Heart's Pure Vision

Looking out of the window ... I suddenly saw how tenderly, how gently, how warmly, how lovingly Christ bends toward the world. At that moment I also understood the words "cosmic charity," and when these words touched me, they expanded my heart to embrace especially all those who are weak and who keep on falling. 

But then I looked again and I realized that everyone is weak and everyone falls! Does that mean that to be pure of heart one must love everyone? Yes ... I have to open my heart to everyone who is weak, and that means everyone. Now I know why the pure of heart shall see God, and even see him now, because he is in the ones who are weak.  

Yes, he will be in them, in each one of them, and that thought brought me to ... the Eucharist. I saw the bread given to everyone present and I realized vividly and clearly that everyone among those present, including myself, was weak, prone to failing and falling again and again, and somehow I understood with the heart what the beatitude meant.

 From Opening My Heart to Everyone by Catherine de Hueck Doherty.

Through her kitchen window she studies a fading blue sky wrapped now in ribbons of gray. She wishes for snow, realizing, of course, that meteorologists have been predicting frozen precipitation for the weekend. Just once this winter, whose mild demeanor has most assuredly benefited many, she would like to be swept up by snow falling on snow, to be succored by its power to hush a world too busy, too hurried and too fallen. A wish, a hope for new snow, pristine, beautiful and graceful to wash away all bitterness from her soul. A vivid and tangible reminder, too, of the words that have indelibly marked her these few months:  

Those who are pure of heart can see God in everyone.

She had gone away sad, discouraged drawing her pride tightly to herself unaware just then that she really needed to thrust it aside, to tear it away and give it up to the night. Yet, sorrowing, she went away with it. But the words echoed in her dreams and accompanied her everywhere, refusing to go away. The sorrow, too, became her stalwart companion, lovingly nudging,and forever reminding to allow grace to fill her with a marvelous and growing hope. 

Father forgive me for eyes that refuse to see, for a heart stone-cold and marred by selfish desire.

And in the permitting of grace, hope soars and speaks of a heavenly reward. A reward not entirely exclusive to a life to come, but a promise for the here and now for those with hearts pure as snow. She carries this resolution, born out of a time of preparation, of glorious anticipation and celebration, into the new year, greeting each new dawn with whispers of it.

The Sweetest Gift of All

My family is very good to me all year round, and this Christmas was no exception.

I received from them the loveliest gifts.

Some are genuinely warm and just too funny:

Some make me feel decisively pretty and feminine:

Some make me feel beautiful INSIDE as well as out:

And some are quite practical indeed:

And very, very useful:

Some may add inches to my hips, but are still positively sweet:

But the truly sweetest gift of all 

is the news we had been waiting 

two weeks to learn:

A new little baby granddaughter due to arrive

this Spring!

Molasses Drops & Coffee Cakes: Grandmothers' Treasures

I loved their home. Everything smelled older, worn but safe; the food aroma had baked itself into the furniture.  ~Susan Strasberg

I have in my possession a treasure. Its name is simply, Mamie's Cookbook. It belonged to my maternal grandmother.  Her parents christened her Alice Evelyn, but she was called Evelyn. Her grandchildren affectionately called her Mamie, the name my oldest brother - her first grandchild - gave her when he was a baby learning to talk. For the longest time, I thought it was her given name.

One quiet afternoon before Christmas, as Katie and I sipped tea, we carefully pored over each fragile page of Mamie's cookbook. I'm not sure where my grandmother acquired it. Across the top of each careworn page is inscribed: "D. of V. Cook Book". I asked my mother what "D. of V." meant, but she did not know. The book is covered in brown paper, frayed and torn in places and held together by twine threaded through the binding. The original deep blue paper cover is gone - only small, brittle fragments remain and continue to chip away. The pages, dotted with evidence of spills and splotches of sauces or batter, contain printed recipes from contributors whose identities are marked only by their initials. Mamie added her own favorite recipes clipped from newspapers and magazines or from packages of flour or baking soda boxes. The scotch tape securing them in place is golden-brown with age. Many pages are filled with recipes inscribed in pencil by my grandmother's own beautiful hand. Often there is a name of a friend or relative attached to a recipe along with a date - my great grandmother's recipe for spice cake is there ... add 1 tsp all kinds of spice. Most of the recipes were added in the 1920s and 30s. There are free standing pages typed or hand-written (some by my mom or my aunt) inserted here and there. Many of the recipes do not indicate oven temperatures and instruct the 'cook' to bake in a moderate oven until golden or browned. I love this cookbook.

I love this cookbook, because it keeps Mamie, who passed away when I was 12 or 13, alive in my mind and in my heart. I love seeing her penmanship. I love how her words are immortalized allowing me to introduce my children to a dear great grandmother they have never known. Katie has discovered how clever Mamie could be by whipping up a tasty dinner menu using only the ingredients she had stored on her 'emergency shelf' when a 1936 storm prevented her from heading out to the store to shop for food.

 

 A portion of her menu is hidden beneath the newspaper clipping. I am including her note and menu here:

The following menu was worked up from the emergency shelf on a storm day when I couldn't get to the store - 1936

 Very delicious menu

Creamed Shrimp Patties
Baked Spaghetti and Cheese
Scalloped Tomatoes
Hot Sour Milk Biscuits
Vanilla Pudding with Strawberry Sauce
Tea

Katie and I giggled at how well stocked my grandmother must have kept her emergency shelf. Not sure we could pull off on a whim as complete a meal as Mamie did with items stored in our pantries! 

Every Christmas I bake Freda Foley's Molasses Drops. Freda Foley's recipe is not included in Mamie's cookbook, but she was a friend of my grandmother's and the recipe has been passed down through the generations. No other baked goods conjure up the spirit of Christmas like these cookies do. The mere aroma of the batter, a fine mixture of molasses, cloves, ginger and cinnamon, has the power to melt the heart of even the most sour-faced Scrooge.

They are simply delicious and delightful.

 

There are a few cookies and cakes that we traditionally bake at Christmas time that we sometimes never get around to making. And that's okay. We almost always make Buckeyes, for example, but once in awhile it is permissible to not include them in our repertoire of holiday sweets. But not so Freda Foley's Molasses Drops! Christmas just wouldn't be the same without them. Another Christmas must-have is Margaret  McMahon's Coffee Cake. The recipe I have is written on the back of a yellow flier advertising an Oil Change and Lubrication Special for $7.95 at a Shell gas station that my husband, Jim, managed many years ago in Detroit, Michigan. It is written in Jim's handwriting and yes, he inadvertently misspelled the last name by omitting the Mc!

My family has been nibbling on Margaret McMahon's Coffee Cake every Christmas morning since we had babies in our house. My husband's Aunt Kathie (his mother's sister) was kind enough to send me a note informing me of Margaret Ann McMahon's identity. She is Jim's mother's first cousin. Her mother, Mary Sexton Mahoney is the sister of Jim's "Grandma K" (Catherine Ann Sexton Kilsdonk). A big slice of this coffee cake along with a few good, strong cups of coffee have provided much-needed stamina to my husband and me on many early Christmas mornings when the children were little and the opening of gifts could take hours. We nibbled on it this year as we waited for our breakfast casserole to come out of the oven. I can't show you a picture of it, because there is no more to show! It never lasts very long on the cake plate. However, I will include the recipe for it and the Molasses Drops at the end of this post.

And so, I am grateful for my grandmother and Jim's dear cousin, for introducing us to their own delectable recipes and those of their friends and relatives. Friends have mentioned to me how they, too, have old, family recipes that have been handed down through generations. Delicious recipes that have stood the test of time and connect us in a palpable way to those from our past; allowing great grandmothers to reach out to the great granddaughters they have never known, but perhaps dreamed of on stormy nights in 1936. May God bless all our Mamies, and Grandma K's, Freda Foleys and Margaret McMahons. May the souls of those who have departed this world rest in peace and may good health and cheer be granted to those who are still with us. 

Freda Foley's Molasses Drops

350 degree oven

3/4 cup shortening

1 cup sugar

4 tbsp molasses

1 egg

2 cups flour

2 tsp baking soda

1 tsp each cloves, ginger and cinnamon

1 tsp salt

Roll in small balls and dip in sugar. Bake 2 inches apart about 10 - 12 minutes. Cool on cookie pan a few minutes. (I bake them on parchment paper and a little more than 12 minutes so they come out crispy).

 Margaret Mahon's Coffee Cake

1 cup shortening or butter

2 cups sugar

4 eggs

3 cups sifted flour (I don't sift All-Purpose Flour)

3 tsp baking powder

1 cup milk

Mix in order, beating well after each egg. Fill angel food pan (or bundt pan) that has been well greased and floured with 1/2 inch of batter. Spread on batter 3 tbsp sugar, 3 tsp cinnamon, 1/2 cup chopped nuts (I usually use walnuts). Cover with remaining batter.

Bake for 70 minutes at 350 degrees. While warm turn pan upside down and let cake fall out.

ENJOY!

Casting Joy: A meditation for the final week of Advent

She rises early while the household is still sleeping. Only the cat stirs as she makes her way downstairs aware of the winter chill. He is hungry and meowing for food, so she pours dry chow in his bowl and gives him clean water to drink, then brews herself a cup of coffee.

Most everything is done and she smiles at the thought of it. Only cards are left to mail, but she's in no hurry since Christmas really hasn't arrived yet. Although the world outside speaks otherwise. The fa, la, las blaring from the radio and the garish lights and decorations that have been blinking off and on since before Thanksgiving have annoyed her. Yet, even now her own home dons evergreen and sparkle pausing only for her heart to catch up. 

She still waits in longing and it is silence that draws her in. In the hush of the mid-December morning, cold and cloud-covered, she knows solace and peace and hope.  

Hail and blessed be the hour and moment in which the Son of God was born. 

She finds herself there in that precious moment, her soul kneeling in wonder and awe, pleading to a newborn King.  

Born of the most pure Virgin Mary, at midnight, in Bethlehem, in piercing cold. 

She marvels at the humility of it and shivers as each note of the Virgin's sweet lullaby gently casts joy upon the bitter frost.  

In that hour, vouchsafe, O my God! to hear my prayer and grant my desires. 

In that hour, that beautiful and blessed hour, Love knows us, listens to us and gives us what our souls need most. 

She is not alone. She is united now at that hour and moment with those who have reached out to Him throughout the centuries and with those, too, who are yet to come. Together in the penetrating stillness of the eternal present that is God's time, not ours. 

And so, for a moment, a tiny bit of the veil is lifted as she prays in earnest for a great grandmother she has never known.

St. Andrew Christmas Novena Prayer to Obtain Favors

Hail and blessed be the hour and moment

in which the Son of God was born 

of the most pure Virgin Mary, 

at midnight, in Bethlehem, in piercing cold. 

In that hour, vouchsafe, O my God! 

to hear my prayer and grant my desires, 

through the merits of Our Saviour Jesus Christ, 

and of His Blessed Mother. Amen.

Recite the above prayer fifteen times a day 

from the feast of St. Andrew (30th November) until Christmas.

Imprimatur
+MICHAEL AUGUSTINE, Archbishop of New York
New York, February 6, 1897

http://www.twoheartsdesign.com

I Must be Out of My Mind ...

... to choose WHITE slipcovers for our new furniture!

Especially when we have an 18 month old grandson and a new, little one on the way. And grown up men in the house who like to watch football with their feet up surrounded by snacks galore. And especially when we still have an old cat with sharp claws & a spunky, little dapple dachshund who looks so lovely perched against the white backdrop (yes, that is my fault) ...

Well, at least I chose RED covers for the new chair, right? So, I can't be totally bonkers! :)

The furniture is from IKEA -- from their EKTORP line. A few months ago Jim and I started discussing replacing our family room couch and chair for a variety of reasons - mainly because of wear and tear (literally thanks to our cat). We made up our minds that for Christmas this year we were buying new furniture.

Right around the Veteran's Day holiday, we received a circular in the mail from IKEA. They were advertising a special deal - purchase a select sofa and receive 15% back in a gift card to use on your next visit. I liked the look of the Ektorp sofas and chairs and the price seemed reasonable. "How would they hold up?" I wondered.

I Googled "Ektorp Reviews" and discovered two bloggers who had purchased the Ektorp sofa and love seat. The first blog post I read was in response to readers inquiring how the author liked her sofa after having it for a little over one year. She still loves it. She chose the white slipcovers and purchased an extra set for $49.00. When the covers get soiled she throws them in the wash with a little stain remover or bleach as needed and voila! - they come out like new. She has a couple of kids, a small dog and a cat. She recently purchased a beautiful new velvet slipcover for her IKEA sofa from a company in Australia. You can read all about it here. The other blogger I stumbled upon - a mom with two kids and a dog -  has also written a follow-up post after having her slipcovers for two years. She, too, has been very satisfied.

Hmm, could I live with a white sofa, too?

Last weekend, Jim and I made the trek down to the nearest IKEA store - about 45 minutes away. Upon arrival, we made our way to the showroom finding the display of their Ektorp line. We sat in the sofas, the love seats, the sectionals, the chairs. All were quite comfortable. After some deliberation, we decided to buy the sofa, love seat and a chair. But in what colors? Red, brown, beige, blue?? Or should we really just go with the white? It just seemed so impractical. I was nervous. I thought about the reviews I had read. I still couldn't decide. I called my daughter. She thought white would be okay (she had read the blogger reviews). Jim reassured me that we can always buy extra slipcovers later in whatever color we wanted and he reminded me that the white covers can be bleached. So, that was that ... we bought the white slipcovers for the sofa and love seat and decided on red for the chair. This week, with the gift card we received, we purchased the matching Ektorp footstool in red, in addition to a crib with a mattress to keep at our house for the grandchildren.

So far, after one week, I am very happy and becoming less nervous. {I did buy a large lint roller and a "Tide to go" pen just to keep things tidy. ;-)} I have plans to spruce up the family room in other ways, too. I have brown iron lamps that I am going to spray paint black and will buy new shades for them soon. I have my eye on a new area rug - or may go with none at all. And perhaps something different to hang on the walls. A work in progress!

In a year, I'll let you know how the furniture is holding up. I have high hopes!

Oh, and I haven't missed the fact that this furniture looks very similar, but costs a whole lot more.

Each and Every Rain

Outside My Window ...

It's another gray, wet Autumn morning. A light rain adds a shimmery darkness to branches already blown bare and steals the crunch away from the deep carpet of gold atop our driveway. The air is pungent with the sweet and sour aroma of decay. A few roses cling tight and the little blue flowers (whose name I've forgotten) still bloom around her. Hope is confident and eternal. It pushes through the muck; it holds fast through each and every rain.

 I am Wearing ...

An old, ragged and worn out mask. I struggle sometimes to remember that I am clothed in Christ and through unmitigated love and mercy, He makes all things new. I need to shed the old mask and cast it into the Fire.

 On Pandora ...

 All I Want is You by Tristan Prettyman

Around the House ...

 I am redecorating the family room. More to come later ...

 I am Hearing ...

Holly whining for a piece of my blueberry muffin.

I am Reading ...

One of the many books - The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society - on my Kindle.

I am Hoping and Praying ...

For good things for so many friends and family members and one very special intention.

I am Pondering ...

"You want your good intentions recognized, even the failed ones. You want it known by the ones nearest you that your good intentions are a real part of your life, and your love for them."  

