Update

So a few weeks ago my chicken and I moved in with my parents. After living in Bellingham for the last 4 years I am sad to go- but also very excited for what lies ahead. I just got a job teaching English at Our Lady Star of the Sea in Bremerton. School starts on September 5th, so I have been very busy getting everything ready. Please keep me and my students in your prayers.

Dymphna has been keeping me very entertained -- just yesterday, my mom fed the cats what we call "the good stuff" which is the canned cat food. Dymphna just marched right up to the dish and started eating with the cats. And guess what--it was chicken and gravy! She seemed to really like it too. Now we have to put the cat food bowls out of reach because she goes in to clean up after the cats are done... I can't believe her.

Here is a video that I took today...

Humorous Mysteries and a Meditation

My dad says that there should be "humorous" mysteries for the Rosary. After reading yesterday's Gospel passage, I agree with him:

As they were gathering in Galilee, Jesus said to them, "The Son of Man is to be handed over to men, and they will kill him, and he will be raised on the third day." And they were overwhelmed with grief. When they came to Capernaum, the collectors of the temple tax approached Peter and said, "Doesn't your teacher pay the temple tax?""Yes," he said. ²² When he came into the house, before he had time to speak, Jesus asked him, "What is your opinion, Simon? From whom do the kings of the earth take tolls or census tax? From their subjects or from foreigners?"When he said, "From foreigners," Jesus said to him, "Then the subjects are exempt. But that we may not offend them, go to the sea, drop in a hook, and take the first fish that comes up. Open its mouth and you will find a coin worth twice the temple tax. Give that to them for me and for you." Matthew 17:22-27


Hah! Ok, well I thought it was funny...

On a more serious note, the meditation yesterday in the Magnificat was a very beautiful piece on Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament and I wanted to share that with you also:

Union with Christ's Passion

For many years now, O Lord, each day at five o'clock in the afternoon, I have been the client of your blessed cross. A disappointing client. The air which this sluggish character displaces when he moves would not be enough to turn the sails of a windmill. It doesn't matter. He likes to be here, he likes to feel totally dissolved and ignored here, to accept his part of silence and general immobility. Most of the time, nothing happens, at least nothing perceptible. He is happy when, after long repeated periods of watching, he feels deep within himself something as important as the falling of a grain of sand. But is it nothing just purely and simply to exist? Is it nothing just to coexist with that lamp, with that tiny particle of red light which at times diminishes and at other times abruptly flashes out, as it testifies to God over yonder in the sanctuary? Passion has become patience. It is you, O Lord, and it is the cross! Is it nothing to have for one instant espoused Eternity in the abdication of time, and to participate in the patience of God? Above me the sad stream of memories, images, and ideas continues its whirling iridescent course. I am somewhere else, below, a little lower down. I am substantially myself where the principal function is purely and simply to continue and to breathe. I look at nothing. I ask for nothing. I am here, and I wait. It is good to be here...
Oh Lord, I understand now that it is no slight thing, I don't mean carrying your cross, but simply accompanying it, measuring it with my eyes, at once attracted, astonished, and terrified. Now, up there where it has flown high, it beckons to me.

~Paul Claudel (1953) poet, playwright, diplomat, and member of the French Academy.

Esther ~ May 12, 1923- July 31, 2007

On July 31st I received a call from one of my former coworkers at an assisted living facility for elderly with dementia. I worked there for almost one year. It was a very challenging job and I have great appreciation for all caregivers. Anyway, my coworker told me that Esther had past away. When I quit in April I told everyone there to keep me informed about Esther. Of all the people I cared for, Esther had the most profound impact on me. This news brought me great sadness- I wish I could have said goodbye.

I remember last year when I went to the facility seeking employment, one of the supervisors showed me around. My eyes fixed on Esther as she pushed one of her fellow residents down the hall in their wheelchair. They were flailing their arms in opposition, but she was silently persistent in pushing them. The touching part was that she had tears streaming down her face. My heart melted at this sight and I wanted to go over and console her. From that moment I knew that I loved her. I’m not sure exactly what it was—I just felt very close to her.

During my many days of work, I would make rounds through the halls—keeping my eye out for people needing assistance, but most of the time my main thought was “where is Esther?” I would scout around looking for her and when I found her I would spend my time doing whatever she was doing. Usually she was walking around or sitting in a cozy chair. We had a corner with stuffed animals and baby dolls. Sometimes I would bring her a baby. This was such a beautiful encounter to witness. At the sight of the baby her face would light up and she would lovingly reach out her arms to hold the doll. She would lift it up and affectionately give it “Eskimo” kisses. Often she would talk to the baby, "You are gonna gonna day be. Oh you kelta leta lil is it yea that's right." During the time that I knew her, her words never made much sense, but I always knew what she was saying. She and I would have extensive conversations and I hope that she felt validated through my listening.

One time while I was helping Esther, I asked her if she would adopt me as a granddaughter. She whispered “Yeass” (with kind of a southern drawl). I don’t think she knew what I was asking but since she said “yes” I started telling everyone that she was my grandma—of course I would explain the real situation but to me she really was a grandmother figure.



I had the privilege of attending Esther’s graveside service last week. It was a little odd going and not knowing many people. I knew her husband and a couple of her brothers that came to see her on occasion. There were a lot of people there—probably about 50 to 75, which seemed large at a gravesite. A beautiful picture of Esther was on the front of the program. I think the picture was taken before much of the dementia set in, you could just tell by her eyes that her lively and loving spirit was still connected with the outside world.


Her son gave the eulogy. It was absolutely beautiful. I loved hearing his stories and sentiments about his dear mother. I couldn’t help but cry. I felt kind of silly because I did not see any one else crying.

For many of the people there, I do not think they saw Esther much during her years of having dementia. I could be wrong, but her main visitors that I saw were her husband and brothers—I only worked from 7-3 so other people may have come after I left. My point is that many people there did not really know her while she had dementia. For me, that was all I knew of her. They knew what she used to be like and I only knew her during her last stage of dementia.

Her son spoke of how much she loved everyone she met. He said, “She never knew a stranger.” I can speak to that. Despite the disease, she would often look at me as if she had known me for years. To my delight her son talked about her love for Christ. He shared how Esther would want to spread Christ’s love not necessarily by sharing His Word, but rather by sharing the kindness and love of Christ through her own actions. How beautiful! This was an aspect of Esther that I did not know. I had no clue of her love for Christ. This made me very excited and I prayed in thanksgiving for Esther’s great faith and example.

No matter your age, size, race, religion, mental abilities, etc.—you can impact people around you. Our culture would like to think that elderly with dementia do not contribute to the society. I am here to tell you that they do. I feel very honored to have cared for all of those residents. I have learned about human dignity and respect. I now know the value of true companionship—many times, especially near the end of her life, I would sit with Esther and hold her hand. Nothing was said we just sat there. There was no awkwardness, just peace. I learned that “love does not seek it’s own…[rather, it] bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.”

I would say these lessons are a great contribution to society. I invite all of you to adopt many grandparents.

Esther, may you rest peacefully and joyfully in an eternal embrace with Our Lord. Amen.