Tag Archives: faith

Sunday Morning Musings: Why Is God The Last Resort?

2015-02-06 22.14.14 (4)I’m sitting here writing in my journal asking God for help building my new web site and starting my newsletter.  Can I do it? Yes. Do I want to do it? No. But, like with a lot of other things, I know with God’s help I can. I don’t know why I haven’t specifically asked him before for help with this. My best answer is I didn’t think of it. But why didn’t I think of it?

Why don’t I turn to God for guidance for every single thing in my life? Why do I believe I can do even the smallest things on my own? Because I can. But am I doing the right thing? The thing God wants me to do? Or am I making up my own mind and taking action without consulting Him? Of course I am. Then I wonder why my ideas don’t always work out very well.

God has helped me with tiny things, like finding lost files and with big things like how to handle tragedy. Why can’t I remember that God is always there for me? That he doesn’t change? That he cares and wants what is best for me? Why do I put so much faith in people when years of experience on earth have shown me that people will let me down whether they mean to or not?

I don’t know why I can’t get into the habit of asking for God’s help first instead of screwing it up on my own and then asking Him to help me fix it.

And I don’t know why, probably because God is at work, but I’m going to leave you with this:


God has no body now on earth but yours,

No hands but yours,

No feet but yours,

Yours are the eyes through which he is to look out

God’s compassion to the world;

Yours are the feet with which he is to go about

Doing good;

Yours are the hands with which he is to bless men now.

                                        –Teresa of Avila


#God #prayer #faith #guidance


Sunday Morning Musings: Lost Souls and Found Things

2015-02-06 22.14.14 (4)When I lose things I ask God to help me find them. And He always does.

Case in point: Earlier this week I couldn’t find my Bank of America zipper bank bag. In it I keep my booksigning cash, my booksigning pens and my Square credit card device.

After every booksigning event, the bag goes into the second drawer of the desk in the living room. That’s where I’ve always kept it. But on this day when I opened the drawer it wasn’t there.

Initially, I didn’t panic. I looked in other places I thought it might be. The big plastic container that holds all my booksigning table stuff: tablecloth, book stands, poster, decorations, bags, etc. 20160324_135308

When it wasn’t there, I sifted through a few piles of new book-related things on the guest room bed. Nope.20160324_135326.jpg

Then I began in earnest searching through my desk, my file drawers, cabinets, every drawer and nook and cranny I could think I might have put it.

I’ve always been a bit of a flake but as I’ve aged my memory’s gotten worse and I have been known to quite often hide things from myself. I always think I’m so clever and that I’ll remember that I put that there. But I never do. And sometimes I space out entirely and stow things in completely inappropriate places.

But in this case, I had no clue what I’d done with that bag.

My husband joined in the search, even looking in my car and backtracking over where I’d already looked

Finally, I gave up. I could remember specifically the last time I’d seen the bag and why. Several weeks ago a neighbor wanted to use her charge card to buy a book. But after that incident…nothing.

So I did what I always do. I informed God I’d need His help to find it. “Please, God. I know it’s here somewhere. Please help me find it.” But I couldn’t quite give up the search. I could almost hear him saying, “You either trust me or you don’t.” So I stopped looking. After checking just a couple more places…

My husband says, “You’ll be at work this afternoon and you’ll suddenly remember.” Maybe so.

Before I left for work, though, I asked Bill if he’d looked in the glove compartment of my car. He hadn’t. I went out to my car, opened the back door and searched under the driver’s seat. And found the bag. With everything, including the cash, inside.

That’s when I remembered meeting a friend who’s doing some work for me and bringing some of my books along to display on the table in the café. (Free publicity, right?) And just in case someone wanted to buy a book, I’d put my booksigning money/charge card kit in my car in case I needed it. (I didn’t.)

When I’m at home, I don’t generally lock my car, even at night. And, because I’m a bit of a flake, sometimes I forget to lock it when I’m out and about. Why did I look in the back seat and reach under the front seat when I’d just mentioned the glove compartment? I’ll give you three guesses.

Next time you lose something, no matter what it is, even if it’s your faith, ask God to help you find it. He’ll never let you down.20160324_135408

#God #prayer #faith


Old Faithful

He’s got to be at least 75, but he’s probably closer to 80.  He’s nearly bald and he has a gray beard.  He wears khaki from head to toe except his shoes are soft black slip-ons.   He’s kind of thin and he sort of reminds me of that old guy neighbor in HOME ALONE.  

I find him fascinating.

In my random 10:30 Mass attendances, occasionally I see him.  While the rest of us lean our butts back on the pews because even the cushioned kneelers aren’t padded enough for our delicate knees, Old Faithful kneels  in the back of the church on the hard floor in front of the alcove that holds a statue of the Blessed Virgin behind the green globes of the votive candles.  That’s what caught my interest about him the first time I saw him. 

I can tell by looking at him that he remembers when times were harder, when churches weren’t carpeted, when kneelers weren’t padded.  Today, he started out paying his respects to the various depictions of saints in the alcoves at the rear of the church.  He set down his jacket and glasses on one of the ledges nearby and then I lost sight of him, but I soon located him seated in a pew.  When the Consecration began, there he was, back on his knees in front of the votives, eyes closed, lips moving, one fist clutched to his chest.  Occasionally his fingers moved in a pattern whose meaning was known only to him.  Then he’d finger the medal that dangled down along the buttons on his shirt.

He reminds me a bit of my father, a product of a small country church in rural Missouri.  My Catholic upbringing missed something in the translation of meaning in the beating of the breast, the devotion to the icons.  But my dad would clutch his fist over his heart and tap against his chest occasionally during the service, just as Old Faithful does.

I passed by him and thought of telling him I find him inspiring, but I didn’t.  Maybe one day I will.  In an era where a quarter of the church empties out after Communion, his devotion is refreshing.  He obviously doesn’t care what anyone thinks of his behavior during Mass, that he makes the choice to kneel on the floor and pray his own way.  In a society where we’re all afraid to act on what’s in our hearts lest we be ridiculed, it’s wonderful to see someone who either was always like that or who has aged beyond caring.

As usual I zoned out during a lot of the Mass, lost in my own thoughts, praying for what’s important to me and being thankful for what I have.  It occurred to me how often we whine, moan and groan about everything.  How many people I come into contact with who complain and grouse constantly.  I thought about saying to them the next time they start in, “Let me see your hands.”  Could I point out to them that there are no scars from nails running through their palms or through mine?  Perhaps we have no idea what true suffering is.  We haven’t been hung on a cross.  So until that happens, why don’t we count our blessings instead of complaining about how bad our life/spouse/job/living conditions are?

Why don’t we emulate Old Faithful and get down on our knees and thank God for what we have instead of blaming him for what we don’t?