in prison is evil.”  

Indeed.  As I write Jim’s story, I stop every few sentences to cry.  To cry for the sweet innocent boy who loved to make everyone laugh and who never really had a chance in this life.  This Advent, I am going to attempt to visit Jim. Attempt because I have to go through a process to visit a prisoner that could take 60 days.  

Please pray for Jim and please pray for me,  for you see,  Jim is my little brother,  whom I have not seen in years.

This Christmas, let us remember all lost children in our prayers.

 

Jim and Jean in a light-hearted moment before the tree crashed.

 

 

Jim (in front) with our brother and sister. This picture was taken shortly before we were abandoned.

Jimmy before he became a prisoner at eight years old.

Unexpected Christmas Gifts

26 Nov 2011 Leave a Comment

by jeanbriese in Family Reflection, General, Reflections Of A Catholic Woman Tags: , , , ,

In 2008  I was so blessed to be able to go to the Holy Land. I wrote the following during Christmas that year, as a letter to Father Lopez. I now share it with you. 

It was Christmas Day, and we planned to attend the 10:30 Mass.  At 9:45 we were in our bedroom getting ready for Mass when the doorbell rang.  Since we live off of a dirt road and are fairly far from most folks, it is rare that the doorbell rings unexpectedly.  

It was my sister, with whom I had not spoken for five years.  I raised her children, and now I have her biological granddaughter, 16-month-old Alli.  Alli has been in my home for the last three months.  My sister is standing on my doorstep with her arms full of presents and she  wants to see the baby.

Needless to say, we are late getting out the door.  The trip to Church is silent, as we are stressed by being late and by all that has occurred in a few short minutes. Much later I will reflect back and realize that this was a grace to be offered reconciliation on Christmas, and certainly an acceptable reason to be late. And interestingly enough, reconciliation offered because of the birth of a baby.   

But right now, all that escapes me as I dread walking in the door after Mass has begun on Christmas morn. I am just stressed. 

I convince myself that my only alternative is to go home, and so decide that God (and me) would prefer I be late to Mass.   We walk in after the procession has begun. The Church is full.  A familiar face smiles and motions me to a seat… not in my usual section, of course, that is full. I am directed to where the choir would normally sit during their “breaks.” 

The reading centers me.  It is about the shepherds in their fields. It was just a few months ago that I sat in the shepherd’s field. I entered a grotto in the field, decorated to memorialize the event we are hearing about in this reading.   

Over the arch of the cave as you enter are the words “In Excelsis Deo.”  This simple hole in the rock standing in the field, where even today you see shepherds in the outlying fields, is simple and in many ways, not unlike any other cave on a mountainside.  We walk down into the cave and there is a manger scene of the babe, Mary, Joseph, the shepherds and angels.  I seat myself on a rock that seems to have eroded away into a bench. The space is small, and we fill it standing shoulder to shoulder.  And then spontaneously, we break into song, “Gloria! In Excelsis Deo.” The music is absolutely beautiful; it is as if the angels are singing with us. Really.  I am overcome.  I can’t sing; I can’t speak. I feel as if I have stopped breathing and time is frozen.  Tears are rolling uncontrollably down my face. 

I ask myself, “Why, Lord? Why here? Of all the places we have gone and we are to go, why am I overcome in a cave in a field?” And of course, the answer comes to me.  Because I, like the shepherds, have been called to find Jesus. I have spent years coming to my current relationship with Jesus, and I have been called to hop on a plane and travel thousands of miles to see where He was born. To walk where He walked.  To see where He died for me.  And I am near.  Like the shepherds, I am overcome with the glory being presented.  I realize that I am just a shepherd in the field, come to find the King, worship, honor, praise Him, and to share the Good News that He has come for all.  My second Christmas Gift.

As Mass continues, the incense is lit. As the aroma and smoke fill the room, I am transported back to Bethlehem. I am kneeling at the site where our Lord was born.  I am kneeling at the site where His manger was believed to sit.  The incense burns here all the time.  I never thought I would appreciate the incense as much as I do now. 

During the Liturgy of the Eucharist, the Eucharistic Ministers gather around the altar.  I am on my knees watching as Father Lopez prays the words of the consecration. Because of the way the EM’s are standing, I have a very narrow, limited view.  It is as if I am looking through a telescope; there is a small opening between two EM’s where all my attention is focused.   While I peer through this opening, all I can see is the bread and Father’s hands.  Hands are over the bread.  They move up and down, blessing the bread. Hands lift up the transubstantiated bread that has become Jesus as I hear the words, “This is my body, given for you.”    I am struck by this view.  I see nothing but Father’s hands and bread that have become Jesus. It is as if they have united together, human hands and divine grace.   I will receive communion with Jesus today because Father has given his hands to be used for this grace.  I realize that if Father had not said, “Yes, Lord, I give you my hands to do your Will,” I would not be able to have this great grace I am about to receive.   All over the world, there are hands offering this grace that would not be available without the ”Yes” of God’s servants called to priesthood.

I am struck with the simplicity with which our Lord offers greatness.  I am struck by the faith given to our priests, who said “Yes Lord, my hands are yours.  My thoughts, my body, my heart-all of me is yours.”

I am filled with gratitude that you said ”Yes” and gave yourself to our Lord and His will. Just wanted to say thank you.   It was truly a blessed Christmas, and the best gifts I received were not wrapped or sitting under a tree. 

As we enter Advent, let us be open to the gifts of the Holy Spirit and

let us show appreciation and gratitude for our priests, pastors and other religious leaders.

Father, Will You Hold Me?

28 Oct 2011 1 Comment

by jeanbriese in Family Reflection, General, Reflections Of A Catholic Woman Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

It was a Monday morning like every other, and I was very focused on getting everything “ready” for the busy week ahead. Get Alli’s breakfast ready, get ready for work, prep food for dinner, make sure the house is picked up before I leave. “Alli, are you ready to go?” I called.

 “Grandma.”

 “Yes, Alli,” I responded, as I looked down to gaze into the eyes of now four-year-old Allison.

 Alli stood next to me looking up expectantly and, when her eyes caught mine, she asked, “Grandma, will you hold me?”

“Yes, Alli, yes I will. Let’s sit down and let me love on you.” A wide smile crossed her face as we headed over to the couch, and I scooped her into my arms.

Oh, the embrace. What a wonderful gift it is. As I wrapped my arms around Allison, I gave thanks for this little girl who gives me pause and helps me on a daily basis to remember my true priorities. What is more important than love? As we sat, my world, my day became calmer. A peace swept over me, so that I too felt embraced in love.

 
As I drove in to work later that day, listening to KLOVE radio, the DJ read their “encouraging word” for the day, from Mark 10:14-16 “Let the children come to me; do not prevent them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Amen, I say to you, whoever does not accept the kingdom of God like a child will not enter it. Then He embraced them, placing His hands on them.”

I need to go to Christ as a child?   My mind flashed back to Allison, gazing up at me, with full faith that I will provide whatever she needs.  Breakfast, no worries, she knows she will be fed.  Clothes and shoes for school, no worries, she knows they will be provided.  Home with her own place to sleep, provided.  Toys for playing and growing, yes, provided.  All of her needs, many of her wants are provided.  She never worries that these will be provided.  She trusts fully.   Loved unconditionally on a daily basis, yes, of that she knows.  And when she needs an embrace, she asks, without hesitation, without fear, “Grandma, will you hold me?”

Her request is rewarded with a few special moments on my lap, wrapped in loving protective arms.  She can feel my breath as I whisper “I love you” softly to her, and I feel her breath when she responds.  This intimate embrace brings us together, brings us to peace.

Father in heaven, will you hold me?  I want to come to you like a child.  Take away my worries and let me know that you will provide all I need. Father, let me sit in your lap. Let me feel your arms around me. Let me feel your breath whisper to me, “I love you.” Let me whisper back, “I love you too.”   And let our breath mingle and bond us together and bring us both the satisfaction and peace of just sitting in love’s embrace.

      Give me, Father, the gift of coming to you like a child, in full faith.

Trying On Mary

12 Jun 2011 Leave a Comment

by jeanbriese in Family Reflection, General, Reflections Of A Catholic Woman Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

It was a hot summer day at the end of a stressful month.  Already June, we had missed our May trip north to park our camping trailer for the summer months.  Usually a trip we anticipate with the excitement of an eight-year old waiting for Christmas morn, today it felt like a chore.  I was only a few months into a new and demanding job, that while I loved, was an adjustment for our entire family.   At the beginning of May we lost our beloved family matriarch, my mother-in-law.  A large family and an even larger loss, my husband named executor of the family trust, May had been one stressful month.