- Mat Feltner to his daughter-in-law, Hannah in A Place on Earth, by Wendell Berry.

Do children recognize our good intentions, even the failed ones? Are our good intentions good enough?

I am Grateful ...

Beyond measure for His Mercy.

Romanian Rhapsody No. 1

Returning from Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament this afternoon, 

I listened to this on the radio:

It just made me smile all the way home.

Guess it spoke to the Gypsy in me.

:-)

Bucura!

Chasing the Wind

“Do not imagine that the important thing is never to be thinking of anything else and that if your mind becomes slightly distracted all is lost.” Saint Teresa of Avila

 

She sits, hands warmed by a mug of tea, gazing out the back door at the rain. Once upon a time, when they first owned their home, she could look out and over the top of the willow oak tree. Now, she sees under it; is eye level with the oak's lowest branches, reaching wide to shield her.  For a moment she can't bear the weight of it and longs for the nakedness of winter. It will come soon enough. She will embrace then reject the chill, just as she always does, much like a spoiled child all too soon bored with her toys.

She remembers images, but not moments or how she felt or what she thought. She forgets the sound of her father's voice, but she clearly sees his face, older and gray. She remembers a word here and there but strains to remember the voice that now only speaks fleetingly in dreams. Often she feels gypped of time spent with him. She really only knew him as a child. It's just that there are so many questions.

It has stopped raining. The deck is awash in leaves scattered recklessly about and pinned to the glistening wood. Scattered, like the stray thoughts constantly disrupting her prayers. Pushing through, allowing herself to be called back, then slipping away again and again. How patient He must be; how He loves her through all her wandering. She returns to Him often and is off again, like a child playing at the feet of his mother. Lost in play, then remembering, he gazes up at her and smiles, "Mama" and turns again to chase the wind.

And so, she offers her racing-about, her thoughts of friends and family, her memories of long ago, her longing for what cannot be, and her hopes and fears of what's to come - uniting all in supplication with each whispered Ave - as she returns again and again to images of fiats and visitations, of a holy birth, of anguish and death, of water and wine and miracles, of resurrection and ascension, and of queenship and a sovereignty divine.

And all is not lost.

Only Because I'm the very proud Mom ...

 That's my baby girl performing at a FOCUS Coffee House on the campus of Belmont Abbey College last Spring. And yes, she gave me permission to post this.  

Love you, Megan!

Happy Feast Day!

Today the Church celebrates the memorial of 

Sts. Isaac Jogues & John de Brébeuf, and their companions:

The Jesuits of North America -17th century priests and martyrs.

Happy Feast Day, little Isaac Jogues!

This morning we listened to The Huron Carol in honor of these brave Jesuit Martyrs, 

and in joyful gratitude for our own little Isaac Jogues Samuel Phillips:

The Huron Carol 

by St. John de Brebeuf, S.J.

'Twas in the moon of wintertime 

When all the birds had fled, 

That mighty GitchiManitou 

Sent angel choirs instead; 

Before their light the stars grew dim, 

And wond'ring hunters heard the hymn: 

Jesus, your King is born, Jesus is born, In excelsis gloria 

 

Within a lodge of broken bark 

The tender Babe was found, 

A ragged robe of rabbit skin
Enwrapp'd His beauty 'round. 

But as the hunter braves drew nigh, 

The angel song rang loud and high:

Jesus, your King is born, Jesus is born, In excelsis gloria

 

The earliest moon of wintertime 

Is not so round and fair 

As was the ring of glory on 

The helpless infant there. 

The chiefs from far before Him knelt 

With gifts of fox and beaver pelt. 

Jesus, your King is born, Jesus is born, In excelsis gloria

 

O children of the forest free, 

O sons, O sons of Manitou, 

The Holy Child of earth and heav'n 

Is born today for you. 

Come kneel before the radiant Boy, 

Who brings you beauty, peace and joy. 

Jesus, your King is born, Jesus is born, In excelsis gloria

 

Listen to the carol here: