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.

The Promise

26 Mar 2012 8 Comments

by jeanbriese in Memoir Tags: , , , ,

The sun seemed to kiss her face and shoulders as she walked along the street.  With her bronzed skin and long blonde hair parted straight down the middle, she looked like any other 15 year old in 1974.

What made her different was the fact that she had been “on her own” now for several months.  Technically, I suppose, she was a runaway.  But one might argue, “Are you a runaway if no one is looking for you?”  Abandoned by her divorced mother, she didn’t know her biological father.  Her mom’s fourth husband had adopted her when her mother was diagnosed with melanoma, and she wasn’t expected to live.  Her mom did live and her parents divorced, making this her mother’s fourth divorce. 

With her mother out of the picture, her father and his new wife did not want the responsibility of four extra kids.  The discussion was foster care.  As they tried to find homes for four kids (they were to be split up), her father was asked to keep them until appropriate homes could be found.

This did not create a harmonious family life in the new home.  She awoke one morning to find the police standing over her.  Her father and stepmother had been fighting upstairs.  She had been sleeping on the couch downstairs.  Somehow, a gun was fired.  They found the bullet inches from her head on the couch.  She decided to leave.    

To survive, after high school each day, she sold flowers on the street corner in order to make some money, and at night crashed with friends.  Right now she was staying with a police officer and his family that she met after getting robbed two nights in a row while selling flowers.  The first night two guys from the drug joint bar across the street approached, one distracted her by asking questions about flowers and, while her back was turned, the other guy grabbed her money.  She was so naïve, she had her purse with her money sitting on the ground between the buckets of flowers.  After the policeman arrived, the owner of the gas station on “her corner” agreed that she should keep her purse inside the station.  And that is why when the gas station was robbed the very next night, the bad guys also took her purse.  This prompted the police officer to come by every night and “check up” on her.  Each night, when his shift was slow and there was no crime to fight, he would stop by, letting his police car and police presence be known to any would-be bad guys.  When she had to leave her friend’s home because her friend’s father thought he could climb into bed with her, the police officer said she could stay with his family. 

And so it came to be that she found herself living about ten miles away from her high school and her friends.  With no driver’s license and no car, she walked almost everywhere.  This day was beautiful, and the sun felt so warm on her skin and face.  Although the sidewalk was dirty and the road was strewn with trash as she walked along, she was overcome with a sense of peace, a sense of joy, a sense of love.  She knew in the depth of her very soul that, although she had nothing she possessed except the clothes on her back, she was going to be okay.  She was so filled with peace,  joy and love that she wrote these words that day: 

When Mother Earth tucks the sun into bed,

And pulls a blanket of stars over his head,

When Mister Moon comes out to play,

And when I wish forever was today,

This is the time when I long to say,

I love you.

 

When the orchestral crickets play to the world,

When it’s quiet outside and nothing is heard,

When we’re together and we speak with speaking,

Living and laughing and wishing and thinking,

This is the time when I long to say,

I love you.

 

When the heavens weep for the sins of man,

And God cleanses the earth with pure white snow and a gentle hand,

When the sandman comes and takes me away

To a candy sweet dream world where I long to stay,

This is the time when I long to say,

I love you.

 

When eternity began and again when it ends,

And while it weaves its silver silken thread

Through the old gray hair on Father Time’s head,

These three words will always be

Etched in my mind like initials on a tree,

I love you.

Longing for love and not trusting adults, all her hope was in a young man named Don and so she titled the poem “For Don.”

That was 38 years ago.

Looking back now, the joy of that day, the warmth and the beauty she saw in the dismal surroundings, the promise she knew in her soul, there is no doubt this was of God and from God.  God’s love was given to her when she could not yet hear God’s voice.  But God was with her all the same.  The events frozen in time, the words that she wrote that day, a soul’s response to Love offered, all were still etched in her mind.  God’s promise was conveyed to a lost young girl.  How beautiful you are, My Lord. 

It may seem to be incomprehensible that one can find joy in the worst of circumstances.  And yet, in the passion of Christ, we find uncontainable joy.  As we see God move in our world, we see the joy of God in all things. 

This Lent, experience the joy of God in whatever circumstance you find yourself.