And then I saw it.   At first glance, just another post on Facebook.  Posted by a friend from WINGS,  our women’s group at church.  It simply read:

My To Do List:

Sing

Smile at strangers

Keep learning

Notice kindness

Eat ice cream

Hope

Count my blessings

Laugh

Love

Love some more

It hit me like a ton of bricks.  My first thought was, “Wouldn’t it be great if that could be my to do list?”  Then I wondered, “Do people really act on these to do lists, or are they just a nice thing to post?”  Finally I thought,  “Why not?”

As women we have so much to do.  I am a wife, a mother, a daughter, a grandmother, an auntie, a sister, a friend, a BFF , an employee, a boss, a child of God’s and oh yeah ………ME.   Each of these roles in my life comes with its own list of “To Dos.”  Then you add in the holidays and seasons.   Yikes, I’m getting tired thinking about it.

I pulled up the task list in my phone and read the errands for the day:  Drop off dry cleaning,  submit expense report, draft business strategy for increasing hardware sales,  pick up milk on way home.

Now I should tell you, I am an extreme Martha personality.  You know the story, Jesus is dining with friends and Martha is busy cooking, cleaning, preparing and serving.  And there is Mary, sitting at the feet of Jesus listening to his every word.  Martha is angered.   And Jesus tells her that she is fretting over many things and that Mary has chosen the better part.  Luke 10:39

This is in direct conflict with our American culture. It is in direct conflict with who I am as a person. I am Martha.  I see the things that need to be done, and I get busy. This characteristic has served me well.  I am a results-oriented woman who has enjoyed success in my career thanks to my “getting things done.”  So every time I hear this story, I react like Martha. “Seriously, Jesus?  How the heck is that fair? Tell Mary to help.”   One morning I am sitting in Mass and Luke 10:39 is read and our pastor says, “Jesus wasn’t saying we shouldn’t work.  Jesus was saying that God’s work will get done, we don’t have to fret about it.  He was saying there is a time to listen to Jesus.  Take the time.”

So I moved my tasks to another day and copied Michelle’s To Do List into my phone.  I had decided that it is time for me to see what it is like to be Mary.

At first my husband rolled his eyes at me when I announced that we had a lot on our to do list and read the list to him.  But as I crossed each item off my list, funny things began to happen.  As we pulled out of the driveway for our trip up north, we tackled item #1, Sing.  As a family we took turns picking songs to sing.  What a great way to start our day! That certainly lightened the mood.  Next we counted our blessings.  This was fun as each of us took turns thinking of blessings and seeing how many we could count.  I began to feel blessed and de-stressed.   It wasn’t long before even my husband was enjoying the list.   He was mildly excited about learning something new.   After three years of owning our truck, we finally learned what the red blinking dot on our rearview mirror meant (it was pretty cool too.)  He really became engaged in the list when I announced it was time to eat ice cream.  Little Alli joined in the fun as we all began to look for opportunities to extend kindness and smile at strangers.  Alli enjoyed holding the door for people, saying hi and smiling.    The entire mood of our day lifted as our priorities shifted.  As we got down to only a few items, I admit, I downloaded an app on my phone called “funny jokes” and read them aloud until we were all laughing.  What a blessed day;   laughing, smiling at strangers, helping others and sharing all these important things as a family.

Thank you Michelle for the list. Thank you Mary for knowing when the important thing is to just sit and let Jesus speak to you.  Thank you Jesus for a blessed, blessed day.

Find time to be Mary.  Focus on what is truly important.

Grandma’s Wrinkles

16 Sep 2009 3 Comments

by jeanbriese in Family Reflection, General

Grandma’s Wrinkles

As I lay on my bed with four year old Madelyn, we gazed lovingly into each other’s face.  I looked deep into her eyes with a love that only a grandmother can understand.  I was overcome with awe and the power of a Lord who allows me to be so blessed with a beautiful family created out of the love that Don and I have for each other. That love and our awesome God created a beautiful little girl.  She took that love and went on to create another beautiful little girl.  And here we lay,  gazing lovingly into each other’s faces.

