Yesterday I was introduced to the circus called the Arapahoe County Court system! One January day when it was slushy and snowy outside, my car caught some snow and out of my control ran off the road and into a neighbor's fence. Long story short, the police came and wrote me a ticket for "careless driving" and sentenced me to a morning at the Arapahoe County Courts on March 16 at 8:30am. As I started out the day waiting in the security line to enter the building, I reminded myself, "There are no lines in Heaven. There are no courts in Heaven. There are no traffic violations and tickets in Heaven..."
Regardless if you think I'm to blame for careless driving or if you believe that the snow and slush played a part in the broken fence post (yes just one), I believed that my experience yesterday was far from JUST in the judicial courts! I'll spare you most of the details, besides the verdict (or pending verdict): the ticket was knocked down to a "unauthorized driver driving the vehicle" - a zero point ticket - but I am required to work off the 2 points at 16 hours of community service. I have another court appearance where they will asses the fine (probably $75) AND I have to pay $50 to do my community service - which I think was the salt in the wound!
I felt like one of those poor balls that gets juggled by the clowns moving from one court official to the next. Not to mention the jumping of hoops between legal terminology, court rooms, waiting lines, and floors. By the end (well maybe more like the middle), I was upset with the system. I correct myself, I was DOWN RIGHT PISSED OFF! I was one of those obnoxious people that voiced her opinion in the elevator bank, in the hallway between rooms, in the waiting room with others [including the staff] to hear my complaints. Yes I was THAT person yesterday.
After a good afternoon nap and a relaxing night with my boyfriend, I calmed down to realize that everything that I thought so awful in the morning was wearing off of me. I came to terms with the outcome of the day and realized that I probably acted childish.
Fast forward 1 good night's sleep and a cup of tea, and I was sitting in the favorite sunken spot on my couch doing morning prayers this morning. Today's passage: Romans 8:9-25. But it only took until verse 17 for me to realize my mistakes yesterday.
St. Paul writes to the Romans about sin and the Spirit which has set us free from sin. One idea struck me in a new and different way this morning. I read, "You received God's Spirit when he adopted you as his own children...And since we are his children, we are his heirs. In fact, together with Christ we are heirs of God's glory." [v.15&17]
So if we know some theology we know that when Christ was risen he received the Kingdom of Heaven and earth to reign over. Christ is now the King of the Father's Kingdom...what a great gift for a Father to give his son [considering on earth the only way a son inherits the father's kingdom is when the father dies]. And if Christ, the Almighty Father's son, received the Kingdom as his inheritance because he was an heir, than we as adopted children of God shall also receive, out of the Father's great love for us, a portion of that Kingdom. In other words, St. Paul says, "together with Christ we are heirs of God's glory" because God's Kingdom is his glory.
I was astonished! We, earthly people, full of sin, clothed with sinful nature, are made a new with the Spirit of adoption because of love AND get to share in God's glory! What person, can say that they have been a part of something that great during their life on earth? I mean, there are some great things on earth, but to be a part of the creator's glory...now that's OUT OF THIS WORLD! :-)
But it gets better, the next verse hit like a nail to the heart: "BUT, if we are to share his glory, we must also share his suffering." S%$#, [excuse the expletive], but that's hard to digest. We get to share in his glory, sure, but we ALSO have to share in his suffering [nothing comes without a price]...and maybe that suffering doesn't look like death on a cross, it might just look like the Arapahoe County Courthouse! That suffering might look like taking punishment that I don't feel I deserve. That suffering might look like loving those that I feel are using the law against me. That suffering might look like NOT speaking my ungracious opinion for others not involved to hear.
In regards to my behavior, I was unworthy yesterday to be wearing my silver charm bracelet with 12 different crosses on it. I am ashamed that I was calling myself a Christian yesterday. I'm embarrassed that anyone who saw me did not see my life as trying to imitate Christ's. I'm humiliated that anyone who heard my words did not hear the hope of Christ's coming Kingdom.
In the end, rather than reminding myself about no lines in Heaven and no courts in Heaven and no traffic violations in Heaven, I should have been asking myself, "Is it worth it? Is Heaven and the sharing in God's glory worth sharing in his suffering?" Will I suffer more willingly and patiently next time knowing that when I share in his suffering, I will also share in his glory?
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Old and Wise - A Lesson in Living
I try to go to daily Mass - sometimes I get there. Nonetheless, whenever I do go in the morning, I am always greeted with the warm smiles, wrinkled faces and white hairs of some of the oldest Catholics around. Now when I use the term 'old' I imply no disrespect what so ever - I merely use the term to give you a good visual. In the future I will use the term wise because I do think they have some wisdom to impart on us.
It has struck me many times, based on the sheer number of them compared to the number of people within my age bracket, that maybe these wise folks know something that the twenty-somethings are missing.
These men and women in their 70s, 80s or even 90s [and I'm not joking, they are your grandparent's parents' ages] are devoted to the daily celebration of the Eucharist. Their years [triple the years that I have been around] and the way in which they spend the last few years, months or even days of their earthly lives is a testament to the wisdom they have gained in life.
It is a good reminder to me that we are destined for something so much greater than this earth. And I'm sure it took some of them longer than others to realize it. I suppose towards the later years of your life you start to reflect on 'what's next?'. No more thinking about boyfriends, marriages, kids, their boyfriends, their marriages, new jobs, retirement. You start to think, 'what's after all of that?' And they have found the answer in daily Mass. What's after this? HEAVEN!!!
And I will wait in joyful hope - going to daily Mass more often - till that day comes when both I and they can celebrate eternal life with our Lord...the reason we all go to daily Mass.
It has struck me many times, based on the sheer number of them compared to the number of people within my age bracket, that maybe these wise folks know something that the twenty-somethings are missing.
These men and women in their 70s, 80s or even 90s [and I'm not joking, they are your grandparent's parents' ages] are devoted to the daily celebration of the Eucharist. Their years [triple the years that I have been around] and the way in which they spend the last few years, months or even days of their earthly lives is a testament to the wisdom they have gained in life.
It is a good reminder to me that we are destined for something so much greater than this earth. And I'm sure it took some of them longer than others to realize it. I suppose towards the later years of your life you start to reflect on 'what's next?'. No more thinking about boyfriends, marriages, kids, their boyfriends, their marriages, new jobs, retirement. You start to think, 'what's after all of that?' And they have found the answer in daily Mass. What's after this? HEAVEN!!!
And I will wait in joyful hope - going to daily Mass more often - till that day comes when both I and they can celebrate eternal life with our Lord...the reason we all go to daily Mass.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Shame of the Loved
My sister got a flat tire one night. I was half asleep when she walked into my room and began her petition in her whiny voice, "Natalia, I should have aired up my tire before I left mom and dad's house, but I didn't and now I have a flat tire. What do I do?" She had driven about 45 minutes at 11pm with less than 1/4 of the normal air in her tires.
As we went outside to assess the damage, she kept repeating, "I'm so mad at myself. I should have turned around and filled my tires up." She had driven on such low air pressure the rim had torn up about a third of the tire. We moved our pity party to the neighborhood gas station...I drove my car following her the two blocks just in case. When I got out of my car I could see that her guilt had taken over. She was far from wanting to fix the situation and concerned with reversing the hands of time.
The jack came out, the spare tire came out, the wrench came out, and with each tool she pleaded with me not to tell dad. "He will be so disappointed with me. I know better. He will be so mad that I didn't do what he asked again." She refused to call our father, who, I knew, could help; he's the only person that could guide us through the mistake to the end, and she refused to turn to him for help because of her shame.
That night after the tire was fixed and we were safe in our beds, I thanked God for helping to keep us safe as we fixed the tire at midnight on the corner of Colfax. I also thanked him for the blessing of the nice man that helped us. But my prayers were short that night, unlike most nights. I was upset with myself that week for my failure in maintaining my prayer commitments. I had chosen other priorities and made other tasks more important - even though I knew in my heart that prayer is the most important. I had not turned to him earlier that day, so in shame I went to bed after those short prayers.
The next day, my sister finally told dad that she ran her tire so low that it was irreparable. Much to her surprise, he didn't get mad - he actually laughed. He was so thankful that she was safe. He saw her sorrow and worry as a sign of penance and knew that she acknowledged her mistake, so he helped her out without any more words on the situation. Our father is adamant about having my sisters and me check our cars on a regular basis. My sister learned that his persistence on the issue is not meant to make us feel shameful, but is motivated by his love for us. He really does just want us to be safe and by teaching us to check our cars regularly, he knows we can ensure our own safety.
It was then that I realized, I too was afraid to turn to God because of my shame. I was convinced that he would be mad at my failings. I learned a thing or two about fathers through my sister and my dad: God, like any good father, is not mad when I fail. Because he is the father of a fallen race he, rather, expects it. We're really only human - failing is in our nature. Our Father already anticipated that we'd fail; hence, the need for the sacrifice of his son, Jesus. God the Father loves me so much he just wants the best for me - like my dad. His heart leaps when I come back to him in prayer and repent for my wrongs, my shortcomings, my infidelities. Talk about unconditional love - a love that does not make you feel shameful or get mad a one because of a mistake, but a love that laughs when a mistake is made and helps out without another word on the situation.
We as the beloved might feel shame, but it's a beautiful sign of repentance. We would only feel shame because we failed to show love where it was deserved. God always years to embrace us that have strayed and help us who repent. Just remember, we're only human - we make mistakes - Christ anticipated that!
As we went outside to assess the damage, she kept repeating, "I'm so mad at myself. I should have turned around and filled my tires up." She had driven on such low air pressure the rim had torn up about a third of the tire. We moved our pity party to the neighborhood gas station...I drove my car following her the two blocks just in case. When I got out of my car I could see that her guilt had taken over. She was far from wanting to fix the situation and concerned with reversing the hands of time.
The jack came out, the spare tire came out, the wrench came out, and with each tool she pleaded with me not to tell dad. "He will be so disappointed with me. I know better. He will be so mad that I didn't do what he asked again." She refused to call our father, who, I knew, could help; he's the only person that could guide us through the mistake to the end, and she refused to turn to him for help because of her shame.
That night after the tire was fixed and we were safe in our beds, I thanked God for helping to keep us safe as we fixed the tire at midnight on the corner of Colfax. I also thanked him for the blessing of the nice man that helped us. But my prayers were short that night, unlike most nights. I was upset with myself that week for my failure in maintaining my prayer commitments. I had chosen other priorities and made other tasks more important - even though I knew in my heart that prayer is the most important. I had not turned to him earlier that day, so in shame I went to bed after those short prayers.
The next day, my sister finally told dad that she ran her tire so low that it was irreparable. Much to her surprise, he didn't get mad - he actually laughed. He was so thankful that she was safe. He saw her sorrow and worry as a sign of penance and knew that she acknowledged her mistake, so he helped her out without any more words on the situation. Our father is adamant about having my sisters and me check our cars on a regular basis. My sister learned that his persistence on the issue is not meant to make us feel shameful, but is motivated by his love for us. He really does just want us to be safe and by teaching us to check our cars regularly, he knows we can ensure our own safety.
It was then that I realized, I too was afraid to turn to God because of my shame. I was convinced that he would be mad at my failings. I learned a thing or two about fathers through my sister and my dad: God, like any good father, is not mad when I fail. Because he is the father of a fallen race he, rather, expects it. We're really only human - failing is in our nature. Our Father already anticipated that we'd fail; hence, the need for the sacrifice of his son, Jesus. God the Father loves me so much he just wants the best for me - like my dad. His heart leaps when I come back to him in prayer and repent for my wrongs, my shortcomings, my infidelities. Talk about unconditional love - a love that does not make you feel shameful or get mad a one because of a mistake, but a love that laughs when a mistake is made and helps out without another word on the situation.
We as the beloved might feel shame, but it's a beautiful sign of repentance. We would only feel shame because we failed to show love where it was deserved. God always years to embrace us that have strayed and help us who repent. Just remember, we're only human - we make mistakes - Christ anticipated that!
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
"How is it that ye sought me?"
As many of you know, I have been studying the life of Christ, like one would study a biography of a role model. This morning, my reading was a deeper look into a childhood incident of Christ - the finding of Christ in the Temple. For those of you who are not familiar, here's a synopsis [including my own imaginings]:
The holy family leaves Nazareth in pursuit of Jerusalem to celebrate the tradition of the Passover. The Passover was a great feast to the Jewish people as they celebrated their freedom from slavery and their move from Egypt to the promise land. Jesus at the time is about 12 and I could just imagine a great caravan of people walking, elderly on asses, kids leading the way in all their excitement. I'm sure Mary and Joseph has friends and family that they traveled with. As they get to Jerusalem, they spend all their day
s enjoying company, celebrating, drinking wine, and maybe even some good 'ld dance parties. After a certain number of days of celebration the group embarks upon the journey home to Jerusalem. Mary notices that her only son is missing...he's not in the caravan, he's not at the front with the other kids, and he's not among the other friends or relatives. I'm sure she's a little frazzled - she probably pulled Joseph aside and asked if he had seen their son. At that point, they decide to head back in the direction they came, retracing their steps to find their boy.
Poor Mary - she must have felt the weight of the world on her shoulder - not to mention she's been entrusted by God to take care of his only begotten son. She's a mother in distress - walking rapidly through the villages and side streets...carefully eyeing every little boy around Jesus's height. She's knocking on doors asking strangers if they have seen her beloved son. She's not worried about her hair or her makeup; she's not concerned with how tired her feet are or how hungry her tummy is; she is only concerned with LOVE...and finding that boy that she loves so much...what distress.
After 3 days of restlessly searching, she comes to the temple where they had their celebrations. In the order of the temple she spots a group of elders...older men with long beards. They were probably great rabbis or teachers of the day. Mary's a little afraid to interrupt them as they may not be bothered with a plain woman who has lost her son, but love grips her heart and gives her the courage to walk closer to speak with them.
There, in the midst of the men, is Jesus. With his precious twelve-year-old boy face, his wispy hair, and his confident stature. All the men are looking down upon him, listening with great awe to his words. For little did these men know, but these words that Jesus was teaching were none other than his eternal father's. Just as he is finishing answering one of the rabbi's questions, Mary swoops in and grasps him in her arms - holding him so tightly that he cannot get away and releasing all the worries, anxieties, and tears that she held onto for the past three days.
Upon taking him out of the temple to start their journey back home she asks: "Son, why hast thou thus dealt with us [her and Joseph]? Behold, thy father and I have sought thee sorrowing." To which he responds, "How is it that ye sought me? Wist ye not that I must be about my Father's business?" In other words, Mary says, "Why did you just leave without telling us? We have been looking for you with great grief." And Jesus replies, "How did you look for me? Didn't you know that I had to do what I was sent to do by the father?"
For more accurate text, read the gospel: Luke 2:41-52
One of the reasons I enjoy learning about Christ's life is because of the discovery of self that I find within the gospels, especially in relating to the people surrounding Jesus in these stories. David Ramsey says "If you want to be rich, do what rich people do." In the same way, if I am to be like Christ, I have to do what Christ does. I'm so far away from being Christ, that I have taken solace in trying to imitate those around him like his mother Mary and just like Mary in this story sometimes I have failed to find Christ.
For all intents and purposes, like Christ was the son of Mary, let's call Christ my best friend. Maybe someone who has come to visit me from a far off country and is delighted at spending time with me.
Often days, I am frantically running around going about my work, not even realizing that I have lost my best friend. I'm so enwrapped in myself and my duties that I fail to even recognize that I left my best friend behind. I failed to invite him along. Now, truth be told, Christ is never lost: "Do you know that I can never be lost...I will be everywhere where any one believes in me, even if they do not see me with their eyes." My point is that he is lost in my life...I have lost him in my day and didn't recognize, just like Mary lost her son among the crowds of people.
When I do realize that I am missing something, I too frantically search, like Mary, in all the wrong places. I'm trying to find fulfillment and peace in a job...I'm trying to find beauty and serenity in fashion magazines and make-up...I'm trying to find romance and love in the newest release or TV series...I'm trying to find adventure and a new life in the novel I'm reading...I'm trying to find a savior and true friend in a boyfriend. Christ has told us that he will be all of these things: fulfillment and peace, beauty and serenity, romance and love, adventure and a new life, savior and true friend.
"How is it that ye sought me?" In other words, did you look for me in the right places? Did you search for me in the Father's place of worship? Did you look for me doing my Father's will? Did you seek me in the wisdom and counsel of others? How is it that you seek Christ?
The holy family leaves Nazareth in pursuit of Jerusalem to celebrate the tradition of the Passover. The Passover was a great feast to the Jewish people as they celebrated their freedom from slavery and their move from Egypt to the promise land. Jesus at the time is about 12 and I could just imagine a great caravan of people walking, elderly on asses, kids leading the way in all their excitement. I'm sure Mary and Joseph has friends and family that they traveled with. As they get to Jerusalem, they spend all their day
s enjoying company, celebrating, drinking wine, and maybe even some good 'ld dance parties. After a certain number of days of celebration the group embarks upon the journey home to Jerusalem. Mary notices that her only son is missing...he's not in the caravan, he's not at the front with the other kids, and he's not among the other friends or relatives. I'm sure she's a little frazzled - she probably pulled Joseph aside and asked if he had seen their son. At that point, they decide to head back in the direction they came, retracing their steps to find their boy.
Poor Mary - she must have felt the weight of the world on her shoulder - not to mention she's been entrusted by God to take care of his only begotten son. She's a mother in distress - walking rapidly through the villages and side streets...carefully eyeing every little boy around Jesus's height. She's knocking on doors asking strangers if they have seen her beloved son. She's not worried about her hair or her makeup; she's not concerned with how tired her feet are or how hungry her tummy is; she is only concerned with LOVE...and finding that boy that she loves so much...what distress.
After 3 days of restlessly searching, she comes to the temple where they had their celebrations. In the order of the temple she spots a group of elders...older men with long beards. They were probably great rabbis or teachers of the day. Mary's a little afraid to interrupt them as they may not be bothered with a plain woman who has lost her son, but love grips her heart and gives her the courage to walk closer to speak with them.
There, in the midst of the men, is Jesus. With his precious twelve-year-old boy face, his wispy hair, and his confident stature. All the men are looking down upon him, listening with great awe to his words. For little did these men know, but these words that Jesus was teaching were none other than his eternal father's. Just as he is finishing answering one of the rabbi's questions, Mary swoops in and grasps him in her arms - holding him so tightly that he cannot get away and releasing all the worries, anxieties, and tears that she held onto for the past three days.Upon taking him out of the temple to start their journey back home she asks: "Son, why hast thou thus dealt with us [her and Joseph]? Behold, thy father and I have sought thee sorrowing." To which he responds, "How is it that ye sought me? Wist ye not that I must be about my Father's business?" In other words, Mary says, "Why did you just leave without telling us? We have been looking for you with great grief." And Jesus replies, "How did you look for me? Didn't you know that I had to do what I was sent to do by the father?"
For more accurate text, read the gospel: Luke 2:41-52
One of the reasons I enjoy learning about Christ's life is because of the discovery of self that I find within the gospels, especially in relating to the people surrounding Jesus in these stories. David Ramsey says "If you want to be rich, do what rich people do." In the same way, if I am to be like Christ, I have to do what Christ does. I'm so far away from being Christ, that I have taken solace in trying to imitate those around him like his mother Mary and just like Mary in this story sometimes I have failed to find Christ.
For all intents and purposes, like Christ was the son of Mary, let's call Christ my best friend. Maybe someone who has come to visit me from a far off country and is delighted at spending time with me.
Often days, I am frantically running around going about my work, not even realizing that I have lost my best friend. I'm so enwrapped in myself and my duties that I fail to even recognize that I left my best friend behind. I failed to invite him along. Now, truth be told, Christ is never lost: "Do you know that I can never be lost...I will be everywhere where any one believes in me, even if they do not see me with their eyes." My point is that he is lost in my life...I have lost him in my day and didn't recognize, just like Mary lost her son among the crowds of people.
When I do realize that I am missing something, I too frantically search, like Mary, in all the wrong places. I'm trying to find fulfillment and peace in a job...I'm trying to find beauty and serenity in fashion magazines and make-up...I'm trying to find romance and love in the newest release or TV series...I'm trying to find adventure and a new life in the novel I'm reading...I'm trying to find a savior and true friend in a boyfriend. Christ has told us that he will be all of these things: fulfillment and peace, beauty and serenity, romance and love, adventure and a new life, savior and true friend.
"How is it that ye sought me?" In other words, did you look for me in the right places? Did you search for me in the Father's place of worship? Did you look for me doing my Father's will? Did you seek me in the wisdom and counsel of others? How is it that you seek Christ?
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Australia - Three Weeks Coming to a Rapid End
So three weeks has been an absolute WHIRLWIND. I knew it would go by fast, but as I sit thinking about what to write I just realize now how much has happened and that we only have 2 days left before we pack our bags back up and board a plane.
Here are the Cliff Notes:
11/29
Last Saturday we spent the day in Williamstown [a beautiful coastal city where my mom's friend Barbara lives]. We enjoyed the beach and the pier and taking their Irish Wolfhound for a walk.
That evening our cousins Simon and Adel took us out to experience the nightlife in the city [downtown Melbourne]. We started out at the Casino Crown and had so much fun gambling on the Greyhound and horse races and winning that that is where we ended up spending our whole evening.
11/30
Sunday was spent in the city as well - we went up to the tallest building in Melbourne (88 stories) and enjoyed the 360 view from the top of the glass tower. WHAT a view. It was very gratifying to see things from above that we had visited earlier in the week since our arrival.
12/1
My favorite part of Monday was getting dressed up to celebrate Maria's birthday. Maria is a grade school friend of my mom's. Maria treated our family and Franca's family [another grade school friend] to the most magnificent buffet in Victoria at the Conservatory, a part of the Crown Hotel and Casino. WHAT A BUFFET: Pawns, seafood, Kangaroo, pasta, ice cream, chocolate fountain, chicken of all kinds, soups....and all of them wonderful! We eat like Kings and Queens that night.
12/2
Shopping with Auntie Kathy! We went to the Direct Factory Outlets and scored some great deals! Kathy is full of Aussie slang too...we learned "gas bag" for someone who tells everyone's secrets and "sticky beak" for someone who is nosey and wants to know everyone else's business. There's even a store here called Colorado.
12/3
Teresa, my Godmother, had a few families over for dinner. An Italian feast, good conversation and games with the kids.
12/4
We started our adventure to Warnambool - west of Melbourne closer to the coast. After a three hour drive we had arrived to our Great Uncle Sylvio's mini farm where to our surprise he had more animals that my mom remembered including the cutest black kitten and a horse named ARNOLD :-)
12/5
Great Ocean Road was our tour guide on Friday. We went from the Tweleve Apostles to the Grotto to London Bridge to Peterborough to Port Campbell. What a GREAT drive - the wonders of the Ocean are just magnificent!
My favorite was London Bridge [above] and just like the song - this London Bridge fell down. January 15 of 1990 a tour bus was from the mainland onto the end of the bridge when the last part of the bridge collapsed as it had been eroded from the water at high tide. The poor group was stuck over on the other end for just some time. And my favorite part of the story was that just a few days prior my family and I [being the youngster that I was] went on that same bridge! Needless to say that was the last tour bus to the end of the bridge.
12/6
Today was the drive back to Melbourne for the last few days of our Australian Adventure. Wish us safe travels home!
Cheers Mate!
Here are the Cliff Notes:
11/29
Last Saturday we spent the day in Williamstown [a beautiful coastal city where my mom's friend Barbara lives]. We enjoyed the beach and the pier and taking their Irish Wolfhound for a walk.That evening our cousins Simon and Adel took us out to experience the nightlife in the city [downtown Melbourne]. We started out at the Casino Crown and had so much fun gambling on the Greyhound and horse races and winning that that is where we ended up spending our whole evening.
11/30
Sunday was spent in the city as well - we went up to the tallest building in Melbourne (88 stories) and enjoyed the 360 view from the top of the glass tower. WHAT a view. It was very gratifying to see things from above that we had visited earlier in the week since our arrival.
12/1
My favorite part of Monday was getting dressed up to celebrate Maria's birthday. Maria is a grade school friend of my mom's. Maria treated our family and Franca's family [another grade school friend] to the most magnificent buffet in Victoria at the Conservatory, a part of the Crown Hotel and Casino. WHAT A BUFFET: Pawns, seafood, Kangaroo, pasta, ice cream, chocolate fountain, chicken of all kinds, soups....and all of them wonderful! We eat like Kings and Queens that night.
12/2
Shopping with Auntie Kathy! We went to the Direct Factory Outlets and scored some great deals! Kathy is full of Aussie slang too...we learned "gas bag" for someone who tells everyone's secrets and "sticky beak" for someone who is nosey and wants to know everyone else's business. There's even a store here called Colorado.
12/3
Teresa, my Godmother, had a few families over for dinner. An Italian feast, good conversation and games with the kids.
12/4We started our adventure to Warnambool - west of Melbourne closer to the coast. After a three hour drive we had arrived to our Great Uncle Sylvio's mini farm where to our surprise he had more animals that my mom remembered including the cutest black kitten and a horse named ARNOLD :-)
12/5
Great Ocean Road was our tour guide on Friday. We went from the Tweleve Apostles to the Grotto to London Bridge to Peterborough to Port Campbell. What a GREAT drive - the wonders of the Ocean are just magnificent!
My favorite was London Bridge [above] and just like the song - this London Bridge fell down. January 15 of 1990 a tour bus was from the mainland onto the end of the bridge when the last part of the bridge collapsed as it had been eroded from the water at high tide. The poor group was stuck over on the other end for just some time. And my favorite part of the story was that just a few days prior my family and I [being the youngster that I was] went on that same bridge! Needless to say that was the last tour bus to the end of the bridge.12/6
Today was the drive back to Melbourne for the last few days of our Australian Adventure. Wish us safe travels home!
Cheers Mate!
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Australian Adventures Con't - Nov 27&28
“All Consuming Fire Burn in Me”
Everyone likes to be challenged – tonight Uncle Nick, Aunt Kathy and Nathan (7) came over to join Lydia, Pop and I for dinner. It was a rare instance when we didn’t have mom here – the one person who links us all. Nick got hung up on the card game Freecell on the computer and Nathan was just loving playing Skipbo with Lydia and I – both of which were challenging for their players. I started thinking about the things that challenge me and how I thrive on conquering something as small as a game or as large as a relationship.
I feel empowered with the idea of conquering something that might be “too hard.” But sometimes, like yesterday, I fall into succumbing to the obstacles and struggling through it, rather than fighting. Yesterday I was SICK! I drank two bottles of water, went through an entire box of tissues, and was rotating through three different medicines. After watching one whole DVD of Gidget [an old 1960s sitcom with Sally Field] and taking a nap, I woke up feeling worse than when I started the day: unable to speak, a cough that shook my ribs, and congestion that made my nose feel like the Eisenhower tunnel. I even entertained the idea of calling a priest and asking for my final absolution!
“My faith is like shifting sand, so I stand on grace.”
It wasn’t until this morning in the shower, when I felt like a new person because I could breathe, that I thought about how I could have conquered my cold rather than submit myself to the feelings of desperation. In hindsight, it was nothing more than a nasty bit of the flu, but in the thick of it I couldn’t see the forest from the trees, or should I say the tissue from the snot!
It seems that far too often I loose hope at the sight of the trees. I forget about the health at the end of the sick; I forget about the joy at the end of the sadness; I forget about the new beginning at the end of an end; the life at the end of death; the glory at the end of the cross.
Not to mention that sometimes we only learn how to be grateful when something we take for granted is taken away from us – like the ability to breathe with snot! Ok I really mean our health. How often do you say, “I’m so thankful that I’m healthy this morning.” Maybe a great lesson for all of us.
“The altar of God – my joy, my delight and my strength”
Needless to say today was a much better day than yesterday. Besides feeling well enough to actually move from the bed, I got to enjoy an afternoon walk back from the clinic with my mom. She shared with me some of the “secrets” of her childhood. I call them secrets only because my mom rarely shares experiences about her childhood with us. As we are in Australia, in the house she grew up in (from the age of 4-23) and walking down the same streets she walked before she met my father, it seems only appropriate to discuss her coming her age.
Here’s the background: my grandparents were immigrants to Australia from Italy coming across on a ship where their ticket was a loan. They each brought one suitcase over and high hopes for their careers. You see the immigrants where the ones that labored away at factory jobs to build the economy of Australia. They knew not a lick of English and had no intentions of becoming CEOs or shareholders, but only knew the opportunity and pay here was far better than in Italy in their poor village of Toco. This area of Australia has tons of Italians. They might have been like the Mexicans that we see in the US…working their fingers off at any shift they can get just to send some money back home and make a better living for those they love.
“Listen to the prayers of a dying world”
My mom told me how hard my grandfather and grandmother worked – every weekday from 7am until 7pm and a half day on Saturday. They did the grocery shopping for the week on Saturday visiting the deli and the city’s market for fresh fruits and vegetables. Sunday was spent at church and home with the family doing all the house work and getting ready for another week of work. There was no drinking or going to pubs, and no going out to dinner or movies. My mom would come home every afternoon after school, take care of her brother, finish her homework and start dinner for her parents. She didn’t have slumber parties or friends over after school, no trips to the mall or dates on Friday nights.
There was no education for the immigrants – they learned the little English they knew from their children who went to English school, but spoke Italian at home. My mom raved about the sewing that my Nonna (grandmother) could do. She could look at a snag in clothing and figure out what stitch was used and replicate it. My mom loved wearing the dresses and shirts her mother made for her and swears up and down that with a little education Nonna could have been a fashion designer with all of her talent.
My grandmother (Nonna) passed the year before my family moved back to America (1990) – Dominique never got to meet her and quite frankly I don’t know how much Lydia and I really remember about her. But the sweet regard that my mom has for her I know that we would have gotten along with her. I know that Nonna would be proud of the strides that her daughter has made to provide for her three granddaughters.
It’s just strange being in the same house that my mother grew up in and feeling so disconnected from the way life was for her. Every day that passes here I keep looking at my mother, this woman that I have only known to be my mother, and see a new part of her – the years she took care of her younger brother, the times she was smaller and made dinner, the night she brought my dad home to meet her parents for the first time, the day she took a photo with her mom and dad in this living room in her wedding dress.
With the same awe I look at my Pop, a man that I’ve only known by the few words of broken English that he speaks two or three times a year on the phone. He’s a man that had the hope for something better, a man that knew the value of hard work and manual labor, a man that sacrificed for those that he loved, a man that has lived through the life of two generations of his family and the death of so many that were a part of the previous two generations.
When we all reach the end of our life, God will ask us one question: “How much did you love?” I know that both Nonna and Pop loved enough to get to heaven. I hope that I will have enough strength in my life to love like they did so that at the end of my life I will be able to say: “A lot. I loved a lot.”
Everyone likes to be challenged – tonight Uncle Nick, Aunt Kathy and Nathan (7) came over to join Lydia, Pop and I for dinner. It was a rare instance when we didn’t have mom here – the one person who links us all. Nick got hung up on the card game Freecell on the computer and Nathan was just loving playing Skipbo with Lydia and I – both of which were challenging for their players. I started thinking about the things that challenge me and how I thrive on conquering something as small as a game or as large as a relationship.
I feel empowered with the idea of conquering something that might be “too hard.” But sometimes, like yesterday, I fall into succumbing to the obstacles and struggling through it, rather than fighting. Yesterday I was SICK! I drank two bottles of water, went through an entire box of tissues, and was rotating through three different medicines. After watching one whole DVD of Gidget [an old 1960s sitcom with Sally Field] and taking a nap, I woke up feeling worse than when I started the day: unable to speak, a cough that shook my ribs, and congestion that made my nose feel like the Eisenhower tunnel. I even entertained the idea of calling a priest and asking for my final absolution!
“My faith is like shifting sand, so I stand on grace.”
It wasn’t until this morning in the shower, when I felt like a new person because I could breathe, that I thought about how I could have conquered my cold rather than submit myself to the feelings of desperation. In hindsight, it was nothing more than a nasty bit of the flu, but in the thick of it I couldn’t see the forest from the trees, or should I say the tissue from the snot!
It seems that far too often I loose hope at the sight of the trees. I forget about the health at the end of the sick; I forget about the joy at the end of the sadness; I forget about the new beginning at the end of an end; the life at the end of death; the glory at the end of the cross.
Not to mention that sometimes we only learn how to be grateful when something we take for granted is taken away from us – like the ability to breathe with snot! Ok I really mean our health. How often do you say, “I’m so thankful that I’m healthy this morning.” Maybe a great lesson for all of us.
“The altar of God – my joy, my delight and my strength”
Needless to say today was a much better day than yesterday. Besides feeling well enough to actually move from the bed, I got to enjoy an afternoon walk back from the clinic with my mom. She shared with me some of the “secrets” of her childhood. I call them secrets only because my mom rarely shares experiences about her childhood with us. As we are in Australia, in the house she grew up in (from the age of 4-23) and walking down the same streets she walked before she met my father, it seems only appropriate to discuss her coming her age.
Here’s the background: my grandparents were immigrants to Australia from Italy coming across on a ship where their ticket was a loan. They each brought one suitcase over and high hopes for their careers. You see the immigrants where the ones that labored away at factory jobs to build the economy of Australia. They knew not a lick of English and had no intentions of becoming CEOs or shareholders, but only knew the opportunity and pay here was far better than in Italy in their poor village of Toco. This area of Australia has tons of Italians. They might have been like the Mexicans that we see in the US…working their fingers off at any shift they can get just to send some money back home and make a better living for those they love.
“Listen to the prayers of a dying world”
My mom told me how hard my grandfather and grandmother worked – every weekday from 7am until 7pm and a half day on Saturday. They did the grocery shopping for the week on Saturday visiting the deli and the city’s market for fresh fruits and vegetables. Sunday was spent at church and home with the family doing all the house work and getting ready for another week of work. There was no drinking or going to pubs, and no going out to dinner or movies. My mom would come home every afternoon after school, take care of her brother, finish her homework and start dinner for her parents. She didn’t have slumber parties or friends over after school, no trips to the mall or dates on Friday nights.
There was no education for the immigrants – they learned the little English they knew from their children who went to English school, but spoke Italian at home. My mom raved about the sewing that my Nonna (grandmother) could do. She could look at a snag in clothing and figure out what stitch was used and replicate it. My mom loved wearing the dresses and shirts her mother made for her and swears up and down that with a little education Nonna could have been a fashion designer with all of her talent.
My grandmother (Nonna) passed the year before my family moved back to America (1990) – Dominique never got to meet her and quite frankly I don’t know how much Lydia and I really remember about her. But the sweet regard that my mom has for her I know that we would have gotten along with her. I know that Nonna would be proud of the strides that her daughter has made to provide for her three granddaughters.
It’s just strange being in the same house that my mother grew up in and feeling so disconnected from the way life was for her. Every day that passes here I keep looking at my mother, this woman that I have only known to be my mother, and see a new part of her – the years she took care of her younger brother, the times she was smaller and made dinner, the night she brought my dad home to meet her parents for the first time, the day she took a photo with her mom and dad in this living room in her wedding dress.
With the same awe I look at my Pop, a man that I’ve only known by the few words of broken English that he speaks two or three times a year on the phone. He’s a man that had the hope for something better, a man that knew the value of hard work and manual labor, a man that sacrificed for those that he loved, a man that has lived through the life of two generations of his family and the death of so many that were a part of the previous two generations.
When we all reach the end of our life, God will ask us one question: “How much did you love?” I know that both Nonna and Pop loved enough to get to heaven. I hope that I will have enough strength in my life to love like they did so that at the end of my life I will be able to say: “A lot. I loved a lot.”
Thursday, November 20, 2008
G'Day from Down Under - Day 1
We started our journey at DIA enjoying the moving sidewalks - that is letting the sidewalk take us past our gate as we posed for pictures!
2 hours and a 45 minute adjustment to the plane later we land in LA. We had completed 3K of our marathon. With passports in hand we board the 13.5 hour flight from LA to
When we arrived in
Finally back on the plane and 1 hour later we were at our final destination –
Once in Glenroy (the town/suburb that Pop lives in), the streets and sights began to look familiar. Pop’s house had not changed a bit – every photo we saw on our last visit was in the exact same place – it was such a comfortable atmosphere to see pictures of my mom as a little Catholic school girl and our parents as a happy newlywed couple.
We were at the house at about 1pm and like magic I told my uncle I was starving and my mom’s confirmation sponsor and family friend walked in with pans of food – lasagna, chicken legs, stuffed mushrooms, tiramisu cake, and plenty to drink including Pop’s homemade black wine – the strong stuff! There was so much food we ended up spending the rest of the afternoon and evening eating with and entertaining old friends…by 9pm we had seen Teresa and her family (Flavio, her husband, Stefano, her 10-year-old-son, and Alessandra, her 14-year-old daughter), our uncle Nick, aunt Kathy and new cousin Nathan (Nathan is 7, but this was the first time that we have met him), Franca and her daughter Isabella (family friends and also Teresa’s sister and niece), and Maria (Mom’s friend from gradeschool). Not to mention that it’s now
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