He Never Misses

Category: Family Life

  • Mad for…Judy

    The happiest people I know are people who don’t even think about being happy. They just think about being good neighbors, good people. And then happiness sort of sneaks in the back window while they are busy doing good. – Harold S. Kushner

    We moved into our current home about 5 years ago? It was a new build, and we were one of the last families to arrive. We were here a short time with our 3 boys when there was a knock on the door. It was our next door neighbor, Judy Sullivan. She had a pie in her hand. Nuff said, right? People just don’t welcome new neighbors like that anymore, so it was impossible not to notice the kindness and her warmth immediately.

    Judy lives with her daughter, Meghan, and son in law, Grady Dunlap along with their three children, Sam, Matt and Lily. When we moved, we knew we’d be further from the grade school that our youngest still attended. That was certainly one of the “cons” for making the move as we knew it meant I would be driving Zach both to and from his Catholic school in Fishers. Turns out, I was wrong. You see, Judy’s grandkids attend the same school. What were the odds?

    In the time since that realization, Judy has taken Z to school most mornings. If my schedule features an unexpected interruption from the norm, when I text the Dunlaps and Judy about the issue, ALMOST ALWAYS, Judy replies “I’ve got them!”

    When I run into her, I can always hear the smile in her voice as she asks how we are doing. When she has occasionally shared with me about some of her fun and travels, I marvel at the genuine gratefulness and joyfulness with which she speaks. When I’ve become ill, she’s insisted on bringing some food over to help out.

    I hear her grandkids (from my backseat in the PM carpool line) talk about her bridge club, her support for them and their interests, and so much more. I see her at mass with her daughter’s family setting an example of faithfulness. To me, Judy is an everyday hero for the brave way she just does what’s needed, with a smile and a kind heart.

    Judy? I think you are a simply marvelous human, and I’m so glad you live next door.

    I hope one day I am blessed enough to be a grandma so I can try and be just a little bit like Judy.

    “I think a hero is any person really intent on making this a better place for all people.” -Maya Angelou

  • Mad for…Chris

    It was the way you laughed…I knew I wanted that in my life. –R.M. Drake

    For me, laughing is and I imagine will always be, the best form of therapy. On day 16 of my quest to feature 365 amazing people in 2019, I submit to you one Chris Schrader. I’ve had others complain about the photo I chose to run, but this is the first time I’ll own the accusation as fair. Next time I see you, Chris, the beer is on me.

    Chris is the first cousin of my husband, Tom. He’s also the father to three pretty terrific grown children (Jacob, Marnie and Katie) and the husband to my tennis idol, Audie. I chose Chris today because I happened upon this photo which was taken I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE….but it made me laugh on an otherwise fairly dismal day.

    Chris grins. He smiles. He is the very expression of friendliness toward all. I have yet to encounter this clown and not receive a big hug and his genuine grin. He’s this boisterous, entertaining kid at heart. He’s a clowning savant around whom everyone is welcome.

    To me, Chris is grace filled for the way he can bring the spirit of laughter into a room. Several years ago, after a few beverages in South Haven, Michigan, I remember him saying, “Sometimes I try not to laugh at my own jokes but we all know I’m hilarious!” He just cackled and so did the rest of us. He’s a giver of joy and friendly to all.

    I read today a quote by Victor Hugo that said, “Laughter is the sun that drives winter from the human face.” I needed a scoop of that today, and I thought of you, Chris. I hope you’ll forgive me for the silly photo. It made my day, though, just like you always do when I encounter you.

    THANK YOU for making the world a sunnier place.

  • 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…Laine

    “She’s an old soul with young eyes, a vintage heart, and a beautiful mind.” Nicole Lyons

    Laine Schwegman

    Imaginative, musical, and engaging are three words that come to mind quickly when I think of this young lady. Meet Laine Schwegman! She’s a high school freshman who is mature beyond her years and simply more kind-hearted than most.

    Laine is a talented musician with the most soulful, pleasing voice. She simply picks up a string instrument and seems to be playing almost any tune in short order, without any sheet music at all. Her guitar “jam sessions” with her Dad and Grandpa bring tears to my eyes. Love simply oozes out of her. She’s a fierce and gifted athlete too. I’ve watched her frustrate many batters with her accurate arm from the pitchers mound on the softball field. Those things all make her unique and special, but they aren’t the reasons I’ve chosen her today.

    This young lady lives her life as a quiet and sometimes silly, yet faithful example to those around her…and WOW can we use as many folks like that as we can find. Am I right? Laine enjoys the little things, like whipping up a tasty recipe in the kitchen or goofing around with her brother, Ty. She seems to me to feel no need to be high maintenance. She’s empathetic and tries to understand from the perspective of others. These qualities make her a real life hero to her young cousins, Max and Lilah, with whom she is beautifully present…and to me! She has a gift with little ones, who are always such a good judge of authenticity.

    Laine, thank you for always reminding me how important it is that we are true to ourselves. You are a light that glows brightly, sweet girl. Keep shining!

  • Mad for…Jake

    jlabus2

    Good-natured, charismatic, and amiable are three words that come to mind when trying to describe Jake Labus.  He’s a 19-year old college freshman with friendly smile and a winning disposition.

    What makes Jake incredibly special is that he is so darn gracious.  A faithful young man who has long served his church and community in a variety of impressive ways, Jake takes the time to smile and greet everyone in the room and he has a wide ranging friend group as a result.  Several of his peers called him “the most likeable guy I know” when I asked them to describe him.  When you are an incredibly bright college athlete like Jake is now for the DePauw University football team, or a popular standout in multiple sports in high school who also sings like an angel, it would be easy to fall into the “I’m kinda a big deal” trap.  Luckily for him, the good Lord gave him two older brothers and a younger sister who all have certainly helped… to keep him humble?

    One day a year or so ago after mass, I ran into Jake’s pretty terrific mom, Deedy and his sister, Olivia, at a breakfast spot near church.  We sat down next to them as they were nibbling on a little something and chatted for a moment before a text came in to Deedy from her son Jake.  He wondered where they were, as they should have been home from church by then.  You see, Jake was at home and had a surprise breakfast waiting for them upon their return.  I’m pretty sure the Labus ladies had two breakfasts that day, and I know my own similarly aged kiddos couldn’t believe it.

    That’s just Jake.  He’s sunshine wherever he goes.  This summer I hear he’s thinking about using those vast talents at St. Meinrad to be a retreat leader at the southern Indiana Seminary.  I can’t imagine he didn’t nail that interview.

    There is much more that I could share about this fine young man, but I’ll just say one more thing.  This likable and grace-filled kid is the face of Jesus to all in his path. Truth.

    Thanks, Jake, for sharing your sunshine with the Thieme family.  You make us all want to smile at the world just a little more generously!

  • Mad for…Tom

    Happy New Year! Holy cow, it’s 2019.   I have this idea, and we’ll see how things develop, but it seems to me the world needs just a lot more love.  So, for this coming year I’d like to try and be the reason someone believes just a teeny bit more in the goodness of people.  That’s a rather vague and hard to measure resolution, huh?

    What if I spend a few minutes each day typing up a little love bomb about a terrific person and point them out to you?  Could I perhaps even come up with a different one to share everyday this year?  That seems like a long shot for a girl with my utter lack of discipline and perseverance in most things…but that’s the goal.  It’s my column, so the rules are all mine, but my intention is to choose 365 people that I know and people that I don’t, but who somehow stand out in my day.  Maybe, you’ll be inspired by the awesomeness of one of them, or perhaps you might read and start looking for people that shine in your little circle and find your heart feeling much more full of all things good and holy?  Would that make the world just a little brighter in 2019?  

    Let’s give it a whirl.

    Tom-Shelly2018

    Day 1 of 365:   MAD FOR….TOM

    I don’t usually write about my husband.  The reason is that he doesn’t like it.  The thing is, if I am going to start a year long column highlighting the goodness of ordinary people and I don’t choose him today, then that is a flagrant foul on me.

    You see, Tom’s been home for a week.  He’s an antsy sort of human.  Most of the year, the need to “do something” is satisfied on the golf course.  Unfortunately for him, it’s December in Indiana, so that’s not an option.  Instead, he used his culinary talents to smoke us beef tenderloin on Christmas, and he snuck $100 bills into the stockings of three young men who were thrilled to receive the unexpected windfall.  He spent a day cooking Ina Garten’s jambalaya (OH MY GOSH YUM) and then followed it up with a tailgate food fest fit for a basement full of Boilermakers (RIP, Purdue).

    He wrapped up his laptop and put my name on the box for Christmas, a symbolic gesture to let me know he wanted to gift me new computer of my choosing.  He called me out for frowning as we attempted to return an ill-fitting sweater, but forgave me, when I was way too cranky anyway at the Castleton Square Mall– a place I have sworn to never visit again.  Based on that experience, I’ll call the time of death on retail shopping…but I digress.

    Tom labored over homemade chicken pot pie, and he played 20 rounds of Wizard with me and Zach.  He made sure the tuition bills at Xavier and Purdue were handled.  He went to Kroger.  There were multiple trips.  Did you catch that last one?  HE WENT TO KROGER.  Do you have any idea how much I loathe Kroger and their assumption that I want to be an employee of their grocery establishment?  If you know me at all, then you know how happy I was to skip even a single trip to that god-forsaken place.  Yeah Tom!!

    This evening, we’ll be holding the 5th annual “OCTAGONATHON”.  It’s a family tradition instituted by my husband.  I think.  If he isn’t the creative genius behind it, he is certainly the presenting sponsor!  There are 8 events ranging from Ping Pong to Jenga and the Thieme men take it very seriously.  There are also serious prizes.  My personal goal is to not finish last.

    The point of my tribute today is to just say this.  Tom Thieme wins PLAYER OF THE WEEK honors here at 5350 Randolph Crescent.  We are blessed to call him ours.

    I love you, Tom.  Happy New Year!

    P.S.  Live Tweeting (@shellythieme) is a thing for the Octagonathon for those of you who enjoy following along from home.

  • 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