Betcha Didn't Know ...

... that I have a 5th child. I thought about him today as I reached for the Brita water pitcher from the top shelf of our refrigerator, only to find it empty - again. Hmm, surely he must have been here! Perhaps he's hiding under someone's bed or in a closet. His name is Buddy. Buddy Else to be exact. He showed up around the time Megan was two or three. She noticed him first. As a matter of fact, she has spoken to him by phone a few times. Mostly as a toddler. I don't think she converses with him much anymore - although they may be Facebook friends. (By the way, how do people collect 869.5 Facebook friends? I've never known that many people in my entire life!)

So, one day I caught little Megan chatting away on the phone.

"Who are you talking to, Megan?"

She quickly hung up. "Buddy Else."

"Buddy Who??" I asked.

"Buddy Else!" She sounded so convincing as she trotted off to play.

Okay, there really is a simple explanation. I used to (and still do) talk to my mom by phone - a lot. Whenever I happened to be on the phone, Megan, hoping to chat with her grandmother, would anxiously ask, "Is it Gramma? Is it Gramma?" If not, I would quickly explain, "No it's somebody else."

There you have it - that's how Buddy Else entered our lives.

Soon he was responsible for all sorts of things ... mud tracked on the floor, half-eaten peanut butter sandwiches stuffed under cushions, or the dog running loose. He has a cousin, Not Me, who also wreaked his fair share of havoc, but certainly not as often as Buddy Else. Not Me hung out more often with Kevin. I actually think they are Facebook buddies.

So, I'm thinking maybe Buddy Else is lurking around here again. He must have heard me whine about the water pitcher being left out on the kitchen counter the other day. At least this time he put it in the refrigerator. Guess he's becoming a little more responsible. Good job, Buddy, but next time, will you please fill it up before you put it away?

My Brother and Me

You may already be familiar with the following. It first appeared on my Facebook page and then on the Phases of Womanhood Web site last fall. March 25th is my brother's birthday, so I thought it appropriate to publish it again here.

All of his life, my brother Jim, born prematurely with cerebral palsy and an acute hearing deficiency, has been responding to the will of God. From his earliest days he remembers experiencing a closeness to God and a strong desire to do His bidding.

Jim was already 11 years old by the time I appeared on the scene, he the number two child and I the sixth of seven children. Growing up, he displayed a burly stubbornness and conviction tempered only by a sensitive heart that sorely ached when injured by the uncharitable words and deeds of others. I witnessed my brother’s unyielding compassion and empathy for suffering souls that was bred out of his own suffering. He knew what it meant to be ridiculed for appearing and sounding ‘different’. He knew what it meant to be told “no” over and over again when his entire being was screaming, “YES! I can! I must!” He knew what it meant to have his dreams crushed by the words “you can’t” or “you will never.” He knew what the words, “you’re handicapped” and “you’re deaf” can do to a child.

My brother loved me unconditionally. He has related how overjoyed he was at my birth, how he couldn’t wait to meet me. I didn’t grow up thinking his handicap was particularly unusual. He was the big brother every girl should have. He taught me to drive and often listened to my school girl musings while hardly ever turning off his hearing aids! He spoiled me with gifts out of sheer love and enthusiasm for who I was and am. My siblings and I didn’t treat him any differently than we treated each other. He was involved in just as many sibling squabbles as any of us. I am convinced, however, that we all grew up with a strong desire to defend the underdog. Our older brother in particular often came to Jim’s defense on the playground or in the back yard whenever ill-mannered neighborhood children jeered at him.

As we matured, in many ways Jim became my spiritual director. Utterly wooed by the growing secularism of the 1970’s, I often ranted against Church doctrine; those tenets of the faith that seemed unjust, or out-of-touch with reality. Jim tried his best to remind me of the fundamental truths of the faith, patiently, never giving up, but always reminding and nudging gently. How exasperated he must have been with my picking and choosing! As a young wife and mother in the 1980’s I had nicely settled into a life of cafeteria style Catholicism, but through it all I experienced an interior urging not only to seek the truth, but to embrace it. When my brother entered the seminary, I was jealous of his opportunity to be totally submerged in learning about Jesus and the Church. I peppered him with questions and enjoyed our conversations over the phone about everything he was learning. Thankfully, over the years I came to understand and trust the wisdom of Church teaching. My own faith has grown by leaps and bounds and Fr. Jim’s loving support has been instrumental in my journey.

Ours is a unique and loving relationship … my brother’s and mine. But a more remarkable relationship exists; a relationship between a physically handicapped man and his God. A man, who many deemed imperfect and not “good enough” and never “smart enough” has been serving God as a devoted and holy priest in the Charlotte diocese for nearly 15 years. My brother’s perseverance through countless obstacles has demonstrated how we must all heed God’s call no matter the odds. 

Happy Birthday, Fr. Jim! I love you! 

Darby C. Fitzpatrick (c) 2009

Joseph

Lovingly dedicated to my beloved James Joseph Fitzpatrick, whose birthday is March 19, the Solemnity of our dear Saint Joseph.

How could this be?

He had never known anyone like her; had never known anyone as graceful as she.

Her goodness and her abiding faith in the Father had taken his breath away.

But now this crushing weight leaves him gasping.

She has defended her purity; claims she is still a virgin, that God is his father.

And he believes her with all his heart.
But who is he to raise this child? Just a simple man, surely not fit for a task of such magnitude?

A million thoughts race through his head. Perhaps someone else is better suited.

He decides to leave her; he will divorce her quietly, to protect her from scandal and the harsh public punishment of the Law.

Fear and confusion do not prevent him from recognizing Him in a dream.

All of his life he has obeyed His law, His Word, why should now be any different?

Knowing his life will no longer be the same, he embraces his beloved promising love and protection.

He will raise the child as though he were his very own.

He chooses to trust Him, because he knows He is trustworthy.

Anxiously, he searches for shelter knowing full well the time is at hand.

Perhaps if he had pressed on instead of taking so much time to rest,

they would have arrived in time to secure a room at this insufficient inn.

The frazzled proprietor noticing her, takes pity and leads them to the shelter of a crude cave.

What else could he do?

His wife smiles appreciatively at the innkeeper and he offers him a little more than his asking price. 
Now is not the time to worry about money.

Softening, the old man promises to send his maidservant with food and water and a blanket or two.

Taking her feet in his hands he carefully wipes away the grime of their long and arduous journey.

Her hands cradle his face lifting his eyes to meet the tenderness of her own.

Her radiance is dazzling, even now.

He tells her not to worry. He tells her he will take care of her always.

Quickly, he fashions a mattress of hay, among the malodorous beasts whose feeding trough he has chosen for a cradle.

He prays silently, apologetically.

He recalls the words from the dream and is consoled.

It really doesn’t matter that there were no vacancies at the inn; the comforts of this world could never surpass the fulfillment of His kingdom.

Somehow he knows in his heart and soul, that his faith was about to be rewarded; that His kingdom was about to be established on earth that very night!

Who is this ancient man, Simeon, proclaiming these synchronic words of profound joy and future trepidation?

Can his dear wife bear the weight of these cruel words?

He wonders about the sacrifice his foster son will endure for the sake of all mankind.

His rugged, sun-baked arms, cradle the babe ever closer to his heavy heart, as he speculates, “Will our Love once again carry us through?”

Again the angel of God appears to him in a dream, this time urging him to scoop up the child and his mother and flee with haste to Egypt.

The life of his little boy, Jesus, was being ruthlessly sought by the despicable King Herod!

Hiding out by day and traveling by night, he leads them to the safety of a foreign land, relying solely on the message of an angel.

Along the way he learns of Herod’s rage-induced mass murder of the wee lads of his friends and neighbors and his countrymen.

He and Mary weep with grief for the lives of these holy innocents, butchered for the sake of righteousness.

He is showered by the ridicule and insults of those who deem him crazy for believing in a dream.

Others condemn him for fleeing while their own sons are torn violently from their arms.

O, God, how can he blame them?

While navigating the narrow, rocky trail he wonders what the stones might utter if they could speak.

Gazing up at the star-swelled sky, he remembers another journey and a promise made many years ago; the promise echoing through time, now a rallying cry urging him on and bringing him peace.

He could sense his father Abraham journeying with him in the stillness of the night.

Encouraged by this holy presence he presses on; a refugee carrying the new promise into a foreign land.

Once more an angel asks him to trust.

Obediently, he gathers them to return to their homeland.

This time they are joyful and lighthearted, singing hymns of gratitude by day and resting at night.

As he treads the stony path, he recalls Moses leading his forefathers out of Egypt into the Promised Land.

He carries forth His child in an exodus reminiscent of that one so many years ago, back to their home where he will raise His son, who will grow in age, grace and wisdom.

And who will one day lead others to the new Promised Land.

Darby C. Fitzpatrick (c) 2010

In Honor of St. Patrick

Lorica of Saint Patrick

I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through a belief in the Threeness,
Through confession of the Oneness
Of the Creator of creation.

I arise today
Through the strength of Christ's birth and His baptism,
Through the strength of His crucifixion and His burial,
Through the strength of His resurrection and His ascension,
Through the strength of His descent for the judgment of doom.

I arise today
Through the strength of the love of cherubim,
In obedience of angels,
In service of archangels,
In the hope of resurrection to meet with reward,
In the prayers of patriarchs,
In preachings of the apostles,
In faiths of confessors,
In innocence of virgins,
In deeds of righteous men.

I arise today
Through the strength of heaven;
Light of the sun,
Splendor of fire,
Speed of lightning,
Swiftness of the wind,
Depth of the sea,
Stability of the earth,
Firmness of the rock.

I arise today
Through God's strength to pilot me;
God's might to uphold me,
God's wisdom to guide me,
God's eye to look before me,
God's ear to hear me,
God's word to speak for me,
God's hand to guard me,
God's way to lie before me,
God's shield to protect me,
God's hosts to save me
From snares of the devil,
From temptations of vices,
From every one who desires me ill,
Afar and anear,
Alone or in a mulitude.

I summon today all these powers between me and evil,
Against every cruel merciless power that opposes my body and soul,
Against incantations of false prophets,
Against black laws of pagandom,
Against false laws of heretics,
Against craft of idolatry,
Against spells of women and smiths and wizards,
Against every knowledge that corrupts man's body and soul.
Christ shield me today
Against poison, against burning,
Against drowning, against wounding,
So that reward may come to me in abundance.

Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me,
Christ in the eye that sees me,
Christ in the ear that hears me.

I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through a belief in the Threeness,
Through a confession of the Oneness
Of the Creator of creation

St. Patrick (ca. 377)

 

50 Ways to Lead Your Lover ... to Heaven

This morning, as I was cleaning out old files and folders, I happened upon this fun, little ditty that I composed a few years ago. It is modeled after Paul Simon's 1975 hit 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover. I think it came about after my friends, my husband and I had been discussing the importance of praying and offering sacrifices for our spouses. Made me laugh when I read it again. :)

50 Ways to Lead Your Lover ... to Heaven

The problem is all inside your soul, she said to me.

The answer is easy if you take it theologically.

I'd like to help you in your struggle to be free.

There must be fifty ways to lead your lover.

She said, yes, it really is my habit to intrude.

Furthermore, I hope my meaning won't be lost or misconstrued.

And I'll repeat myself at the risk of being rude.

There must be fifty ways to lead your lover ...

Fifty ways to lead your lover.

You just pray to Him, Jim.

Burn a few palms, Tom.

Daily Mass, if you like, Mike.

Just get yourself free!

Hop outta the den, Ken.

You don't have to discuss much.

Just respond to the call, Paul.

And get yourself free!

Okay, I realize I only list 5 ways - not 50. But hey, I betcha we could come up with 50 ... what do you think? Help me finish the song!

Darby C. Fitzpatrick (c) 2010

So Far Away

For three weeks I've been wondering if I should go. My stepfather is not well and has been hospitalized since February 15th. His condition upon entering the hospital was extremely grave. Everyone predicted that he was not going to make it past a week. But he did. And now two weeks later he is still quite ill, but death is not imminent. In fact, miraculously, he's making progress - he is getting well. So, I've been advised, "No need to come just now."

But I am torn. A big part of me desperately needs to be there. I want to be there for my mom.  During  a crisis, large or small, she has always been able to see the bright side -  the silver lining in any storm. While growing up she continually reassured my brothers and sisters and me that no matter what was troubling us everything would be okay. Even now her Facebook posts regarding her husband's situation seem cheerful and optimistic. She never wants to bring others down. But I know she is so completely drained and sad. She wishes I lived close-by and for the first time in the 27 years that I've been away from her, so do I.  My siblings and their spouses who do live close-by have been an amazing support for her. I am grateful they are there. Yet, she still wishes all seven of us were with her now. As a mother, I understand why.  The presence of one doesn't make the heart miss the one absent any less. We each have our own unique gifts and qualities that provide sustenance for this arduous journey. Our physical presence gives her strength.

She knows that I continue to pray for her and Ernest. I frequently tell her that she is always on my mind and ever in my heart. I hope that it is enough. Part of me knows it is not. Unfortunately, circumstances prevent me from hopping in my car and making the seven hour drive to her home. My obligation to my immediate family and concerns about finances make it difficult to simply "up and go." 

Each day I fight a waxing resentment. The words, "stupid job!" dart bitterly from my mouth. Like a spoiled child I whine, "If I didn't have to work, I could be there!"  Sure, I could take time off, but right now I have to be cautious about when and how much time I spend away from work. Admittedly, no one in my office would disapprove of me requesting time off to care for my family and they wouldn't hesitate approving such a request, particularly in an emergency.  I have the highest regard for my co-workers and enjoy working with them. The crux of the matter has nothing to do with them or this job specifically. I work because I need to help pay our mortgage, college tuition, and to put food on the table. And that's really what prevents me from running like the wind to be at my mother's side. It's our current financial situation that I'm bemoaning. (That's a whole other complex ball of wax to be dealt with at another time perhaps.)

So, what do I do? For now, I've been taking all of it - the resentment, the frustration, the disappointment - to Our Lord. I apologize over and over again for my whining and my wishing things were different and I beg His forgiveness. He tells me, "TRUST ME."  Everyday He tells me, and everyday I leave it in His hands. And I reassure myself, that when the time is right, I will visit my mom. All according to His will. Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam.

Photo courtesy of my sister-in-law, Angela Collins

Celebrating Kate

I'm celebrating life today; this gift so precious. More specifically, I'm remembering the birth of my Kate and celebrating her! I'm thanking God, as I do so often, for the privilege of parenting this child, who is no longer a child. She is a young woman, a devoted wife and already a loving mother to her unborn son. 

All my children are strong willed, stubborn and somewhat reserved (in varying degrees, of course). Katie is no exception, but there's a tenderness woven through the tenacity. When she loves you - you know it. Her reticence disappears and she showers you with affection - perhaps not always physical - but she never forgets to tell you she loves you. She is compassionate, caring, and generous. She is a woman of God, allowing Him to shape her and define who she is. She trusts Him unabashedly. 

And I am forever grateful.

Happy Birthday, my daughter, my love! You are such a blessing to me.

 

A Pebble in the Pond

The following was written by my friend, Tom, just over a year ago. I promised to spread his father's message, so I am posting it here.
 
Every year our family hosts a large Thanksgiving celebration. Traditionally, our father gave a toast to the host couple and to our mother. He always included his trademark Irish wit and a few pearls of wisdom. This year was to be different. This year he stood up, not so much as to give a toast, but to tell us goodbye. We did not know what he knew, that this would be his last Thanksgiving toast.

He talked to us about how much he loved us and how proud he was of his nine children, twenty-nine grandchildren and two great grandchildren. He talked about how God had blessed his life. With tears flowing he talked about his greatest blessing, his wife, our mother.

Then he spoke to us about a special devotion he had had for the last eight to ten years; a devotion to the longest suffering soul in Purgatory. He talked of being a pebble in the pond, hoping that we would be the ripples that would spread his devotion. He had even written the Holy Father requesting that a prayer for the longest suffering soul be added to the conclusion of the Mass. This was no light-hearted request. The words he spoke came from the core of his being. Too overcome with emotion he sat down and barely able to speak through the tears, he asked again that we “please pray for my longest soul.” We did not realize it at the time, but our father was not only there with us, he was also residing in the depths of Purgatory; his arms lovingly embracing his longest suffering soul.

On December 10th my father died. He had just come home from undergoing a minor medical procedure. He collapsed into the arms of one of my brothers, gave a brief smile as his final gaze fell upon three of his granddaughters, and released his hold on this life.

I do not believe that God intended for my father’s deep-seated devotion to die with him. I believe that we are meant to share the moment of Grace we received that Thanksgiving Day; that God intends for the long-forgotten to be forgotten no more. Please tell people you meet that you heard of a man whose love was so great it reached the very Gates of Paradise, pleading, “Please, Lord, let this poor soul in.” Ask them to take a moment after Mass, at mealtime or preparing for sleep to pray for the longest suffering soul. God chose to use my father as the pebble in the pond. By His grace we will be the ripples.

Corpus Christi adoro Te

Corpus Christi salva me