 “Grandma?” 

 “Yes, dear.”  I smiled back, thinking what a wonderful moment we were sharing. 

 “You’re face is getting a little old.” 

 Okay.  Back to reality.  

 “Why do you say that?”

Madelyn grabbed my hand and said, “See your face looks like the back of your hand.”

 Sorry I asked. 

Yes Madelyn.  Grandma’s face is getting a little old.  See this wrinkle here, right under my left eye.  The one that is just a little more pronounced than the others?  That is no wrinkle at all.

When I was a very little girl, not much older than you, I accompanied my mother on a shopping trip.  The beautiful dresses, with their long swaying fabric, hung from the rack all the way to the floor.  A small girl like me could go under the dresses inside the rack and hide.  I jumped up to the rack and hung by my arms, just like the dresses, and with my legs I pushed myself back and forth so I swayed like the fabric.  And then as every mother would predict, I fell, catching the corner of my eye on the base of the rack.  Our shopping trip abruptly ended, as we left for the emergency room and a couple of stitches to the corner of my eye.  That is no wrinkle. That is the curiosity of a bright young girl, just like you.

See these wrinkles around my eyes.  Those aren’t really wrinkles. When I was a young lady, eager to fall in love and full of romantic notions, I met a very handsome young man, a dark-haired fox we liked to call him.  His name was Don and I sat on the steps of the front of the school reading my Romeo and Juliet English lesson, waiting for him to come outside.  Eventually he came outside, noticed my reading and suggested we study together.  I asked him if he would like to accompany me to my band picnic.  He did! We went to Encanto Park and after a day of picnicking and canoeing in the canals, we shared our first kiss.  As I smile now remembering it, I can feel the corners of my eyes turn. Yes, dear Madelyn, grandma’s eyes get all squinty remembering the laughter we shared.  Four years later, we went back to Encanto Park where your Papa proposed.  It has now been 35 years or more since that day on the front porch of the school and your Papa still makes my eyes sparkle and the corners crinkle. Those aren’t wrinkles Madelyn; those are the marks of love, from young romantic love to a content,  satisfied love.  Those are the marks of a lifetime of shared love and laughter. 

See these wrinkles around my mouth? Those aren’t wrinkles at all.  When your mother was just a baby of less than two years, she too was full of youthful curiosity. She climbed up onto the hearthstone of our brick fireplace and tried to balance and walk across.  She made it about halfway before falling and splitting her face open under her eye.  As I waited in the emergency room with my tearful, bleeding baby girl, I pursed my lips together in worry.  This of course, was only the first of many times I pursed my lips together as Candice, Matt, Dan and Megan spread their wings, learning to fly and sometimes falling.  These aren’t wrinkles Madelyn. These are a mother’s concern and care for her little ones as they grow up. 

See this one in the middle of my forehead? You can only see it when my forehead is scrunched in an almost frown.  It is rare, but pronounced when it comes together. That is not a wrinkle.  When your great grandpa Hill passed on to heaven, when your great grandpa Briese was lost unexpectedly, these were times of deep sorrow.  The tears flowed and the brow furrowed as I struggled to come to terms with loss of those who were the strong leaders of our family, those who made us feel safe.  That torch had now passed and that awesome responsibility at times brings my forehead together in deep thought.

The trend today for youth is to tattoo their bodies, leaving a permanent symbol to reflect their uniqueness, their individualism. Some choose foreign symbols to represent a value or character they deem important.

I have nature’s tattoos.  These aren’t wrinkles at all, but the badges of my life; the curiosity, the happiness, the worry, the loss, the laughter, the care and the love.   A life lived fully with passion and integrity, each wrinkle is a reminder of a life richly blessed.  I have earned each of these” wrinkles” and I wear them with pride.  Yes Madelyn, in a world obsessed with surface looks and to a young eye, I am starting to look old. 

My prayer is that as you grow you will learn to look beyond the surface and see the inner beauty in yourself foremost and in others as well.  I know you will.  You have a great God and a good mother.  And someday my dear, I pray you have your own wrinkles to commemorate your life and loves as you raise my great grandchildren and future generations.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 47 other followers

%d bloggers like this: