Random Acts of "Kindness"

Posts tagged ‘Spiritual’

WHO IS THAT MAN?

My husband and I were in Florida for the graduations of our two older grandchildren — one from high school, the other from nurses training. Florida was experiencing heavy rain on a daily basis.  The rain gauge at my daughter’s house overflowed at 8 ½ inches. Despite the weather, both graduations, one held outdoors, were dry.

Taking advantage of a break in the weather, we wandered to St. Augustine. We stopped in the Cathedral-Basilica of St. Augustine — America’s first parish founded September 8, 1565. Outside it was a sunny, hot, humid 92 degrees. Inside, it was cool. As is my nature, I visited and took pictures of the various statues.

I recognized St. Joseph, Our Lady, The Infant Of Prague, and St. Patrick. One statue puzzled me. He wore a monks robe and was handing a loaf of bread to a man. I knew he wasn’t St. Francis of Assisi, no birds or other animals were present. When I inquired of a man wearing an ID from the cathedral, I was told it was St. Joseph. I explained why I knew it wasn’t St. Joseph. He wouldn’t have worn a monk’s robe. I thought it was St. Anthony of Padua. I seemed to remember that loafs of bread were handed out to celebrate his feast day.

I wasn’t familiar with St. Anthony until after my father’s death in 1995. I was downtown at St. Peter’s for Mass on a Tuesday when they said a novena to St. Anthony. Tuesday’s were free at the Art Institute and various exhibits called my name. I found myself downtown on numerous Tuesday’s after that, each time I stopped for Mass, and the novena. When the number of Tuesday’s increased, I realized that St. Anthony had to be involved. I was writing and trying to publish To Pap, With Love. I learned prayers were said to St. Anthony for missing items, but I didn’t think anything was missing. I was puzzled but curious. I decided to finish the novena — nine Tuesday’s which ended on his feast day.

Leaving church on that day, we were handed a small loaf of fresh Italian bread. I learned St. Anthony was known for his preaching ability. When his body was exhumed 30 years after his death, his tongue appeared to be alive. I laughed, I knew I needed help with the writing.

Before I started this blog, I was downtown on a Tuesday, to get city stickers for our cars and stopped at St. Peter’s for Mass and St. Anthony’s  Novena. Nothing has changed, I still NEED help with the writing!

Do you know who this man is?

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Sometimes There Is No Answer

It started off as a normal day. I opened Queen Of Angels to Cure For Inconveniences and I laughed. Each morning I open both the Bible and Queen of Angels randomly and read the chapter for the day. When I read the meditation “If I am a true believer, I accept my path in this life. …. Each inconvenience is an opportunity to trust God’s divine Love and Providence in my life,” I laughed again.

I won’t bore you with the details of why this particular chapter was so appropriate except to list two examples. Flying home from Florida on Tuesday,  we learned our departing flight was delayed, causing us to miss our connection. New travel plans meant leaving at 2:00PM  for the airport instead of five.    (Oh, you’re not packed!) Luggage in an open bed of a truck, the sky opened up and our luggage got a bath.

On the home front, Tidbit, our pug had developed diabetes. The disease caused a pressure in her left eye. The vet suggested the eye be removed. The operation was Tuesday. Our son picked us up at the airport with a recovering pug that was now blind and could not be left alone.

I thought my Floridian daughter would appreciate the meditation. She did and asked that I email it to her. As I typed the message, I heard a faint tinkling of something. Investigating I found two tiny pink earrings laying on the buffet behind me. Pink is the color of LOVE!

An hour later, our phone rang. “This is a voice from your past,” my cousin Bob said. I had not talked to him in a few months, he is dealing with challenging health issues. Last July, he had a knee replaced.  A month later it developed an infection — four operations later he is still dealing with the problem. He credits his mother for his optimism and attitude. She was always positive, “We Can DO IT!” He is always positive, we can do it.

In March, he thought he would get a new knee but the doctor discovered another infection, so he is still wearing a pick line and waiting for the infection to go away.  Therefore, he is not able to be very active. While watching the History channel on a story about egg candeling, he remembered when he lived at 1900 N. Keeler. A man in the garage behind the building candeled eggs for a business. Bob shared the story with his wife that night.

The next morning, on his bedside table, he found a Juvenile Library card from 1957, issued in his name with the address of 1900 N. Keeler. He has no idea where it came from. It wasn’t a momento that he kept for years. The card wasn’t torn or damaged, just a little wrinkled around the edges.

THANKS MOM!

He shared the story with me because he knew I would understand. And he is correct, I do!

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A Tale of Two Mary’s

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I am a practicing Catholic. My father’s family (eleven children ) were very spiritual people — in the protestant religions. A great grandfather was a minister. My mother was a Catholic. In order to marry her, my father changed religions over his families objections.

Why am I writing this? Because it helps to give an understanding to my life.

Growing up I attended church on Sundays and attended parochial school. Raising children, although still a Catholic, I didn’t always go to church, until an event — instrumental in my life — changed my thinking. I was at the right place, at the right time, to help save someone’s life. (The story was written in both To Pap, With Love, and Journey With Me.)

Our Lady, the Blessed Virgin Mary, although always active in my life, played a hide and seek game with me — that story is also in both books. I was at Queen Of Heaven cemetery in 1991 when miracles were occurring. While I was there, I felt like I was in a rose garden, the fragrance was so strong, but few roses were in view and no one wore rose perfume. We learned later that it was a sign Our Lady was present. The silver chain on my mother of pearl rosary turned gold that day.

 Enough background — Sunday, 6/13/2012, we attended church service at our daughter’s River Of Life Methodist Church in Jacksonville, FL.

After the service, theme: Communication — Two Way Traffic  –I was introduced to Mary Ellen, a mother visiting from Massachusetts. She wore a beautiful medal of Our Lady, gold face against a blue veil, that she received from her aunt. She was raised Lutheran but became Catholic when her son was suffering from a life threatening illness. Wearing the medal, she stood praying at the sea wall when she felt two angels lift her shoulders, removing her burden.

The second Mary entered my life that afternoon at Fernandina Beach. My daughter, granddaughter and I stopped in the woman’s bathroom after a shopping spree. There was NO TOILET PAPER, KLEENEX OR PAPER TOWELS in sight. I met Mary Smith when I stepped outside. When I shared our sad story, she remembered a crushed box of Kleenex in her car which she donated to the cause.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Mother’s Day

Our plans for Mother’s Day this year changed in a heartbeat when my youngest daughter’s mother-in-law wound up in the hospital. Sue had planned to spend their anniversary and Mother’s Day in their home in Central Illinois. Instead, they travelled to Chicago with their two children and two puppies to spend the weekend at our house. While we watched their children, not only were they able to visit in the hospital,  they were able to go out for dinner and a play to celebrate their anniversary. Then three mothers were able to spend Mother’s day with their children.

Our house was no longer quiet. Our kitchen was busy, more seats were occupied at the table. We were able to take our grandchildren — three and six  — to Lincoln Park Zoo. After they returned home and quiet returned to our house I realized what a great present I received — busy, I felt like a mother. Thank you!

The next weekend, I got another surprise. Shopping at Walmart in Dixon, IL. I spotted a beautiful long dress whose colors reminded me of a peace rose. Of course, I had to look at it. It was on clearance, the only one like it on the rack and close to my size.  I had to buy it.  It fit. Happy Mother’s Day!

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Traveled Paths

I have to admit that I don’t know where I am going. Once again the path curves, what lies ahead.  Our youngest  grandson is going into first grade, his sister is entering preschool. Will our help still be needed? OF COURSE, but maybe not as often.

I have a husband, and four children — three girls and a son, all grown. Although in my writing, I share many of the events of my life, I try to keep their lives private.

Looking back over the years, it seems that once I have finished a job, another window opens up. Self publishing with iuniverse has allowed my books to still be available even though they were published many years ago. Recently, I’m getting inquiries about my first book — To Pap, With Love. I find this interesting.

Many times I have been in this situation. Many times while wandering I have reflected on the curve in the road. Just because I have help “from my friends in high places” doesn’t mean that boulders and detours don’t affect my path! No one said life would be easy.

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Wandering Again

It is summer, life is busy. A grandson is graduating from high school, a granddaughter from college. We will be there to celebrate their accomplishments.

I  know that “my friends” will travel with me, city, country or state.  Sometimes, one of my children will tell me that I left someone behind. Example: last year in Hawaii on vacation, I went out on the balcony to write a couple of post cards, our son went for a walk on the beach — the patio door LOCKED, giving me a time out. We still laugh.

Will I have time to write? Only time will tell.

 

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Good friends


Just a little “help from my friends.” I was searching for a photo of roses to include in a thought ramble. This was the first photo on the disk and the ONLY one that was not taken at the Botanic Garden. I don’t think Mabel was too happy to be a pillow.

Last year we had to send a good friend home. Both my husband and I, along with friends, miss Mabel. She had overcome challenges — breast cancer and other difficulties, but the combination of old age, arthritis and difficulty breathing coupled with a week of 90 degree temperatures was too much for her system to handle. Sue and her husband  treated her to a picnic in the park before taking her to the vets. My mind told me it was for the best. My heart didn’t agree! I knew she was on the other side with friends. Years ago I was given a gift when Shanae, our yellow lab passed. She suffered from Alzheimer’s and other issues. When screaming in the middle of the night resulted in a trip to the emergency vet and a trip home,  I saw her spirit run through the house.

l had a hard time with Mabel’s passing — until a neighbor — a doctor by profession, who knew the trouble Mabel had breathing, remarked that she could have had a heart attack when I was walking her. What would I have done? How bad would I have felt?

Memorial day is for all who have passed — our brave service personal and all who are close to our hearts.

Tidbit — now she has her own issues. Diabetes is not only for two footed people.

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CROSSING THE BRIDGE

Botanic Gardens

I have to admit that I debated for a long time. By debate I mean I voiced many reasons for not writing another book or a blog. I mentioned that many articles are written about the other side and illustrate “help” from those who have crossed over. I have read about pennies and dimes appearing, white feathers, birds, and other things signifying the presence of a loved one.  Angels have appeared to those in need. I am not alone. I saw no reason to write about my experiences.

It is evident that I lost the debate. Let me say that I DID NOT HEAR a rebutal!  But then I NEVER do. I have read that we all have a working intuition but mine doesn’t talk to me. I guess that many years ago I stopped listening.

Instead I receive answers on the wind:  spoken word, song,  on radio, TV or friends or strangers or in print. If I don’t understand or  agree, the message repeats until  it is understood. Sometimes I get hit on the head to get my attention.

The happenings over the past week have made me realize how far I have come. My interaction with the other side, although never actually seen or heard has developed to such an extent that my understanding, unless I’m being really stubborn, occurs rather quickly. I have crossed the bridge, gotten a glimpse of the other side and I really don’t want to go back.

My “friends in high places” are having a marvelous time over there. I have learned that with their “help”, I’m often in the right place, at the right time, to help someone or be “helped” in return. Evidently, I’m supposed to share this knowledge with others.

 

 

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