Honestly, not being a scientifically minded person, I was concerned that this film might be a bit too “deep” for me, but I must say that I found the arguments presented to be both compelling and quite fascinating.  Here’s a brief synopsis of the film:

Scholars debate whether the Star of Bethlehem is a legend created by the early church or a miracle that marked the advent of Christ. Is it possible that the star was a real astronomical event?  From Producer Stephen McEveety of MPower Pictures (The Passion of the Christ) comes an amazing documentary on the Star of Bethlehem. This presentation has been viewed by tens of thousands in the U.S. and in Europe and this new DVD reveals the evidence for God’s existence as seen in the stars above. Presenter Rick Larson walks you through biblical and historical clues revealing the eternal significance of this celestial event as well as the vastness of God’s creativity. Discover the secret of the Star…a secret of magnificent beauty.

I hope you enjoy the following trailer and that you will take a look at purchasing The Star of Bethlehem for your family this Christmas season.  We need to support films like this that inspire, inform and entertain!

Here I must pause and share one little detail that is crucial to this narrative: I do not know Spanish.

But I went anyhow. (See, God? See how much I love You?) And as it turns out, God must have been up there smiling and thinking, “Ginny has no idea how GREAT this is going to be.” For the day was December 12, the feast day of Our Lady of Guadalupe.

If you want to celebrate Our Lady of G, as I quickly learned, go to a Spanish Mass. It was, in word, fabulous. There was a procession to honor her, winding around the Mary grotto and into the church. There was a mariachi band dressed in white on the altar. “Viva la Virgen!” shouted the priest and various lectors. And, at the end of the service, parishioners crowded the altar, bearing small statues or framed images of Our Lady. They waited patiently for the priest to bless them before taking the icons back home.

Our Lady of Guadalupe has a huge following. There’s something about her that just grabs people. Maybe it’s the way she represents the marginalized, appearing to the disenfranchised Juan Diego rather than to the mighty bishop. Perhaps it’s because she is seen as a powerful advocate for the unborn (the black sash she wears is a traditional symbol of pregnancy). Maybe it’s the way she has become an icon of those who sacrifice themselves for the dignity of others; I think of how her image accompanied Cesar Chavez as he marched for the rights of farmworkers. She’s a Mary who feels particularly close to the people, all people. No matter how gritty or demeaned our lives may be, she is our champion. Not a one of us is outside the mantle of her love.

I think of a day I spent in San Francisco’s Mission District several years ago. It’s a neighborhood that is known for its Latino population and for its colorful, vivid murals. You can walk the streets and soak in these fabulous modern works of art, many of them dealing with themes of justice and peace and struggle. They are huge, these murals, stretching across entire buildings. There’s a place called Balmy Alley that is full of them, all painted helpfully at eye level.

And then, as you wander along the sidewalk, you happen to look up. Painted on the side of a building, way up high, is Our Lady of Guadalupe. And you realize that she has been there the whole time, and you didn’t even know it. She’s been there all along, watching over you, watching over everyone who walks the crowded streets and does their very best to make it, dignity intact, through another day.

Viva la Virgen!

Copyright 2009 Ginny Kubitz Moyer

We contemplated the empty lot between our two homes where once a brown building stood no more.  A discussion began amongst the family members about what to do with this possible gardening plot:

Brother-in-Law (who works out-of-town during the week):  “Just so you all know, I can’t be responsible for this.  So, if we do this, let’s go over who is going to do what.  Okay, Jan says she’ll turn the soil.  We’ll get Corey, David, and Rory to till it.  I’ll buy the seeds.  Cay said she’ll weed it…”

My Husband:  “Cay said she’ll weed it?” (A laugh catches in his throat.)  “More like she’ll assign five kids to each take a row.”

Me:  “Nothing wrong in teaching the children to work for their daily bread.”

Our niece, who was getting married in less than a month and wouldn’t be living next door anymore, contributed: “I’ll be in charge of watering it.”

My Husband:  “I’ll harvest it.”

Sister-in-Law skeptically:  “I give this project one week.”

Me:  “You think?”

Sister-in-Law, more firmly resolved:  “Middle of June, tops.”

As visions of June heat and July torridity shimmered in imaginary waves across the lawn and our mind’s eye, we fell silent.  The lazy pat-pat of sneakers, the squeak of the glider, the grating of lawn chairs over the cement slab, and the laughter of children accompanied the music of the wind chimes.

I didn’t see the Little Red Hen anywhere amongst this crew.  And I admit now, writing this, sharing this, and looking out across a freshly mown lawn; I am embarrassed to say the family plot still sits…rich with fertile possibilities, succulent with new clover, green with an abundance of life, and lazy with fermented sloth and indolence.

Are our souls like this unplowed, untended, unplanted family plot of earth?  Do we sit and, like Burt Reynolds’ character in the 1978 blockbuster The End, make huge promises to God for improving our spiritual life.  We promise God that we’ll work harder, we’ll be good, honest, upright, we’ll stop lying, we’ll tithe more, we’ll go to Church more often, and we’ll learn the Ten Commandments.

Only, while padding our lazy tennis shoes on the edge of the field, we never rise to the task.  We never get up and put our best foot forward.  We wait.  We sit.  We pray.  We dream.  We become slothful.  And we wonder why God doesn’t give us a more spiritual life
.
We want the garden.  We want the fruit.  We desire the harvest.  And, all the while, God wants to give it to us.  He even gives us the necessary tools, but what do we do in preparation of receiving this garden?  For receiving Him?  Do we use the tools He gives us?

Daily Mass and Perpetual Adoration await us in silence.  Rosaries lie tangled in jewelry boxes and bureaus.  Retreats are planned and offered.  Spiritual books sit in warehouses barely seeing the light of day while romance and science-fiction novels are churned out like butter onto the streets. Confessional curtains barely whisper in the quietness.  Novenas and the rite of Christian prayers are cited sporadically.  Psalms go unsung and Scripture gathers dust.  Virgin candlewicks lie exposed and vulnerable.  The coffers of saints are unheralded.  Blessed water stagnates and evaporates.

No other religion offers the elements and tools sought by human worshippers as they seek to nurture a relationship with their Savior the way the Catholic Church does. Yet so often we do not anchor the yoke or apply our hand to the plow.  We do nothing to till the soil of our soul and, all the while, the rich, fertile ground sits and waits as the possibilities and opportunities to grow are left unfurrowed and uncultivated.

Come forward and see what God has laid on the gardener’s bench for you. Uncoil the rosaries and hoe the rows, brush back the curtain from the confessionals and pull out the weeds, read God’s gardening manual, recite the prayers and sing the psalms the Hebrew slaves sung while in the hot field, light the candlewicks as you work well into the dark, open the Bible and sow the seeds, refresh yourself with life-giving water, then gather the fruit into your coffer and sing God’s praises.

RICH VEGETABLE DISH

1. 2 tablespoons lite butter or olive oil
2. Yellow squash cut diagonally
3. Spears of asparagus
4. Fresh uncut snow peas
5. Large green, yellow, and red peppers cut diagonally
6. One onion cut in rounds
7. Cream of mushroom soup
8. Cheddar Cheese

Saute vegetables (except peppers and onion) lightly in melted butter or olive oil.  Lightly spray a large baking dish with cooking spray and layer vegetables in it.  Top with cut peppers and onion.  Pour cream of mushroom soup over vegetables.  Bake at 350 degrees for 30.  Sprinkle with layer of cheddar cheese and bake an additional 6-8 minutes until melted.

Copyright 2009 Cay Gibson

Now I know.  And wow, it gives me pause to go through with it!  St. Louis de Monfort, who conceived of this particular devotion to Mary, lived in France right around the time of the French Revolution.  Previous to the Revolution, the Church in France had been infiltrated by Jansenist ideas.  Jansenists were like the Catholic version of Calvinists, and held a very harsh view of God.  The God of Calvin is arbitrary, saving some and damning others.  One must live a very, very austere life and hold a view of man as totally depraved.  Then, as the historical pendulum swung, the Revolution brought in the opposite heresy: we, by our enlightened minds, save ourselves.  A tremendous persecution of all things religious began.

God’s antidote for any time period’s heresy is to raise up saints who can highlight the opposite quality of God.  During this time he gave us Margaret Mary Alaquoque, who emphasized the burning love of Jesus’ Sacred Heart.  He also gave us St. Louis de Monfort and his method of total consecration to Mary.  In St. Louis, God desired to remind us that we have an exceedingly tender Mother who wishes to guide us and feed us in the spiritual life.  She desires to present our sacrifices and prayers in the most perfect way to Jesus, just as it is like a mother to straighten her child’s tie and comb the last hair into place before school pictures.  What a gift to those who, due to Jansenist influence, were perhaps fearful to approach God? They needed no longer fear, because of the tender intercession of Mary.  And likewise, a God who would so generously crown his Mother in graces for us, giving her to us that we might all be saved; well this God could not be like the One Calvin envisioned.

So what is the consecration?  St. Louis describes it as holy slavery to Mary.  This hurts our modern American ears, but would have drawn in the Jansenists, as they were comfortable with austerity.  It’s a tender, loving slavery in which we entrust our bodies, property, lives and even spiritual goods to Mary.  This means that we live in such a manner as we consider our house, car, vacations, etc, as belonging not to us but to Mary.  What kind of car would Mary want me to buy? Probably one large enough and reliable enough to get my family from point A to point B, but nothing too expensive or flashy.

What does it mean to give my life to Mary?  Of course, it means the big stuff like our vocation and big decisions, but more importantly, it requires us to ask ourselves at each moment, “what would Mary want me to be doing now?”  This takes care of big sins first of all.  But would Mary want me to get in that sarcastic dig toward someone I dislike? Would she want me to stay up past my bedtime poking around Facebook? Giving my life to Mary is an accountability in the many small things of life, as well.

Finally, in this consecration we are giving her all our spiritual goods, too.  While the merit we gain by good actions stays with us, we are giving her the fruit of those actions: the graces won.  Then we ask her to distribute those graces according to her will, or at least to let them go through her hands.  This startled me at first, as I thought I would no longer be able to pray or sacrifice for anyone specifically.  Then I realized that there is no more perfect way to obtain spiritual favors for others than through Mary’s intercession.

If holy slavery is just too uncomfortable a phrase, maybe we can re-label this devotion “Total Investment in Mary”.  Imagine that you met an investment banker who had a 20 year record of quadrupling every dollar invested, every single time.  All you would have to do is sign over every paycheck to him, and he would take care of paying your mortgage, credit card debt and all your bills.  Plus, he would gather up a nice sum for your retirement.  Then imagine that this banker is your favorite uncle, who bounced you on his knee since you were a baby.  Would you hesitate to sign those checks over? Maybe at first, but when you consider the benefits, you’d choose to jump in, wouldn’t you?

Such it is with Mary, who loves us as her own beloved children.  For over 2,000 years she has been known to not only point us in the right direction toward her Son, but to give us inestimable helps on the road to getting there.  So I’m a slave of Mary! And I’ve never been so free.



Copyright 2009 Libby DuPont

Read more:  The Myths About What Makes Us Sick.

Copyright 2009 Kelly the Kitchen Kop

Today’s Readings



Scripture: Lectionary # 185. Thurs of second week in Advent. Isaiah
41:13-20. Psalm 145: 1.9.10-11.12-13. Matthew 11:11-15.

We continue to move through Advent and once again it is John the Baptist
who is our guide for this day. Jesus speaks of him and identifies his role
in bringing about the advent of the kingdom of God (God’s bigger picture of
salvation history for all peoples of all times). We look to John for
particular guidance on this day in his continuing to witness to the one who
is to come and to his spirit of personal reform. John is bringing the great
prophetic announcements and promises to their fulfillment in his ushering
in the messiah and the kingdom the messiah will procalim. Unlike what we
and all expected he will be a suffering messiah not a royal one and his
kingdom is not of this realm.

Jesus points out the greatness of John but also asserts that the least in
the kingdom of God are greater than John! Jesus seems to like to throw
paradoxes at us through his preaching and teaching. He wants us to think
and probe into the deeper meanings of his words which are never empty or
inane. Then we come up agains a real stumper in this verse recorded by
Matthew: “The kingdom of God suffers violence, and the violent take it by
force.” What does violence have to do with Jesus’ preaching and teaching?
How can he say this and yet proclaim a message of peace and justice?
Again, he must be leading us to think this through on a deeper level than
meets the eye and the ear.

Father John P.Meier in his commentary on Matthew gives us a good way of
looking at this troublesome verse. “Jesus continues the theme of of the
greatness and yet limitations of John in v.12, a verse which could have two
opposite meanings. More likely, the sense is : the violent opponent of the
kingdom, the Herodians and the Pharisees, are trying to block the kingdom’s
coming and are trying to snatch the kingdom away from those who would
receive it (cf.23:13). But possibly, the sense is : the kingdom of God is
entering the world with explosive power and those who earnestly desire to
enter it pay any price to become disciples….More than a prophet who was
to prepare God’s people before the coming of the Messiah and the final
judgment. He is the Elijah-firgure promised by Malachai 4:5-6. The ironic
“if you are willing to accept it” is balanced by an urgent call for wisdom
and decision in v.15: listen attentively to this mysterious teaching about
John and myself, and decide accordingly.” (Meier, New Testament Message:
Matthew, p.122-123).

John will be among those who suffer the violence of those who oppose the
kingdom; he enters into witnessing in such a passionate way that he
violently experiences death for his eagerness to point out the one who is
to come. Martyrs are eager and passionate for the sake of the kingdom. They
help us to overcome our little problems and pains by what they passionately
embraced for the sake of the kingdom. Their effort compels us to at least
understand their message and their greatness. They are the real heroes in
our life and lead us to the kingdom of heaven. Amen.

Perhaps it’s my casual attitude about weather generally, or maybe my cynicism about big science, but the revelations of data doctoring by climate scientists at the University of East Anglia’s Climatic Research Unit didn’t come as a surprise to me.

With so much at stake, one must only follow the massive money and political power trails to assume there’s more to this issue than an uptick in the temperature. Climate change is the issue through which citizens of the U.S. could be forced to subject our Constitution and ourselves to the sovereignty of a worldwide governing body. The ramifications for our liberty and lifestyles of an international treaty on climate change are truly frightening – much more so than melting ice caps.

So while I wasn’t shocked to learn that the leaders in the epic “Chicken Little” fable better known as global warming have, for some years, compromised the scientific veracity of their research to uphold their dubious and dire claims, it occurred to me upon learning about “climategate” that once again our children are left holding the bag.

Those of us raising families know too well the drumbeat of fear that is used to manipulate our children into serfs for the environmental left. As a parent, it’s taken a concerted effort to counter the onslaught of political propaganda that passes for the science curriculum, not only to help my children learn the truth, but to quell the anxiety it’s meant to stir up.

I can’t count the number of dinner-table conversations we’ve devoted to eye-opening information such as the prediction some 30 years ago of an impending ice age, or that the Earth’s cycles of warming and cooling happen naturally, or that there is a corresponding relationship between Al Gore’s Oscar award and Al Gore’s bank account.

It is disheartening to realize that the nation’s science curriculum has been hijacked by environmentalism. Is it any wonder that the United States ranks near the bottom of industrialized countries in assessments of science students, or that the National Center for Education Statistics finds our high school seniors scoring lower in science in 2007 than in 2000? It seems during those seven years that they didn’t learn much hard science, but I’m betting the vast majority wrote essays on corporate America’s responsibility for climate change.

We parents can attest to the trend in American classrooms toward ecology and away from real Earth science, as well as the neglect of life and physical sciences. For example, in the eighth grade, my son was forced to sit through Mr. Gore’s “An Inconvenient Truth,” presented as fact, long after the movie’s junk science had been debunked. (No alternative points of view were ever presented in the classroom, so once again we turned over our dinnertime to a conversation about accuracy in scientific research.)

To be sure, America’s colleges and universities are churning out teachers well versed in the “science-lite” of ecology and environmental education. Funded with our tax dollars through the likes of the Environmental Protection Agency’s Office of Environmental Education, the teaching establishment is a willing partner in the environmental left’s political agenda.

But the sad truth is our children have been shortchanged because they are less scientifically proficient than their counterparts around the world. Recycling projects and posters about polar bears and dioramas of rain forests (formerly known as jungles) aren’t science.

They’re activist lessons for a generation that is not learning how to form and test hypotheses and, worse, does not even realize that skepticism is the foundation of real scientific discovery.

Copyright 2009 Marybeth Hicks

Moments of Grace: Inspiring Stories from Well-known Catholics, Why Do Catholics Genuflect?: And Answers to Other Puzzling Questions About the Catholic Church

Why Are Catholics So Concerned About Sin?: More Answers to Puzzling Questions About the Catholic Church.

Have you ever had a particularly moving experience at Mass? A friend says she’s never had anything special happen during worship or prayer. Well, in this Deacon Moment, hear how something ‘washed over’ Deacon Tom at a Mass with a Bishop in Denver.

Sarah Reinhard contemplates the Immaculate Conception in this week’s Mary Moment.  Be sure to visit A Moment with Mary, the website she mentions this week.

Please consider joining us in support of the SQPN.com Giving Campaign.  Your donations will help us to continue in this important evangelization work.

This episode of Catholic Moments is sponsored by CatholicMatch.com, the Leading Catholic Singles Community.  Share your feedback at 206-339-9272, comment here on the blog or email lisa@catholicmom.com.

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I wanted to Tweet about it right away, but I couldn’t.  (*breathe, breathe*)  I couldn’t check my email either.  Couldn’t touch my to-do list.  And good thing I was making a meal for dinner for which I had the recipes on hard copy!  I started composing Tweets in my head immediately.

Yup.  It’s official.  I’ve suspected the addiction for a while, but today I felt the withdrawal.  At least admitting I have a problem is the first step toward recovery.

Here I sit, in a bar, using their Wi-fi, with the racket of a nondescript football game in the background.  Right over my head, actually.  I’m going to eat their French fries, too.  They’re cooked in peanut oil (I asked).  I think I would have ordered them anyway, but I was kind of hoping for beef tallow. Do you think I’m addressing my addiction appropriately?

I’m actually thankful for this opportunity.  It’s going to force me to prioritize (not a skill I possess, unfortunately, except on paper), and I’m looking at it as a blessing to get some good writing time.  I really should take an evening a week away from the Internet to write my posts.  I would get more done without Twitter yakking at me and the temptation to peek at email, giveaway posts, comments, ETC.

From what do you need to take a Sabbath?  Perhaps Advent is the time to give Jesus that Birthday Gift.

Copyright 2009 Katie Kimball

It was early December, the first week of Advent.

“I’ll have a medium latte with a shot of hazelnut.”  I told the clerk

The coffee machines whirred as I took off my gloves and loosened my wool scarf.  I could smell mocha and cinnamon.

“Can I get that to go?”  I added.

While I waited for my drink, I began going through a mental checklist of upcoming tasks that I needed to complete at work.    I was the coordinator of a large Faith Formation program.  My December calendar was already packed with a host of seasonal activities: projects, prayer services, and weekly classes for the children.

“It’s good to be busy,” I told myself.

Eleven months earlier, my oldest daughter, Sarah, had passed away at the age of twenty-three due to complications with her Downs syndrome.  Though I had weathered the worst of my grief, and I had two other daughters who brought untold joy to my life, this first Christmas after her death was indescribably difficult.  Sarah was gone.  And we missed her.

“Latte to go,” the clerk called out.

“Thanks,” I said as I put a plastic lid of my cup of hot coffee.

As I made my way to the door, I noticed an elderly woman sitting at a table near the counter.  With her gray hair neatly curled and styled, she wore a red blazer trimmed with a Christmas tree pin.  Her face looked welcoming and kind, covered with wrinkles that looked like little smiles.  She was dipping a tea bag into a ceramic cup filled with hot water.

“I wonder if she is waiting for someone.  I hope she isn’t alone,” I thought.

I turned my glance toward the decorated windows. There, another elderly woman sat by herself drinking from a shiny red mug.   She was dressed up too, donned in a pine green sweater and pearls.

As I stood by the door, holding my coffee-to-go with gloved hands, I watched as the woman in pearls got up and made her way with slow shuffled steps towards the table where the other lady sat.

“May I join you?”  she asked, her aged hands wrapped tightly around the mug she had carried across the room.

“Why yes, I’d love to have the company,” said the seated woman as she happily pulled out an empty chair.