Dancing With My Father

29 Feb 2012 1 Comment

by jeanbriese in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , ,

He suggested I dance.  After meeting with my new spiritual director, he said I mentioned the word “struggle” thirteen times in my conversation with him. So instead of struggling to follow the Lord’s will for me, he suggested that I dance.

I have to admit, the vision was lovely. I pictured graceful dancers, beautifully attired, gliding across the floor.  That didn’t seem like a struggle at all.  In fact, the vision is beautiful, rhythmic and flowing. Okay, I will try to dance.

I left our meeting encouraged at the thought. 

The Tango

As the idea of dancing settled into my soul, my mind grabbed hold and started to analyze. Thank you God for this great mind you gave me, truly a gift from You, my intelligence has been a blessing in my life.  It also works non-stop, my mind constantly analyzing. And so I began to analyze how to dance with the Lord.

As I began to embrace the dance, the beautiful vision again entered my mind.  Wait a minute, those beautiful, rhythmic movements are the result of knowing the steps, of years of practice and athletic ability.  I looked up dance in Wikipedia and found this helpful information:

“Every dance, no matter what style, has something in common. It not only involves flexibility and body movement, but also physics. If the proper physics are not taken into consideration, injuries may occur.” 

Great.  Flexibility, yeah, I need more of that, a lot more.  Body movement, okay I move, but I am not the most coordinated person out there.  Physics?  I can embrace physics. Injuries may occur?  I clearly am not ready to dance.

At this point, I believe it was the Holy Spirit that interrupted me as my mind said, “Wait a minute?  Have you managed to turn dancing with the Lord into a struggle?”

Hmmm.  Okay.  Breathe.  I am pretty certain this is not what my spiritual director had in mind. So let’s just spend some more time in meditation.

The Swing

The next morning hope was renewed as God had spoken to me and said, “I will lead the dance, you just follow.”  I smiled at the thought.  This was Fat Tuesday.

That night we went to a Mardi Gras celebration with friends at a local restaurant.  As the Dixie band played, a young couple entered the dance floor. Man, could they dance!  Every movement was synchronized as they seemingly effortlessly jumped, kicked, twirled and danced to the music.  They were beautiful. They were joyous!  I loved this new vision of dance and the sheer happiness of this dance.  Allison, my four year old, ran out onto the dance floor.  She began to watch their movements and mimic theirs. And when she tired of mimicking their dance moves, she care freely danced as she felt to the music. Sometimes she simply skipped around the dance floor in circles.  The entire restaurant was charmed by these young dancers and by little Allison.  Their joy was contagious. Oh, to have faith like a child and joyously dance!

 

The Salsa

Ash Wednesday.  Uhmm, Heavenly Father.  You know how you said you would lead the dance and I will follow?  Well, have you seen me dance?  I am not good at following.  I step on feet.  I push when I should pull and I go the wrong way a lot.  I have a great desire to be a good follower. I am just sorry to tell you that I really am not good at it.  I stand here before you afraid that I am going to fail. Afraid that as much as I desire to follow your lead, I am not good at it.  Father, I want to dance with you, I am just not sure I can.

That morning before Mass, I wrote a blog.  Usually my blog ends with a connection of the story to our faith.  I had the words of the story. I didn’t have the end, the connection. I just had a strong desire to write the words. So I thought, maybe this story doesn’t need the connection.  And I headed out the door to Mass. 

Sitting in Mass, as soon as Father began to speak, it was the connection to the words I had written only minutes before.  My morning story now had its ending. This was the second time I wrote my blog entry, to have the connection finished later at Mass.  Writing this right now, I can see God was trying to show me that I could follow his lead.  At the time, I completely missed this connection. 

At the time, I thought to myself, I am trying to write and get my story finished. I have deadlines.  I am trying to dance with you Lord, and appreciate that You gave me the end of story, but we are waltzing here and I want to salsa.  Let’s pick up the pace a little, will ya?  Maybe I am not so good at following His lead.

 

The Dance

It is two days before my next meeting with my spiritual director.  This will be my second meeting. Will he ask how the dancing is going?  How will I answer?  I had better read my Bible and spend some time in meditation.

As I am spending my time in silence today, my dancing journey flashes in my mind. Why am I still struggling Lord?  I want to dance, I really do.  What do I need to do?

And the answer comes to me that make the tears roll down my face.  “My child, stand on my feet and hold onto my hands.  You do not need to know the steps. You do not need to be coordinated. You need not worry about following my lead. Just hold on, and we will dance.”

I can picture a toddler Allison, standing on her Papa’s feet, holding on to his hands as he danced her around our living room. I can see her smiling face looking over to me, as if to say, “See Granma, see, I am dancing.” 

Lord, I am so humbled and so grateful that You would dance with me. So grateful that you have been patient with me.  So grateful that You allow me to come to You as a child and You extend your hands and your feet to me.  I absolutely accept this dance with You. 

“See, see World, I am dancing!”

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
 

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?

One Word

01 Jan 2012 8 Comments

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

As an extremely goal oriented person, New Year’s is a great time for me.  I love the idea that the New Year is a blank page and I can write whatever I want on my page.  So for years, I would take the entire month to come up with my goals. At one point I even had categories for my goals; personal, financial, career, health, home, etc.    I know it sounds obsessive, and I suppose it was, but it really worked for me.  Probably because I didn’t stress on the goals, I simply dreamt them up and then tucked them away. The way I figured it,  I would do my best and whatever happened, I still came out ahead.  So I always enjoyed at the end of each year, pulling out my year’s goals and seeing how much I had accomplished. 

A couple of years ago, I heard a new idea being shared about New Year’s resolutions that really intrigued me.  The idea was that most of us make a New Year’s resolution based on a problematic behavior (or two or three) that we have struggled with for years.  So we resolve in January to fix this behavior and by February,  we have long forgotten this resolution.

The suggestion was that our resolutions seldom work because they focus on the type of person we want to become rather than who God wants us to be. So, what if our hopes for the year centered on who God wanted us to become, instead? 

The concept being offered by My One Word organization is, rather than a litany of doomed resolutions, you simply choose one word that is your vision for the year.  When you choose a single word, you have a single focus. You are moving toward the future rather than swearing off the past.  

Hmmm.  One word.   I decided to give it a try.  

To begin,  you envision yourself at the end of the year.  You invite God to assist you in this vision. What kind of person do you want to be, does God want you to be? This process took some time, as I mulled over all the characteristics that I wanted in my life and in my soul.  When you have the vision of the person you want to be at the end of the year, you choose your one word.

In my overly obsessive way, I gathered my children and grandchildren together and asked them to choose one word for their year as well. After all, the journey is always much more fun together!

I loved the words that my family chose.  My oldest daughter, a single mother, was just ending a tough year. She, like many Americans had lost her job, her oldest son had a bicycle accident that resulted in a serious head injury, (he is fully recovered, praise God!) and she was trying to get back on her feet.  She chose abundant as her word.

My grandson Christian, who was just entering high school, chose courageous.  What a great word for a young man embarking on this part of his life!

Madelyn, eight years old at the time, chose trustworthy.  When I asked her why she chose that word, she said because she really wanted to be “Student of the Month” and you had to be trustworthy.  She didn’t know what trustworthy meant, so I was happy to help her look it up in the dictionary and talk about ways she could be trustworthy.

My sweet husband chose cultivate. What a great word.

As for me, after much consideration and so many great words to choose from, I chose the word, light.  My personal mission for many years has been “to be a blessing.”  So I thought my word would be blessing.  But as I meditated and prayed and spent time listening to the Lord, I felt called to go deeper. And soon the word light came to me. Jesus is the Light of the World.   I want to carry that light and share it with everyone, everywhere.  Fear, shame and the enemy live in the darkness, but they can not survive in the light.  I wanted the light of Jesus to always shine through me to everyone.   Light became my word.

It was amazing to see how God worked in our lives after we chose our words.  At a parish mission, Father Dominic Briese (same last name, no relation) offered  a CD called “You are the Light of the World.”  A woman I work with began to seek me out to inquire about her Catholic faith, which she had left. She has now reconciled with her Lord and her faith. Praise Jesus!  Madelyn became “Student of the Month.”  Christian had a terrific freshmen year and is such a courageous young man. Candice found a great job, and her life truly was abundantly blessed as many things turned around for her that year. Our parish has a beautiful rose garden loving cultivated by S.H. (sweet husband).  Wow.   Thank you Jesus, for your unending support and affirmation. If you would like more information about how to choose your one word or support for the journey, visit http://myoneword.org/  For more information on Fr. Briese,  visit   http://briese.opwest.org

 What will be your one word for 2012?

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.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 47 other followers

%d bloggers like this: