He Never Misses

Category: Healing

  • Mad for…Katie

    Those whose hearts are pure are the temples of the Holy Spirit. –St. Lucy

    It’s day 32 of 365 in my silly, sunny little “Mad for” series. Everyday, I want to introduce you to someone amazing who I really believe makes a positive difference in the world. Today, I’ll submit to you one Katie Carter. She’s posing her around Christmas with her two darling kiddos in this mildly fuzzy photo. She sent me this joyful image a few weeks ago to wish me a Merry Christmas, and it made my day. Katie is a teacher, and I’m confident she’s a darn good one. She’s kind, bright, and articulate.

    Meeting Katie was a blessing and a surprise at the time it happened a few years ago. I was asked to walk beside her as she converted to the faith. It was my honor to be her sponsor and it forced me to attend my first ever Easter Vigil mass at OLMC. That was an experience I will never forget. Talk about beautiful liturgy. Whew! We keep in touch through occasional texts, and frankly our busy lives have prohibited much more in the most recent years. As life has brought Katie a few lemons, she’s asked for prayers and encouragement, which I’m truly glad to offer. She’s a fantastic human so that makes it easy.

    Today, however, I got a different kind of text from Katie. She wanted to know how I was, she inquired if I was doing alright. Since we do not travel in the same circles and truly we know zero folks in common, she had NO WAY of knowing that I was literally sitting in a waiting room getting ready to undergo some testing that had me a little anxious. Therefore, her reaching out was certainly a gift to me from the Lord. It was instantly clear to me that the Holy Spirit chose Katie today to make that unusual inquiry. She was the tool Christ sent to make certain I knew that He is right beside me, with me always.

    Also, I had my friend Karen with me. I’ve already told you about her (see day 26). Forget it. What is there to fear?

    God is good. All the time. Thanks, Katie, for listening to that little voice. I know sometimes you feel like a mess, sister, but God doesn’t mind. He’s totally fine using you anyway. It’s a solid reminder for all of us who wonder about our own worthiness, who doubt our own goodness. The Lord loves you SO MUCH that He wants to use you as His vessel. Yes, that means you!! GOD BLESS KATIE!!


  • Mad for…Karen

    We shall steer safely through every storm, so long as our heart is right, our intention fervent, our courage steadfast, and our trust fixed on God. -St. Francis de Sales

    This is a recent photo of my treasured friend, Karen Volpe, with her youngest son, Mitchell, who is a recent engineering grad from (my alma mater) Purdue University. You can see she’s beaming with pride here, as well she should.

    You see, Mitchell is incredibly bright, independent, respectful and kind. He shares those same qualities with his stunningly beautiful sister Sam as well as his oldest brother, William. All three of the Volpe children are truly some of the most well-adjusted, loving and terrific young people I have the pleasure of knowing. I credit their mother, but how she was able to accomplish the task of raising young people like these is just one of literally thousands of examples of her unrivaled courage and faithfulness in my life.

    Defining Karen by the fact that she is quite literally a professional patient would be utterly unfair. That is a prominent fact in her life, though. You see, when Mitchell was in kindergarten, she was diagnosed for the first time with leukemia. In the past nearly 20 years, she has endured multiple bone marrow transplants, cancer surgeries on parts of the body I barely knew existed, lumbar punctures out the ying-yang, chemotherapy, radiation, scans and tests of every variety ad nauseum….I could write more on this and you would simply not believe me that one person could undergo such extensive physical and emotional trials and still be smiling over there on Garden Gate Way, but she is indeed. Her handsome husband, Mark, is damn fine human being as well and I don’t want to neglect saying so.

    In her presence, I truly feel as though I am sitting with a living saint. Her wisdom, guidance and advice on everything from dealing with suffering to why one might consider ordering McDonalds french fries without the salt (they’ll be forced to make a new, piping hot batch, ha!) is without a match for me. Her parenting guidance makes me laugh and it makes me cry. She’s unafraid of offering fraternal correction to any doctor or nurse who isn’t treating her (or her fellow patients) with compassion. She’s even more generous in praise of those who are clearly working hard to glorify God in what they do. She’s the one who taught me to notice the drive through gal, the janitor, and the quiet child sitting by herself….by her own witness.

    Once, I questioned her on why she felt it was a good idea to keep her daughter home to make candy during the holidays. She said “how can it NOT be a good idea to spend the day with your mom and grandma? This is more important than math today.” How true.

    We were long time carpool partners. When she was the pick up person, the school office complained that she always came late. She wasn’t late by much, simply a few minutes. But by the time she arrived, the long line of cars had gone. The school asked me to speak to her. I told them, “Well, you’ll need to take that up with Karen.” I knew well that they would not. Her thoughts were this. You see, time is valuable. The children should wait for me, I should not wait for them”. No child in her carpool care ever complained, by the way. Kids knew chances were pretty solid they were getting an ice cream cone at Dairy Queen on the days Mrs. Volpe was feeling up to carpool duty.

    I’m a rule follower and she has often challenged me to see the big picture and live life more fully.

    She has taught me that everyday we should make an intentional effort to do something which glorifies God, because tomorrow isn’t promised. Also, her words are spoken so articulately and with such love that I often feel as if Christ himself is speaking them through her. That’s quite a feat considering she’s a Buckeye. Ha?

    Karen Volpe is a petite woman in very fragile health if you simply glance. If you look a little closer? You’ll discover she’s a spiritual giant, with a quick Irish wit, and the most fierce warrior I have ever encountered.

    I can’t begin to do her justice in a few paragraphs, but today I needed to try. I LOVE YOU, KAREN. Just thank you… for showing me what God means us to be. I am praying for you always.

  • Mad for…Matt

    He who is filled with love is filled with God Himself. -St. Augustine

    Day 21 of 365

    This is Matthew Kiffmeyer. He’s always smiling, and I mean ALWAYS. That’s why I chose him today on Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. Lately, it’s occurred to me that one of the greatest affronts to human dignity is assuming the worst in another. If you ever watch the news or scroll through social media, you’ll notice a lot of that exists. Most of us are guilty of making these kinds of assumptions about the next guy (from time to time at least). It’s eating at me. So today I thought….who do I know who is the exact OPPOSITE of that? Mattie K.

    Matthew is a talented and award winning athlete, having brought home significant hardware at the Special Olympics here in Hamilton County and in Indiana’s State competition as well over the last several years. Not only is he the youngest son of Joe and Julie Kiffmeyer but he’s the pride of St. Louis de Montfort Parish, in my (not so humble) opinion. He’s the younger brother of Andrew and Jim and big brother to sister Sarah. I could (and maybe I will) tell you more about the entire (incredible and inspiring) family as the year progresses, but today is all about Mattie.

    Matt is pure joy. He instinctively stops to hug you and shine that bright grin in your direction if he spots you out and about. In fact, my husband Tom and I were the recipients of his awesome love at mass a couple of weeks ago when he spotted us sitting near the aisle on the way back from communion. I was in the middle of thanking Jesus for loving me when He literally came bounding up to me radiant as the sun and gave me a bear hug through the person of one Matthew Kiffmeyer. Day made.

    And so I submit to you on this frigid Martin Luther King Day his words that instruct “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” Truer words have never been spoken.

    Do you know why there’s not a soul around who both knows the Lord and Matthew Kiffmeyer who doesn’t recognize our good and gracious God in this young man? It’s because his intent is clear and simple. He’s enthusiastic, funny, and most of all he’s about loving others. Period. We could ALL borrow a page from that playbook.

    Thanks, Matthew, for reminding me about what’s really important. You are a champion for your fast feet as well as your enormous heart.

    Happy MLK Day, everyone!!

  • Mad for…Tina

    The greatest saints, those richest in grace and virtue will be the most assiduous in praying to the most Blessed Virgin, looking up to her as the perfect model to imitate and as a powerful helper to assist them. -St. Louis de Montfort

    This is a beautiful photo of my friend, Tina Zimmerman. I ran into her this morning while I was at St. Vincent Hospital, where she is a chaplain. That was all the nudging I needed to realize I was meant to share a little about her today. I truly cannot think of a warmer and more faith-filled person for this compassionate hospital role, and I am absolutely certain that when the Lord called her to this position, she accepted the challenge out of obedience, with our Blessed Mother’s “yes” to the Lord as her guide. That’s simply how Tina rolls.

    Tina is the mother of 6 fantastic grown children, and the wife of a pretty terrific guy named John. Also, she’s a grandma to some of the luckiest kiddos around. Loving, upright and constant in her love of the Lord, Tina is the person I know who most reminds me of our Blessed Mother, Mary. She oozes generosity of heart.

    Writing about her goodness overwhelms me a bit and challenges my desire for a degree of brevity with these daily entries. Tina is witty and lively. Also, the distressingly long list of examples of the witness of faith she shares with all in her path make it burdensome to choose just a couple. She’s done so many things which inspire in MANY a desire to do more for others. For instance, she’s spent considerable time over the years taking in foster babies, newborns, for the first 60 days of life. Imagine volunteering over and over again to go sleepless for 2 months…long after your own children were well past this age? She’s been on countless mission trips to serve the needy in Brazil. She’s offered insane amounts of her time and talent at her parish, and she’s given counsel to many a friend in need. That includes yours truly.

    When I was at the lowest time in my life, when I just really didn’t even know what to say to Jesus, and I was certain I just wasn’t enough, she encouraged me to pray repeatedly, “Jesus, I don’t know what I need, but You do, please help me.” Guess what? He did. I’ll always be grateful.

    What makes Tina truly special is that her presence is a reminder to all just how much the Lord loves every one of us. God uses her, over and over, with her soft spoken voice, her quiet prayerfulness, and the works of mercy to inspire in others how beloved each of us is to Him.

    Tina? I love you, friend. Today, my rosary was for you.

    Faithful friends are beyond price; no amount can balance their worth. (Sir 6:15)

  • Mad for…Maggie

    Kindness is like snow- it beautifies everything it covers. -Kahlil Gibran

    Maggie Berger- Day 12 of 365

    Central Indiana is covered in a blanket of white today. Haltingly, we inched our way this morning from our home in Hamilton County to the far south side of Indianapolis so our Z-man and Coach Dad could get to the last regular season CYO game at St. Barnabas. Our car was filled with exactly ZERO snow lovers. However, Zach pointed out that he knew one person would be very happy to see all the snow. That would be my pick for person of the day– Maggie Berger!

    Lively and passionate, and with a heart of gold, Maggie has a certain zest for life that is magnetic! She’s an English teacher who loves all the kiddos like they are her own. St. Theodore Guerin has a famous quote which says, “Love the children first, then teach them.” That sums up Maggie’s professional life in a nutshell. It’s quite evident that Maggie knows innately that her students are both wise and capable, and this is why they respond to her with smiles and love. She has been known to sense the anxiety of middle schoolers and decide to turn down the lights and pray, asking the Lord to intervene for them all. Children who find themselves in her care are truly blessed. She is truly kind.

    Maggie is an amazing mother of two sons, Patrick and Thomas and a loving daughter to a great gal named Peggy. She’s also the owner of a terrifically sarcastic sense of humor that makes me snicker at the sight of her. She’s been known to text me when certain old songs come on the radio that remind her of the times when our boys were much smaller and we sat at Skiles Test watching them have fun while we laughed and sang wholly inappropriate lyrics from the 3rd base line…until tears formed from the giggling.

    My run-on sentences and lack of appropriate grammar in this entry will drive her slightly batty, but that’s my retribution for the snow you wished on us, Maggie. Ha?

    I hope you know how much you are treasured. I know your faithful heart is certain that you are a beloved daughter of the most high God, Maggie, and that’s really all that matters. I guess I just want you to know that I love you too, friend!

  • Kooky Aunt Helen

    In loving memory of my peculiar, imprudent, silly and utterly amazing great aunt Helen Lammers…

    On left, my photo from inside San Luigi dei Francesi, “The Calling of St. Matthew”

    Allow me to introduce you to my Aunt Helen. To merely describe her as a colorful figure in my childhood would do her a tragic disservice. Aunt Helen always wore a wig and whatever was trending in the juniors department at Kmart. I recall quite a few long, bold fish necklaces paired with stirrup pants, big sweaters and those plastic shoes we called “jellies” on her feet. Her gifts at the holidays were always my favorite, despite being the least expensive of all the offerings, because they were so obnoxiously wrapped, one inside the other. The unwrapping lasted a long time…which I found incredibly fun! Inside, there would inevitably be some vibrating or glow in the dark plastic trinket mostly likely purchased at Spencer gifts.

    If you could hum her a few bars, she could play absolutely any song you wished on her piano. She rarely, if ever, used sheet music. She liked us to sing along with her to songs like “Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better”, and she always insisted I sing it in an octave a little higher than my alto voice wanted to go. “It sounds prettier,” she’d whisper. She wrote a little song about me as a small girl, the chorus of which included my entire proper name, which somehow rhymed the way she sang it. Phonetically, it sounded like “ME-SHEL-LIN DIE-Q-ZIN… is a very pretty girl.” There were verses too, but I don’t remember them now. I do, however, remember that chorus and how she made me feel when she sang that song.

    Aunt Helen was the sister of my grandmother, Pauline. That made her my great aunt, in reality. She had one beloved son who had long since moved to Florida when I was coming of age, and he was unmarried. That made my sister, Robin and myself her adopted grandchildren. Since Mom was a young student at Purdue when she married my Dad, Aunt Helen was a frequent babysitter. I spent a lot of time at her little house on 27th Street, just a block from Columbian Park and with a backyard that virtually backed into the front door of the old Home Hospital. We made tents out of the sheets she hung from her clothesline in the backyard and spent whole afternoons pretending to hold an imaginary circus, making a palace for our dolls, or trying on her closet full of high heels. It didn’t matter that we were without a swimsuit. If it was hot and we wanted to run through her sprinkler, she just told us not to worry about a silly problem like swimsuits and she let us run through in our underwear. We’d break pieces of bread and toss them back into their bread bags and take them to the park to feed the ducks. The larger, more aggressive among the flock terrified me not just a little, and my running from them made Aunt Helen cackle with delight on many occasions.

    As I grew older, we remained close. She was my confirmation sponsor. When Tom and I were in high school and then in college, we would stop in to visit my Aunt Helen (and Uncle Charlie) to play euchre. It was always girls vs. boys and I really have no recollection of who won or who lost. I just remember my quirky Uncle Charlie always slow playing his 1 beer and 3 oreos, which by the way, was the same pace at which he played euchre. We always left there smiling and feeling like it was time well spent. I loved Tom for all the hands of cards he played with me and my grandparents as well as Aunt Helen and Uncle Charlie.

    When she passed away down in Florida, where she went to live with her son Johnny at the end of her life, I recall feeling robbed of the opportunity to properly mourn someone I loved so deeply. All those years later, I honestly still feel that way. Here’s the utterly inappropriate and yet awesome gift Aunt Helen gave me. I knew I was her favorite. She was embarrassingly open about the fact that she liked me just a little better than everyone else, and in fact it got her into some trouble with my grandmother as well as my parents. “Helen, you can’t ask the girls what they want for dinner and then ALWAYS make what Shelly asks for,” my grandmother would scold. As a parent myself, I know I would be vocal about this kind of favoritism when it comes to my boys. It was wrong….oh so wrong….B-U-T….I always felt beloved by her.

    When I was in Rome very recently, I found myself in the very front left corner of a church called “San Luigi dei Francesi” which translates “The Church of St. Louis of the French” and it is not far from Piazza Navona. One of the side chapels in this beautiful church contains some spectacular paintings by the baroque master Caravaggio. This includes a world renowned canvas of “The Calling of St. Matthew”, the seeing of which rather took my breath away. It has long been a painting I consider a favorite for spiritual reasons I don’t think I can convey adequately here. To look up, though, and see it in person felt a whole lot like being that 8 year-old girl who knew she was Aunt Helen’s favorite. In that instant, a certain feeling of belovedness which often eludes me, just washed over me.

    For just a moment, I nearly drowned in it.

    Writing about a moment of divine intimacy, or of spiritual consolation is often said to be a poor idea, as it’s very giving away can serve to minimize or trollop on the moment which was perhaps meant to be a private gift between one soul and it’s Creator, among other reasons.

    Here’s the reason I’m doing it anyway. The thing that had long prevented me from growing closer to God was a disordered view of myself. Like A LOT of people I know, I had been Matthew with my head on the table. I am quick to believe all criticism and remember all failure, and loathe to believe in my goodness. I long felt like Matthew with his head on the table saying “not me, Lord.” He was a hated tax collector, he was all things unworthy. Yet there was Jesus pointing at him saying, “Come follow me.”

    We think we are so darn smart, but our self-knowledge and ingenuity are utterly insufficient, and they certainly won’t effectuate union with God. What we really need is a supernatural faith. We need a faith that understands God loves His children more than we love ours. We need to know that we are worthy, our lives priceless, simply because WE ARE HIS.

    If you are reading my words today, I want you to know something. YOU ARE LOVED. YOU ARE NOT ALONE. YOU ARE WORTHY.

    This summer, my cousin took his life and that of his family. This fall, a young college senior named Evan, who was the very picture of goodness, took his life. Last week, the nephew of a church friend, a young man named JJ, the only child of his parents, took his life. In the last year alone, my pastor has buried 5 of his parishioners after the same tragedy. Folks, this must stop.

    I’m not quite sure how but we must help and it must begin with being unafraid to love others. That means EVERYONE. ALWAYS. You and I maybe aren’t mental health professionals. We are just regular people like my Aunt Helen. What can we do about it, right? I mean who are we to solve such a big problem? I’m not sure.

    However, I do know this. Aunt Helen was divorced at a young age, a thing about which she never spoke. She liked her cocktails a little too much. She thought iodine and baby oil was the nectar of the Gods and should be slathered upon the human body whenever the sun peaked out. She seemed to believe pimento cheese and fried chicken were both food groups unto themselves. Also, in her quirky and ordinary life, she was the face of Christ to me. Despite her flaws, God used her to teach me that I am beloved. She was a person who seemed to see the butterfly wings I couldn’t spot because they were behind me. So, when God came close to remind me, I remembered the feeling as I gazed at the beauty of the Caravaggio painting and He drew me in.

    I left there thinking about how very much I love Him, and that I can do more for the Lord.

    The beautiful senses God has given us can help us grow in holiness. I feel His love at mass, in the Eucharist and when Tom kisses me gently on the forehead. I feel it when a friend sends me a sweet card or when the sun sets over Lake Michigan—and apparently in the corners of dusty old churches in Rome I discover with Mom.

    This week, we celebrated the feast day of one of my favorites, St. Theresa of Avila. She said this. “The important thing is not to think much but to love much; and do that which best stirs you to love.”

    I don’t know how to fix so many problems I see in this world, but I think it starts there.

     

  • Too Much to Lose

    Author’s note: I was asked by a friend who is a recent convert to the faith to share my take on the Catholic Church in all her messiness. I’m just one Jesus girl who loves the Lord and who cannot imagine life without the Eucharist, and therefore her Church family, and this is my take. Whatever you read in this, know one thing for sure. You are loved beyond all measure by God. Always. -ST

    “Who is going to save our Church? Do not look to the priests. Do not look to the bishops. It’s up to you, the laity, to remind our priests to be priests and our bishops to be bishops.” –Archbishop Fulton Sheen

    When I was an 8 year-old at St. Lawrence Catholic School, I remember a morning filled with genuine heart ache—and a few tears too. You see, nearly every member of my fairly large class had some important role to play in the all-school mass being organized by Miss Mecklenburg’s 3rd grade class. I did not. Cue the pathetic meltdown. I have always worn my heart on my sleeve, been a little too emotional for my own good, and the truth is, the Lord used this amazing teacher to help draw me to Himself that year. It wasn’t about “I’m a better reader” or “that’s not fair” for me on that sad little morning. It’s a moment I’ve never forgotten (almost 40 years later) because that little girl was just authentically sad about not being able to do something special for Jesus that day. I wasn’t worried about what any of my classmates thought of me, I was just this innocent child who wanted to show the Lord she loved Him. The truth is, it never occurred to me that my ridiculous sniffling might cause my teacher or my classmates to disapprove or think less of me. Eight year olds don’t think like that. With children this age, the one thing you can you can almost always be assured of is authenticity. In good news, I’ve since come to realize that Jesus can see our hearts, even if we don’t get picked to bring up the gifts at mass.

    To this housewife from Indiana, therein lies the critical disconnect in this current crisis in my beloved Church. When we forget that in the end, it’s all between us and our Lord, we are lost.

    In all walks of life, at all ages and stages, our humanity inevitably oozes forth. When you’re eight, it’s transparent. Unfortunately, as we age, we often lose the ability to be truly genuine. That means that on the edges of the humanity continuum, there are some childlike (genuine) souls who pour out their lives working to be the face of Jesus, and others become more wicked or manipulative and end up reminding us more of Judas.

    Miss Mecklenburg? She was the former. She noticed my pained face and pulled me aside. She promised another role, another day. I knew in that moment, because of her kindness, that God had something else in mind for me (and the fact that it involved me getting a brand new green velvet dress for Christmas mass was pretty cool too). She also taught us about satan that year. In fact, she is the only teacher I can remember in 12 years of Catholic school, bringing up the topic of evil in such a courageous way. She encouraged us, when we encountered the diabolical (my word, not hers) in our lives, to speak the name of Jesus, aloud, repeating it if we must. “He will flee if you do that.” I recall that conversation scaring me, as I had not considered the presence of darkness in that way. However, she loved us enough to speak truth, in love. I have always used her sage advice.

    Unfortunately, on the other end of the spectrum, far from everyday heroes like my 3rd grade teacher—across all walks of life– are folks who violate all goodness and commit acts which I would characterize as gravely depraved. Turn on CNN. The profound lack of moral integrity exists in all types of folks including parents, teachers, coaches, police officers, doctors, priests, bishops…and the list goes on. This article is not really about the fact that there are deeply disturbed criminals among us. You already know that if you ever watch the news. A neglectful mother doesn’t make us all neglectful, a careless doctor doesn’t make them all careless, and an abusive priest doesn’t make them all abusers, obviously.

    The challenge for me is, what about the rest of us, and what about people in positions of moral authority who fail to lead? What is our collective responsibility? There are (I would argue, otherwise decent) folks who overlooked the misdeeds of Dr. Larry Nasser. There are fellow officers of the law who performed their own roles lawfully but who noticed their co-worker’s propensity for violence or racism and said little. There are shepherds in our church who turned a blind eye to abusive clerics at all levels.

    “Cry out! Cry out with a thousand tongues! This world is rotten because of silence.” –St. Catherine of Siena

    When we avoid all controversy, choose the path of least resistance, and work to keep from offending everyone, it sets us up for a lukewarm life. We all want to be in the inner ring, so to speak. If we who are essentially good reveal the content of our hearts, we fear we will lose approval, acceptance, or prestige. When we have too much to lose, we tend to compromise, lest we lose our upward mobility, our power, or whatever it is we are valuing more than truth.

    Our religious leaders are a lot like many of us in that way. We all want an invitation to the party. We feel we have too much to lose to make a stink. Have you ever had a close friend or family member you knew needed honesty, but whom you feared losing even if you lovingly tried to point out a serious concern? Did you go ahead and speak the truth or did you decide it wasn’t your place?

    When our Bishops have this mindset, though, it’s a huge problem. Their failure to act on their moral authority in a holy way undermines the life of the Church. Discretion seems to be the word they love more than they should. It’s probably partly what landed them in pink hats, actually.  We are to be impressed when they speak like elite academics. The problem is that when they are insulated from genuine communication with the laity, when they insist on formal letters from the priests in their diocese who have urgent issues to discuss, when they are long on administrative skills and short on pastoral experience, when they are positioning themselves instead of shepherding real people, it gets us precisely here.

    I don’t want a confessor who assures me “it’s ok” when I commit a serious sin. I want mercy and forgiveness to be sure, but also I need fraternal correction. I’m looking for Christ in that interaction.  I have a holy, courageous priest and other friends willing to do that in my life.

    Guess what? Our leaders need the same. Some of them have forgotten who they are and to whom they ultimately belong. I’m not suggesting our priests and bishops start sending out their cell phone numbers to everyone. You know what though? That would be standing alongside your flock, huh? Right now, a little more authenticity and courageous leadership would sure be a breath of fresh air.

    I’ll leave it to the most holy, clever and creative of the bunch to find a way to be the salt and the light and show us the path forward. However, we must demand honest and courageous shepherds! Indignation and righteous anger have a place at the table right now for us who sit in the pews. In the midst of this diabolical masterpiece unleashed on us by the devil himself, though, I vote we cry out every day like I was taught in 3rd grade and call upon our Savior by name. Let’s just keep crying out to the Lord. Why over complicate things? Pray! I read once that even Pope John XXIII, now a canonized saint, would pray before bedtime in a childlike manner and say, “Oh Lord, I’m going to bed. It’s your church. Take care of it!”

    “The Catholic Church is an institution I am bound to hold divine—but for unbelievers a proof of it’s dignity might be found in the fact that no merely human institution conducted with such knavish imbecility would have lasted a fortnight.” –Hilare Belloc 

    Rother 

    ABOVE:  Bl. Stanley Rother

    Because a funny Irish priest once told my mom, “Ye gots to leave ‘em with a wee bit of hope”, let me give you a shining example of a saintly shepherd by whom I find myself inspired. Oklahoma native, Stanley Rother, became a priest who eventually served the poor in Guatemala. A dangerous civil war broke out and all religious were targets. He was urged to leave. He defiantly refused. On July 28, 1981, he was attacked and killed in his rectory. Shortly before he died, he explained why he was staying with his people, despite the incredible courage and fidelity it must have taken to stay with his flock and lead at an impossible time. He said, “A shepherd doesn’t run at the first sign of danger.”

    Amen to that. To all you holy priests and bishops out there, I stand with you. You are heroes who bring us the sacraments, without which, we cannot live. I urge you to remember this is no time for weakness and I want you to know of my daily prayers for you. Thank you for all you do each day. Truly, I love you amazing men!

    To those who have been abused and victimized by evil people, my prayers are for your healing and for justice.

    Bl. Staney Rother, first martyr born in the United States, PRAY FOR US!

    Footnote:  For those in the area, Fr. Don Wolf, the cousin of Bl. Stanley Rother, will be coming to give a first person account of his holy and inspiring life on Oct. 23 at 7pm at Our Lady of Mt. Carmel Church in Carmel, Indiana.  It’s a free event, and all are welcome.   

  • WHAT IF….

    When we let the little cracks in our heart show, that’s where the light seeps out.  That’s what I’m telling myself as I write.

    Four years ago, I lost a friend.  Gosh, the whole of my community lost her.  She was shiny and beloved.  She died in a senseless shooting.  It was a murder-suicide.  I try and honor her memory in my life in various ways, but mostly, though, by very intentional affirmation of others and a decision to say  (with a wink to heaven) “Bless his/her heart…” before choosing words that might turn out to be less than kind.  I still have a boat load of work to do if I want to ever shine a light as bright as Shannon’s.  Still, “that date” on my calendar in late July makes my stomach churn.

    Several days ago, I got another call.  It was mom.  Horrific violence, she reported, resulted in the death of three members of my family.  Two were murdered and a third was responsible.  He took his own life as well.  I heard it, but I didn’t.  I’m still reeling, to be candid.  That call from mom came four years later, on the same day I was remembering how Shannon was taken.  It was “that date” on my calendar.  All the questions you have?  They don’t have answers.  Not really.

    In a moment like this, nothing feels the same, and everything seems unimportant in comparison.  Also, things are all numb and fuzzy.

    I don’t really want to share more details, because those who are the very closest to this situation are people I love and they are beyond consolation at present.  However, God has placed a few things on my heart and I think it might help to share them.

    Keep this in mind.  I am unapologetically a Christian woman.  Actually, to be specific, I am a Roman Catholic.  This fact frames how I think and feel about most things, and it informs how I respond to life in all its complexities.

    Perhaps I’ve lost a few of you now, but please try and stay with me?  I understand.  In fact, at a local coffee shop this week I was unpacking sorrow and concern in the lap of a faithful friend.  I am told even my whisper is top volume, so inevitably I am overheard.  An interested passerby was kind enough to pick up the “Catholic” in my words and interjected that he didn’t “mean any harm” but we Catholics are all a joke with corrupt leaders.  I’m going to assume this human hasn’t discovered the Lord at all yet.  If that’s where you are too, I want you to know I respect how you feel, and I will probably pray for you even against your will.  Before I continue, allow me to share my only viable response to this.  I’ve not quite mastered it’s memorization, but I have the sentiment down cold.  In my sorrow that morning at Panera, I regret I wasn’t able to think clearly enough to share it, so I’ve decided to victimize those reading with the wisdom I failed to impart that morning.

    “The Catholic Church is an institution I am bound to hold divine—but for unbelievers a proof of it’s divinity might be found in the fact that no merely human institution conducted with such knavish imbecility would have lasted a fortnight”  –Hilaire Belloc

    Now, Belloc was born in 1870, but his words are the most relevant I’ve discovered recently, and they contain the truth as I know them.  So, please forgive me as I share some wise words that I think will ring as truth for all who believe in Jesus.  These matter more to me than any failed or sinful leadership ever could.

    A holy 90+ year old Monsignor (that’s kind of an honorific in the Catholic Church…he’s a priest) who says daily mass occasionally at my parish told us last week to remember that we are not our own.  A great price was paid for us, and what that means is that we are called to be the salt and the light.  We are called to be the face of foolish courtesy and love for others—even if it defies logic.  His message was so beautifully and simply delivered.  It stuck in my brain—a gift from God.

    Now, imagine losing your daughter and your young granddaughter violently.  Ponder also immediately deciding to forgive the responsible party AND to have a funeral for all three—TOGETHER.

    It defies all logic.  It’s the ultimate example of foolish courtesy and love for others.  It was grace beyond all imagining.  My jaw is still slack considering the beauty of this choice.

    There was absolutely no way to leave that funeral unaffected by scores of 8 year old girls mourning the loss of their teammate, or  without being wrecked by the faces of two sets of mourning parents and grandparents, siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles.

    Also, there was no way for me to leave there without hearing the daily mass homily I had filed previously in my mind that called for ALL OF US to be foolishly courteous and loving.  Always.  I could not even conceive of a more dramatic example of love than what I had just witnessed.

    My dear friend Julie sent me this beautiful thought yesterday.  She said, “imagine what would happen if we all think about what is right with people rather than fixating on what is wrong with them.”

    WHAT IF? What if we all choose to see the right and love others ridiculously…like the Colliers?  If they can do that, what small injustices can I overcome with love in my own?  I think God expects me to try harder.

    For the sake of three souls we’ve lost to this earth, and my own, I’ll be working on that one for some time to come in honor of the Langdon and Collier families.  Only with God’s help will I succeed.

    Love everyone.  Always.

    +Rest in Peace, Justin, Amanda and Kendall. 

  • It’s the HOUSE in Housewife That Always Gets Me…

    Scheduling the plumber, schlepping my college kid’s 14 year-old clunker to the repair shop, endless laundry, friends in crisis, carpool runs to and from summer camps, Dr. Mom duties for the sick and injured, short order cook, bum knee throbbing, bill paying—that’s a glamourous synopsis of my week.

    Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got an amazing life.  It’s just that some days I forget that.  Some days are like one I had last week where I just never sit down, never stop folding, cooking, consoling or cleaning until fairly late.  Usually those are the days when someone I am related to will inevitably ask, “So, did you do anything today?”  The particular night I recall now, I noticed at about 10pm when I finished the dishes that my entire family was downstairs watching some goofy movie.  I decided I would join them.  Kid you not, I was downstairs in my seat MAYBE 15 minutes when they started asking for “old fashioned” popcorn (a true delicacy with the Thieme men).  They begged and whined.  It was pathetic but my energy was too low to even fight them.  I just got up, went upstairs and made the popcorn.  I delivered it to their beautiful hungry hands (I mean they hadn’t eaten in at least an hour)….then I went upstairs to bed and just cried myself to sleep.

    COME ON WOMAN.  Get over yourself!  RIGHT?

    Because I tend to put a Jesus frame around all things, I immediately saw in myself some unflattering gaps in my holiness.  “Don’t be Judgy McJudgerson. Just cut that shit out.”  That’s what I literally had to say to myself about myself, lest the evil dude from Hades would have had me in his grips quickly.

    I doubt I’m the only one who whines to herself occasionally about how no one appreciates, no one notices, no one asks me how I am….blah, blah, blah.  I am PRETTY sure, though, that Mary wouldn’t be too impressed with my whining about laundry, dishes and popcorn given that I’ve read the whole “Magnificat” deal a few hundred times. Spoiler alert:  She just found out she’s an unmarried pregnant teenager and she OOZES joyfulness so beautiful it will overtake you. Unfamiliar?  Read it in Luke 1: 46-55.

    Here’s my point, folks.  I decided I needed a HOW TO GET OVER YOURSELF manual. I then planned to place it in a prominent location. I googled it and I didn’t find one.  So, I’ve been thinking about the things that help me quickly find the version of myself that I enjoy being around.  I’ve compiled my list, and I have decided to share. Maybe there are one or two of you who could find something here that’s useful.  I find I don’t have to get very far down the list to feel SO MUCH better, SO MUCH more grateful.

    Perhaps there are more of you who would like to share your own tips with me.  Please.  I beg you.  SHARE WITH ME ALL YOUR POSITIVITY SECRETS.  More is definitely more.  I love you all and so does the Lord.  You are HIS BELOVED children.  Don’t ever forget it.

    SHELLY’S “HOW TO GET OVER YOURSELF” LIST:

    1. TELL SOMEONE YOU LOVE THEM

    2. READ SOMETHING INSPIRING

    3. GET SWEATY

    4. ROCK OUT TO SOME LOUD MUSIC

    5. PRACTICE GRATITUDE—THANK SOMEONE IN PERSON OR IN A NOTE

    6. RANDOM ACT OF KINDNESS

    7. LAUGH

    8. PERSPECTIVE—YOU HAVE IT PRETTY GOOD COMPARED TO WHO?

    9. PRAY FOR THE PEOPLE YOU THOUGHT OF IN #8

    10. RECEIVE THE SACRAMENTS—GOD’S GRACE IS A CURE ALL

  • The Knee Brace

    Meandering across the church parking lot waiting for kids to come out of school, I ran into another carpool mom, a woman with whom I am familiar, but we are not close friends.

    Oh gosh! What happened to your knee? Are you okay?

    The moment I asked, I kind of regretted being nosy. Classic Shelly, I thought.  However, then came her truly hysterical reply.

    Honestly, I am totally fine. It’s just that I am SO incredibly out of shape that I can barely breathe even walking super slow on the treadmill.  With the brace on my knee, people will assume I am rehabbing and working out is less humiliating.

    HAHAHAHAHA!! You are both funny and brilliant!

    I laughed until I couldn’t breathe. I so completely identified with this authentic, sunny woman.

    How many of us feel both ashamed and humiliated by the shape we are in, by the way we look? If it’s not that, then it’s something else, right?  Based purely on the utterly unscientific data I have collected from my “vast sphere of influence” (ie, other carpool moms, facebook, and in the stands at HS basketball games), literally EVERYONE has some issue about which they would prefer NOT to be judged.

    Here’s the thing. This itty bitty slice of my life was just a fantastic reminder to me.  Never look down on anyone.  Only God sits that high.  Here’s a little quote I love, written by St. Josemaria Escriva.  He said, “If you have so many defects, why are you surprised to find defects in others?”

    So this was just a tiny interaction in the carpool line. At first blush, it was just the most fantastic giggle.  Laughing is my favorite, so I shared the small story about the knee brace with a few friends.  I was hoping to share a smile.

    As I looked back on that encounter, I realized it was something much more. It was God talking to me.  He does it all the time; it’s just that I’m not always listening.

    Understand this well: there is something holy, something divine hidden in the most ordinary situations, and it is up to each one of you to discover it.” –St. Josemaria Escriva

    Christian optimism should encourage us to demand a little of ourselves. Let’s open our eyes and hearts.  As Lent begins, this is an important struggle for us to undertake.  Responding to God’s call, being aware that we are free to do so or free to reject it, is the most wonderful experience of grace.

    For instance, I found myself just this week having a conversation about the power of grace. I was trying to point out to a couple of struggling parents that the benefits of Catholic education outweigh the frustrations that they were feeling about the experience.  A woman sitting near me, who overheard part of the chat, interjected and told me she’s not religious and she isn’t sure if she believes there is a God.  She asked me why do I think there is?  It was clearly not the moment for a big theological response—which is good because that is NOT my area of giftedness.  She was judging, being cynical, and truth be told, it was clear she wasn’t really interested in my reply.  So, I just said, “Because He winks at me, ALL THE TIME.”

    She put down her drink and looked at me, and said, “He does, does He? Tell me about one of those winks.”

    So, I shared with her the first thing that came to my mind. I told her about hearing that a priest had been relocated from the east coast to here in Indiana, and that I had further learned he didn’t have any mass intentions.  So, I sent him an encouraging note, along with a few bucks and some mass intentions—mostly for family members who had died.  There was my grandmother who had just died, my mother in law, the parents of some close friends, etc.  The last mass intention was for myself.  I sent it off to Muncie, expecting to never hear another thing about it, but confident I’d done a good thing.

    Some weeks later, I received a reply note from the secretary of this parish in Muncie. It listed all the dates of masses being said for the intentions I’d requested.  The last one listed was a mass being said for my intentions—ON MY BIRTHDAY.

    I don’t know this priest, nor do I have any connections with the secretary. God just loves me so much and He wanted me to feel it.  Only He knows truly how much I love the mass.   For my birthday, He gave me the greatest gift I can imagine.  It was a God wink that took my breath away.

    Mostly, I think God’s little moments for each of us are meant to be private consolations. They’re just between us and Him.  But this one came tumbling out when I heard “prove it”, so that’s my sign that it’s a Holy Spirit moment.

    My little story was perhaps poorly conveyed. I kind of meandered through it, attempting to “put on a knee brace” throughout.  It’s a tad late in the game to try to hide the fact that I’m a Jesus girl, but in certain company that really does make a person feel like a unicorn.  I was exactly like that acquaintance from the carpool line.  I didn’t want to be judged, but I really wanted to do the right thing anyway.

    That, folks, is the power of grace. In all our weakness, God still manages to work His magic through us in all His magnificence.  It’s pretty freaking hilarious and breathtaking at the same time when I think about it.  There I was trying to explain why I know God exists while trying to be “casual” about my Jesus girl-ness…what even is that?  Good grief.

    This Lent, I plan to take a little time to fast from some things—like harsh judgements, complaining, and bitterness. It seems like a really appropriate time to focus on gratitude, kindness, and forgiveness.  Also?  Maybe less carbs.  Less carbs would be good too.

    It seems kind of perfect to me this year that Lent starts on Valentine’s Day, because here’s what I want everyone to know. Know you’re loved – infinitely–by our good and gracious God.  Let all He has done out of love for YOU seep to the very center of you for the next 40 days.  Happy Lent.