The two strangers sat together and began getting acquainted.  I couldn’t help but overhear their conversation: “ I grew up a few blocks from here…My husband passed away five years back…My grandchildren are coming to visit for the Christmas holidays….”  they told one another.  They talked with the ease of friends who had known each other for years.

I looked at my watch.  Though I was running late for work, I left the coffee shop with a smile on my face.   Trudging through the snow to my car, I couldn’t stop thinking about the newly forged friendship of these two beautiful ladies.

They had illustrated, in a metaphorical way, the wonder of that first long-ago Christmas.  Over 2000 years ago, God left his heavenly throne and visited the coffee shop of our humanity.  When he noticed that were alone, in wait of a savior, he befriended us.

“He came to keep us company,” I told myself as I drove to work and my windshield wipers whooshed away the flakes of snow.

The chill of my grief began to melt as God’s presence warmed me like soft flames crackling in a fireplace.

A passage from Matthew came to mind, an Advent verse that I had memorized years earlier:

“Behold, the virgin shall be with child and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel, which means “God is with us.”  Matthew 1:23

“I’m not alone.”  I thought.  Even amid the sorrow of this season, Emmanuel was near.  His cup of compassion was mine to share.

As I drove home, I felt something I hadn’t felt since Sarah’s passing.  Hope.

A year has passed since that winter morning.  Once again, it’s early December, the second week of Advent.   I’m at a much different place than I was last year at this time.  Over the past months, the gift of hope, given to me by the women in the coffee shop, has continued to influence my life.

While it’s true that I still grieve the loss of my Sarah, this past year, Emmanuel has remained my loyal companion.  Each morning, he has drawn near to the table of my heart.  Time and time again, I’ve heard him whisper, “May I join you?”   It is his unwavering presence that has given me the strength to go on.

This Advent, if you are feeling the chill of loss, let the presence of Emmanuel fill you with warmth and comfort.  Pull up a chair for him at the table of your heart.  He’d love to have the company.

Copyright 2009, Nancy Jo Sullivan

All Rights Reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced without prior permission from the author.

Years ago I thought this was a harmless enough way to keep them all busy and out of each other’s hair (and mine).  For hours there wouldn’t be a sound in the house other than the intense swoosh of their markers and a few “oohs” and “ahhs” when something really tickled their fancy.  Albeit it did seem a bit ridiculous that my girls were circling GI Joe accessories and the boys were A-OK with the pink Barbie jeep, but I think the rush they were getting over the endless possibilities, ok the greedy gimme-mine-mine-mine, blinded them from what they really wanted and would actually play with.  Since this was happening at Halloween time, however, I figured they’d forget their 50-gift wish list well before the holidays were in full swing, so what harm could it cause?

I learned fast that I didn’t give my young offspring the credit they deserved.  Out of the blue, hours after the last gifts had been unwrapped I overheard their 4 and 5-year old voices commenting on what they didn’t get, instead of what they did get.  That was a painful lesson to learn.  As I got ready to serve the roasted turkey dinner with all the trimmings—I should’ve been sitting down to eat crow instead.

Well that promptly ended the days I’d let the Toys R Us Big Book babysit my kids.  Thereafter, as soon as those toy catalogues would hit our property, I made sure they were placed in the recycling bins instead of on the coffee table.

Of course, now we have something far more accessible for them to go window shopping with, and my kids are far savvier at navigating it than I am—the internet.  Who needs to touch the glossy pages of a 100-page toy pamphlet when instead, all they need to do is surf the net and print their wish lists, or worse—e-mail me what they want with a CC to my husband’s business e-mail along with a text thrown in for good measure.

Listen, I’m not trying to be a Scrooge here, honest!  I enjoy the magic and wonder of holiday surprises more than my kids do, but when I get home from having a root canal, the last thing I want to do is play back my answering machine and listen to my 10-year old disguising his voice as my husband asking if I remembered to pick up the Play Station 3 that was on sale at Target.

This year, I decided to beat them all to the punch.  It’s no secret in the Butler household that by late October, I’m frantically searching the radio stations for those 24/7 holiday music marathons.  Call me anything you like, but there is something outlandishly uplifting about hearing “Frosty the Snowman” wafting through the house when you’re stuck cleaning the bathroom that five boys under the age of 15 share!

With the festive holiday tunes blaring from the cable channel on TV, I got right to work making the very first holiday wish list I can remember since my days of wearing a training bra.

On a simple white piece of copy paper which I decorated with Save the Children stamps, here’s what I came up with.

Cheryl’s—AKA Wife, Mom, Chef, Dry Cleaner, Merry Maid, Gardner, Nurse, Dog Walker, Chauffeur, Errand Girl and Anything Else You Want Me To Be—2009 Holiday Wish List:

• New bathroom shower liners (preferably environmentally friendly) for all bathrooms
• New wastebaskets for all bathrooms and bedrooms—anything but wicker
• New drinking glasses to replace the soap-laden cloudy ones presently being used
• One (or two) packages of band-aids that I can stash away for those times when we actually have a bleeding cut.  Cartoon character brands not necessary.
• A dozen or so pencils—sharpened please
• A new dustpan and brush—one where string attaches brush to dustpan
• A new-aged wine opener—do I need to explain?

At the bottom of my list of material desires, I scrawled an addendum.

Dear Family,

Please forgive my confusion.  I seemed to have forgotten I already received many of these items at my bridal shower 23 years ago.  Don’t burden yourself by shopping for me, instead, consider giving me something that you can’t find in catalogs, malls or on-line—a holiday season where the focus isn’t on what we think we must have, but instead, what we are grateful for already having.

Love,

Mom

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Copyright 2009 Cheryl Butler

Fourth Sunday of Advent

Click on the links below to download each item

• Sunday’s Gospel
• Coloring Page
• Mass Worksheets – 7-10, 11-14
• Advent at CatholicMom.com – see below in “Extra Activities”
• Current CatholicMom.com Contests
• Word Search – not available until after Christmas – please enjoy our extra Advent activities!
  
• Crossword – not available until after Christmas – please enjoy our extra Advent activities!
• Lesson Plan

Extra activities:

• Advent at CatholicMom.com
  
• 2009 Advent Wreath Coloring Page
• Current CatholicMom.com Contests
• Puppet/skit scripts at CatholicMom.com
• Teaching Catholic Kids - Great Resources from Our Sunday Visitor
• To Teach – Great Resources from USCCB – Charity in Truth (Caritas In Veritate)

Pre-K Lesson Plans:

We will be providing weekly Pre-K lesson plans this year. These do not coincide with the Sunday Liturgy of the Word, but are specifically created for Catholic Pre-K learners.

• The Birth of Jesus
• Advent
• Thank You God! (Terrific for Thanksgiving!)
• Joshua and Jericho
• Moses
• Joseph and His Wonderful Coat
• Prayer – I Can Talk to God
• Noah’s Ark
• Adam and Eve
• God Made Me and I’m Special
• Creation Day Seven – On the Seventh Day God Rested
• Creation Day Six – Animals on Land and Man
• Creation Day Five – Creatures in the Seas and Sky
• Creation Day Four – Sun, Moon and Stars
• Creation Day Three – Seas, Lands and Plants
• Creation Day Two – God Created the Sky
• Creation Day One – God Created Light

Religious Education Resource Articles:

• Timelines
• Story Sequencing Activities
• Assessing Student Progress
• Using Technology in Your Classroom
• How to Keep Disruptive Behavior Down to a Minimum
• Organize Your Materials
• Introductory Letter to Parents
• Lesson Planning
• Discipline in the Classroom
• Helping Hands Chart
• Special Needs Students – Information to Gather from Parents
• Preparing Your Religious Education Classroom

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The Catechist’s Toolbox: How to Thrive As a Religion Education Teacher – Each year, roughly one-third of the more than five hundred thousand volunteer catechists in Catholic parishes are new to the job; they come with little formal training for their work and are essentially students themselves, quickly needing to learn how to prepare a lesson, lead a discussion, supervise children, apply discipline, and help kids grow in their faith. The Catechist’s Toolbox by Joe Paprocki is an invaluable collection of techniques, tips, methodologies, and advice for all catechists who must learn on the job. Paprocki shares the wisdom he has gleaned in two decades as a catechist, high school teacher, and religious educator. Employing the metaphor of a homeowner’s toolbox, Paprocki explains how a catechist is like a do-it-yourself builder who needs the right collection of tools to do the job; throughout the book, Paprocki explains what the tools are, what they can do, and how to use them skillfully and effectively. The Catechist’s Toolbox will help first-time catechists feel at home in their new role and will empower catechists at all levels of experience to thrive as educators of the faith.

The Catechist’s Toolbox: How to Thrive As a Religion Education Teacher – Click here to order

Now, this CD includes some of the Latin hymns from Pax, like Panis Angelicus, Ave Verum Corpus, and Dona Nobis Pacem, as well as Christmas favorites What Child is This, Silent Night, Angels We Have Heard on High, O Holy Night,, as well as the title track, A Mother, A Child. There are 11 tracks altogether.

I was very impressed with the quality of the recording and with Eileen’s voice. She gives the songs a quiet beauty and strength that shows the faith that guides her to record this music. One of the difficulties in receiving music in radio is that I often get cd’s that promise beauty but fall short. No such problem with this CD. The songs sound great–I would be happy to put this CD in my car and crank the volume up!

Visit EileenCarrMusic.com to learn more about Eileen and her music.

Copyright 2009 Jim Logue

Third Sunday of Advent

Click on the links below to download each item

• Sunday’s Gospel
• Coloring Page
• Mass Worksheets – 7-10, 11-14
• Advent at CatholicMom.com – see below in “Extra Activities”
• Current CatholicMom.com Contests
• Word Search – not available until after Christmas – please enjoy our extra Advent activities!
  
• Crossword – not available until after Christmas – please enjoy our extra Advent activities!
• Lesson Plan

Extra activities:

• Advent at CatholicMom.com
  
• 2009 Advent Wreath Coloring Page
• Current CatholicMom.com Contests
• Puppet/skit scripts at CatholicMom.com
• Teaching Catholic Kids - Great Resources from Our Sunday Visitor
• To Teach – Great Resources from USCCB – Charity in Truth (Caritas In Veritate)

Pre-K Lesson Plans:

We will be providing weekly Pre-K lesson plans this year. These do not coincide with the Sunday Liturgy of the Word, but are specifically created for Catholic Pre-K learners.

• The Birth of Jesus
• Advent
• Thank You God! (Terrific for Thanksgiving!)
• Joshua and Jericho
• Moses
• Joseph and His Wonderful Coat
• Prayer – I Can Talk to God
• Noah’s Ark
• Adam and Eve
• God Made Me and I’m Special
• Creation Day Seven – On the Seventh Day God Rested
• Creation Day Six – Animals on Land and Man
• Creation Day Five – Creatures in the Seas and Sky
• Creation Day Four – Sun, Moon and Stars
• Creation Day Three – Seas, Lands and Plants
• Creation Day Two – God Created the Sky
• Creation Day One – God Created Light

Religious Education Resource Articles:

• Timelines
• Story Sequencing Activities
• Assessing Student Progress
• Using Technology in Your Classroom
• How to Keep Disruptive Behavior Down to a Minimum
• Organize Your Materials
• Introductory Letter to Parents
• Lesson Planning
• Discipline in the Classroom
• Helping Hands Chart
• Special Needs Students – Information to Gather from Parents
• Preparing Your Religious Education Classroom

Featured Products:
Thank you for your support of CatholicMom.com!  A small portion of your purchase price goes to CatholicMom.com and enables us to continue providing these resources free of charge for families and parishes around the world.

Magnificat Magazine 1 Year Subscription

Magnificat is a lavishly printed, visually stunning, and easy-to-read pocket-sized daily Mass companion, for use in church or at home and ideal for personal or family prayer.

At over 400 pages each month, Magnificat features the complete readings for each Sunday, weekday and feast day Mass; daily reflections on the Gospel from the church’s greatest minds past and present; a fresh take on the lives of the saints.

Each day also includes beautiful prayers for both morning and evening, drawn from the riches of the Liturgy of the Hours; and each issue concludes with a discussion—and quality reproduction—of a masterpiece of sacred art. Magnificat publishes 12 monthly issues a year, as well as two special issues for Christmas week and Holy week.

You’ll discover that its timeless rich content, daily relevance and sheer beauty make Magnificat a real treasure for every Catholic home. The magazine is a powerful resource to help you:

• Develop your prayer life
• Deepen your spiritual life
• Enrich your intellectual appreciation of the faith
• Participate at Mass with ever greater fervor
• Grow closer to Christ

Magnificat Magazine 1 Year Subscription – Click here to order.

If the animal trials continue successfully, scientists believe the first children could be genetically engineered in a few years. It has, in fact, already been tried in England, where ten human embryos were created and destroyed at Newcastle University (since the law there will not allow such babies to progress beyond 14 days).

Its supporters see in the process an opportunity to eradicate potentially fatal forms of inherited epilepsy, heart disease and blindness – but seem oblivious to the countless lives sacrificed in the process (those ten mentioned above are the tiniest tip of an enormous iceberg). Calling the children “hybrids,” ethicists have attacked the procedure, which will further erode the sanctity of life and cannot be justified by any purported benefits.

Beyond the issues of life and death – which must take precedence, there is the serious shift in thinking about what constitutes a family. Increasing numbers of people are stepping away from the fundamental premise that children are a gift entrusted to a committed couple who have given themselves totally to one another. Instead, babies are simply one more consumer item – acquired at the convenience of the caregiver. Thus the home becomes merely a form of self-expression rather than a place of communion in which persons may thrive.

Some might protest that guaranteeing a healthy child is in the child’s best interest but the argument is fatuous at best. How can one insist that health is paramount when the death of so many are guaranteed in the process? How can one avoid the obvious conclusion that invisible suffering (in the lab) is preferred to the more tangible suffering that parents themselves might endure with a sick child? And who has taken time to weigh the existential suffering of a child created through such a process? Is it not the parent who is ultimately relieved by sorting through DNA to find the perfect baby cocktail?

The integral needs of the human person should never be reduced to the flat analysis of mundane considerations. In Evangelium Vitae, John Paul II decried the reduction of human life to “biological material” through just such heavy-handed scientific experimentation. That document also pointed out that “[t]he eclipse of the sense of God and of man inevitably leads to a practical materialism, which breeds individualism, utilitarianism and hedonism … The so-called ‘quality of life’ is interpreted primarily or exclusively as economic efficiency, inordinate consumerism, physical beauty and pleasure, to the neglect of the more profound dimensions – interpersonal, spiritual and religious – of existence” (EV, 23).

And yet this jarring new twist on the horizon goes hand-in-hand with the push for same-sex couples, parents who are single by choice, serial monogamy and other creative jabs at the traditional family. Those promoting “reproductive rights” have worked relentlessly to recast motherhood, fatherhood and marriage into archaic phantoms. Those vocations are being eclipsed by choices so far removed from the authentic needs of persons that to insist that “healthy children” are the goal is ludicrous on every level. Ultimately, we must accept life on God’s terms – complete with the suffering he humbled himself to endure. In that way, we choose authentic love which alone bears all things.

Copyright 2009 Genevieve S. Kineke

We ought to have been asking this more.  We ought to have asked this whenever our government proposed war or engaged in trade with a nation well documented in severe human rights violations.  We ought to have been demanding that our government reflect more of our values and more than mere lip service at ceremonial times when our traditions provide a good photo back drop.  Maybe we always were helping to push forward wrong acts whenever we have financed a war or turned a blind eye to the evils of another regime because of the resources we wanted.  No government can be completely good, but funding embryonic stem cell research and abortion would be yet another step in the wrong direction and larger in scale and scope.  Maybe we should have yelled then more, but we are awake now, and ought to start speaking up and soon.

Current proposed legislation will have us fund tax paid abortion in Washington DC and existing health care reform acts have conflicting proposals that will have to be reconciled.  Given the public and political statements given by the Executive and legislative branch, tax payer funded abortion and birth control remain a real possibility.

If the current administration and Congress go forward with abortion as a benefit, we will be left with the unpleasant knowledge that we collude with our government to slaughter millions of holy innocents with every tax dollar.  We will knowledgeable in a way we perhaps never have been before, about the real nature of sin.  The actions of all these private individuals who chose to abort their children will now have a public effect, as we will be  enablers of evil.  It is much harder to speak out against what one finances with full knowledge.   The obedient soldiers of Herod at the time of the birth of Christ could not claim to be unaware that they were killing children. They also would have had a hard time refusing to carry out the order, as they were paid for their services.

If we receive government health care for our families, our authority to speak out against a specific benefit will be considered simply a preference and not a morally clear stance that ought to be universal and not simply person specific.  Those in favor of funding such benefits will be able to say, “We won’t have to take advantage of the benefit.  We just have to pay for it to be available.”   That little nuance of agreement will satisfy the legislators and their constituencies that elected them, and that fig leaf of a defense will be considered a legitimate cover for any troubling moral scruples.

What then is a pro-life person to do?  Working to remove people from office who pass the bill so as to have more Pro-life legislators will not automatically change existing law, and working to repeal the law will be much harder than opposing it before it exists. So stay informed.  Learn the numbers of your Senators and Representatives, at both the federal and state level and call.  Send emails, send faxes and send letters. Read that section of the paper you’ld rather not and when the opportunity presents itself, speak up and speak out and speak often.  It takes as much courage to witness in the school parking lot as it does in the workplace and over the phone with aides and receptionists for elected officials.  Pray for all of them, and for all of us that God will move enough hearts.

What do the current laws proposed mean?

If we know something is evil and our treasure will be used to support it, what does it mean if we say we’re pro-life?  It means, it is time to get to work.

Copyright 2009 Sherry Antonetti

My sons are 19-24 now and we continue to follow the long-established tradition. However, this year I gathered and lined up the shoes for jolly old St. Nick. Why do I still do it? Why does a friend of mine’s children receive so much that St. Nicholas’ treasures overflow shoes, requiring separate bags?

I think “St. Nicholas” just doesn’t want to let go of a heartwarming memory, doesn’t want to realize “his” children are growing up, wants to feel a little bit of magic.

Sometimes this adult life just isn’t too exciting. We grownups need to believe in magic, in make-believe, in happily-ever-after…somehow, anyway that we can. I forget that the place called Camelot is not real. The characters are so vivid to me, the story compelling. I know Dorothy really visited Oz. When I say I believe in Santa Claus it’s because I do. When I wish upon a star it is a serious matter.

And my birthday candles had better be placed strategically on my cake. I few years ago someone in this house decided I got too old to have all my candles represented, unbeknownst to me. I was not happy, but what could I do? Lit candles came at me; I blew them out. If I turn 100 I want 100 candles. Practical doesn’t matter to me. Neither do screeching smoke alarms.

I always place my children’s candles in a very blow-able formation. I want my sons to get their wishes. On my last birthday a girlfriend of one of my sons placed four candles (FYI – I am not 4) on my rectangular cake – one in each corner. As she walked the flaming confection to me I thought, “How in the heck am I ever going to blow those out?”

She will surely never forget what happened next. I started out fine, hit two down the one side, next turning my attention to #3, but #4 was laughing at me, mocking me, hiding my wish in the midst of its flame. I desperately wanted my wish. I desperately want all my wishes. A birthday wish comes but once a year. I emptied every ounce of my lungs as well as a good deal of spit. It was gross. Really gross. But I did it. And next year, when I turn 5, I’ll remember to suck in a bit more air to ensure my continued wish streak.

Generate some magic of your own this week, fellow Catholic moms. Show your children your whimsical side. Chances are they’re already seeing enough of your harried, frantic side as Christmas approaches. Remember, it’s better to decorate ugly Christmas cookies WITH your children than to decorate perfect ones ALONE. I learned that one the hard way many years ago.

Make the most of this magical season by believing in the magic.

Copyright 2009 Maureen Locher

Last week, we shared Chapter Seven

• Chapter One
• Chapter Two
• Chapter Three
• Chapter Four
• Chapter Five
• Chapter Six
• Chapter Seven

Sweet Dreams – Chapter Eight

While Emma finished delivering cakes and then dashed back to the apartment to shower and change in ready for the graduation exercises, the Elm Street soup kitchen’s dining hall was being transformed.

Although Benjamin had insisted that he didn’t want a graduation party, Emma refused to allow this milestone to pass without celebrating and had elicited the help of Ava, Maria, who lived upstairs, and Arlene to transform the large dining room into a lovely banquet hall. The women, however, were not alone.

Once word got around about the party, a host of others offered to pitch in and now, the day of the party, the hall was packed with volunteers and patrons alike, eager to show their affection towards a woman whose generous spirit had lifted so many souls.

The impact that Emma was having on both the staff and the patrons had not gone unnoticed by the Director, Rich Taylor.  Her beautiful cakes and pastries were warmly welcomed and greatly appreciated by a group of people who were unaccustomed to being treated so richly.

He remembered fondly, the day she had come to his office to ask if she might collect the names and birthdays of their clients. She had overheard a man saying that he hadn’t had a birthday cake since he was a kid. She told Rich that she wanted to remedy that by presenting each of their clients with personalized birthday cake.

It had meant a truck load of work. Elm Street Soup Kitchen served more than three hundred clients a day, but Emma didn’t flinch. And now alongside the other incredible pastries provided several times each week by the small kitchen crew that she had collected were individualized birthday cakes, each baring the appropriate name. The smiles on the recipient’s faces were priceless.

All of this was why, when word got around that Emma was hosting a graduation party for her son those who frequented the soup kitchen eagerly offered to lend a helping hand.  Everyone loved ‘Miss Em’ as she was now fondly called.

Rich was supervising a crew who had stayed behind after lunch. With practiced efficiency, he divided the group into teams. One was in charge of hanging the steamers; the others to re-arranged rows of long tables.

Meanwhile the kitchen was also in a flutter with preparations. Pots banged. Orders to ‘keep that pot from boiling’ and ‘someone fill the coffee urn’ were shouted above the din while Birdie tried to keep order.

In all the confusion, Donny arrived with two quarts of fresh, plump strawberries and a large bar of baker’s chocolate.

“I’m making hand-dipped strawberries,” he announced to the astonished crew, then went about pulling down pots and gathering whisks as though there had been no space of time at all between his career as a pastry chef and his years spent on the streets.

Someone knocked on the back door.  Harry went to answer and found Lizzie and her two boys who were immediately set to work. The boys went to help with the balloons and Lizzie sent to collect serving platters and cutlery.

Tucked in the only quiet corner beside the large bank of walk-in refrigerators, Tom Campanili stood carefully arranging platters of antipasto. A large white apron protected his best dress shirt as he placed paper thin slices of salami and prosciutto; beside pimento stuffed olives, roasted red peppers, provolone, Capacola Sausage, marinated artichokes, pepperoncini peppers, mushrooms and mozzarella cheese in an attractive design just like his mother had taught him. She had come from Sicily along with the family recipes.

It was those recipes that had made the Main Street Deli such a success. Everyone in town knew that if you wanted authentic Italian cooking, Main Street Deli was the place you would find it.

Much to Tony’s delight, lately, the deli was becoming famous for something else—Emma’s pies. Strawberry, blueberry, rhubarb, cherry, coconut custard, pineapple crème, Amaretto mouse and whatever else her clever, inventive culinary mind could conceive.

Since the pies had been added to the menu, Tony’s sales had gone up eight percent. He only wished that she could produce more than the two dozen she currently supplied, but he understood her space limitations. He had tried to get her to use the deli ovens, but she had declined.

“The offer is quite generous, but I need my own space,” she explained. “It allows me to be creative. It may be just a pie to your customers, but it is a work of love to me.”

The comment had made him smile, and he admired her all the more. He felt the same way about his mother’s recipes.

When Father Joe arrived, things were well underway.

“What can I do?” he asked Ava out of habit even though there were a dozen people in the room.
“We need a place to put the gifts. There’s a card table in the closet by the side door. Set it up over there by the desserts.”

He found the table covered in a thick coat of dust that was quickly transferred to his black shirt and pants. Cleaning both the table and himself, took a bit of doing, but he finally managed to get it set in its proper place, giving only a cursory glance at the dessert table which was groaning under the weight of cannolis, creamed pastries (his particular favorites), assorted cookies and a large sheet-cake that read, “Congratulations Benjamin”. He edged closer to admire Emma’s handiwork.

The cake was made to look like Benjamin’s yearbook, filled with transfers of friend’s photos and inscribed with well-wishes. It was truly a work of art.

He shook his head in admiration. When had she found to time to do this?

He had briefly spoken with Ted when he delivered Benjamin’s cake. He had been in a terrible rush since he still had to return the van, change and then pickup Emma. Ted was accompanying her to the graduation exercises.

But he lingered long enough to share the customer’s reactions when they had seen Emma’s creations.

“One of her customers placed an order for a wedding cake for next year,” Ted said with a certain amount of pride that made Father Joe wonder if a hint of romance was in the air.

“You should have seen her face, Father,” Ted went on. “I thought she’d burst with pride.”

And she should be proud, the priest thought. She was an extraordinary lady. Not only talented but filled with compassion and love for others, especially for the lost and forlorn.

Once again, he was struck on how God often used suffering to fine-tune those virtues. Having suffered much, one saw more clearly the suffering of others.

Apparently, however, the very ones whom Emma had touched wished to reciprocate.  As he set the gifts on the table, he noticed a gift wrapped in tissue paper and tied with cooking twine. He lifted the tag and recognized the names of several men who frequented the soup kitchen.

He felt a tug on his heart, knowing the sacrifice the gift represented; yet what a lovely tribute to the woman who had treated them with great love and respect through the simple gesture of sharing her talent.

The group worked steadily and finished with time to spare. Graduation exercises were over at one.  The party would start at two which would give them two whole hours before the room had to be broken down and readied for the supper meal.

“So, what do you think?” Arlene asked the others who stood admiring their handiwork.

A nest of long tables were dressed in spotless white linen. Silver candles were interspersed among long, streams of flowers bursting with color. Along one wall, a banquet area had been setup and skirted in rich, folds of fabric just like the fancy catering halls.

Ava, Maria and Arlene studied the room with a critical eye. Lizzie just smiled, enjoying how wonderful it had all come together. It hardly looked like the same place, she said. And her two boys proudly pointed to their contribution—soft pastel balloons interspersed with silver streamers that spanned the ceiling, adding a festive note.

“Emma’s going to be so pleased when she sees this,” Lizzie said, unaware of the look exchanged between the three older women. “And won’t Benjamin be surprised?”    “Let’s hope so,” Ava mumbled.

Emma arrived shortly after two with Ted. As Lizzie had predicted, she was thrilled with the way the room turned out.

“It’s wonderful! I can’t thank you enough for all your hard work. Benjamin is going to be so surprised,” she said, hugging everyone, including Lizzie’s two boys who squealed under protest. She even hugged Father Joe.

“No thanks needed,” the priest said. “That’s what friends are for.”

Emma nodded, too choked up to express the love that poured from her heart to this group of people. In a moment of clarity, it hit her. All those years she had spent living among the privilege, she had never felt any connection. But these people who were poor in goods were rich in love. Without their support, she would not have made it this far. She was blessed to be able to call them friends.

While the woman chatted, Ted grabbed a glass of punch and watched Donny set out a platter of hand-dipped strawberries. He walked over and thanked him for helping Emma.

“Glad to do it,” Donny said. “Reminded me of better times.”

“Emma told me she wants to hire you again. And, if the complements she got from her customers today were any indicator, you just might find yourself with a permanent job.”

Donny was one of the street people that Ted had always hoped would find his way back. Life on the streets could unravel a guy; slowly siphon off all self-esteem and along with it, any hope of ever rising above poverty and shame. This cake business might just be Donny’s ticket back.

“I’d like that, Officer Hawker,” Donny said, his voice resonating with new strength. “I’d forgotten how good it felt to be useful. And I think that Miss Em and I could make a good team.”

Team… the implications were not lost on Ted. He felt a surge of hope.  Donny was ready to re-join the world.

Ted pulled out a chair alongside Father Joe, his massive build dwarfing the priest. Several of the street people moved to another table. There wasn’t a man among them who hadn’t at one time or the other dealt with Ted in a professional capacity.

“How did the graduation exercise go?” Father Joe asked, while keeping an eye on the platters of appetizers now being set on the dais.

Ted loosened his tie, feeling as uncomfortable as a man could be who wasn’t accustomed to wearing a suit.

“It was okay,” he said without enthusiasm.

“Just okay?”

“You know, the same old, same old. Speeches. A lot of back slapping.”  From habit, Ted  kept a steady eye on the room, taking in every detail.

“I bet Em was excited.”

“Yeah, she was.” A slight smile softened his features. “Especially when they handed Benjamin his full scholarship to Penn.”

“That must have thrilled him.”

“I don’t think anything thrills that kid,” he surmised.

“Sounds like you don’t think of much of him.”

Ted shrugged. “I never met his father. But from what Em has told me, I think the acorn hasn’t fallen far from the tree.”

“I only met Benjamin once. Em dragged him to Mass. He struck me as a typical teenager, self-possessed and at war with the world. Not that I could blame him after what his dad had done.”

“Hogwash. I meet kids everyday who have it a lot worse. Kids living out on the streets with no one who cares.  Benjamin doesn’t have it that bad to warrant that kind of anger. At least he had a mother who cared.”

A cluster of balloons floated towards the ceiling. A man with short stubble hair and a ring nose grabbed a chair and lunged for them.

“Em never says much,” Father Joe said, looking her way. She and Rich were deep in conversation.  “But from what I hear from Ava, the boy doesn’t treat her with much respect.”

“He’s got a giant chip on his shoulder,” Ted said, his voice turning gruff. “And Ava’s right.  He treats his mother like dirt. You know what he said to her when she told him about this party? He said he’d try to make it. The look on Em’s face was like someone had shot an arrow through her heart. He’d better dam….,” He remembered who he was talking to and cleared his throat. “…darn well better try.”

Father Joe smiled, happy that Em had someone like Ted on her side. He had known Ted for a number of years and seen him through his wife’s bout with terminal cancer eight years ago. He was a good man, loyal, honest and a good friend to Ava.

“Sounds like you’ve come to care a great deal for our Miss Em,” Father Joe said, testing the waters.

Ted began busy buttering a roll. The priest felt his inner turmoil. He and his wife had been childhood sweethearts. When she died, he had sworn there would never be another. Had Emma Smith made him revisit that pledge?

“Let’s just say that she’s a great lady who’s been through a lot,” Ted conceded. “And if I can help her with anything, she only has to ask.”

“Are you two coming to the church picnic?”  Father Joe asked, playing matchmaker.

Ted leveled his hooded brown eyes at the priest. He needn’t say a word for the priest to get the message. The subject was closed.

Thirty minutes later, people began arriving, an odd mix of street people and the folks from Emma’s ‘former life’, as she called it began to mingle. Ted watched them take their place along the tables between the homeless and downtrodden, pretending that they were all the same, although it was clear, they were not. But he had to give them credit. At least, they had come.

His eyes shifted over to Emma standing at the head of the room, graciously welcoming everyone with her signature quiet grace. She was dressed in a simple black dress and a strand of fake pearls to replace the ones that had belonged to her mother. Those had been confiscated when the FBI had come to search her home.

Ted made a silent pledge to one day replace them with a real set, although he knew it was unnecessary. Anything that she wore would always look ‘top drawer’ to him.

Emma was a rare gem. She had that special kind of inner beauty that shined through regardless of her circumstance or outward appearance. Obviously, her friends felt it too, he mused, watching the tight circle of people gathered around her, some of whom had abandoned her these last few months. But no one would have known it by the way Emma treated them with grace and decorum. She was one classy lady.

Watching the smiles, hearing the laughter, Ted was pleased to see her enjoying herself.  She felt his stare, looked up and waved him over. He went gladly.

For the next hour and a half, he stood by her side, welcoming her former friends and a host of new ones and felt something warm course through his system, awakening a sense of pride at having been included.

Later, Ted suppressed a smile as those who frequented the soup kitchen join the receiving line and struggled to thank their hostess appropriately. When they passed him, they offered a cursory nod.

The afternoon quickly flew.  The only glitch in an otherwise perfect affair was the absence of the guest of honor.

“He’s probably making the rounds of parties and just lost track of the time,” Emma said, as the party began to wind down.

“Do you want me to take a ride around, try to find him?” Ted offered.

The beautiful cake she had taken such pains to make remained uncut, the candles unlighted.

Ted knew her well enough by now to sense she was fighting back tears. He leaned and whispered, “Would you like me to take you home? The others wouldn’t mind cleaning up.”

“No, it’s all right,” she said, forcing a smile. “I should have known he wouldn’t come to a party held here. It’s not like he hasn’t made it abundantly clear how he feels about this place. Our new home. Our new life.”

“Excuse me for saying so, Em, but that doesn’t absolve him from having the good manners to show up. He must have known how hard you worked to throw this party.” Ted fought to keep the anger out of his voice.

She glanced at the wall clock and changed the subject. “The supper crowd will be here in a few hours. Rich will need back his dining room. I’ll tell the others to start breaking things down.”

She grabbed a tray and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Ted to wish that he could offer her a word that would take the sting from what her son had done. She had worked herself to the bone, so that she could give Benjamin an expensive computer and a party to celebrate this milestone. And the ungrateful punk didn’t have the common decency to show up.

What he wouldn’t give for a dark alley and a few minutes alone with that kid. There were only a handful of people that Ted had wanted to pummel throughout his police career. Benjamin Smith had just been added to the list.

Emma and Arlene begin to clear the tables. She looked so frail, so tired. His anger went up a notch while he wondered what kind of son would do this to his mother?

Join us next Monday for the next chapter of Sweet Dreams by Katherine Valentine.

• Chapter One
• Chapter Two
• Chapter Three
• Chapter Four
• Chapter Five
• Chapter Six
• Chapter Seven

Copyright 2009 Katherine Valentine