tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34851962024-03-13T21:15:43.117-07:00Ordinary TimeObservations of a semi-spiritual nature from under the wing of the Divine.Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.comBlogger286125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-35730939813593640932021-02-15T11:56:00.000-08:002021-02-15T11:56:52.039-08:00<p> Oh my...I didn't realize that I had stopped blogging about a lifetime ago.</p><p>But I've decided that perhaps it is time to resurrect the blog...mostly because I told the publisher of my new book--<i>Dinner Party with the Saints</i>--that I would.</p><p><i>Dinner Party</i> officially releases tomorrow. It seems fitting that it should be Mardi Gras!</p><p>You can visit the Facebook page at Dinner Party with the Saints where I will be putting up things about the book and the saints and, hopefully, engage in conversations with you all.</p><p> </p><p><br /></p>Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-13914315304514105932016-02-03T15:29:00.002-08:002016-02-03T15:31:24.943-08:00This blog has been a bit, well, a lot dormant while I've been living "Ordinary Time." But I'm bringing it up for a very special reason....my dear friend Maria Scaperlanda has an awesome new book out--The Shepherd Who Didn't Run--the story of Fr. Stanley Rother, the martyr from Oklahoma.<br />
<br />
Now Maria lives in Oklahoma and I've visited there--with tornados and horrible weather and blistering heat I think living there would be martrydom, but that's not what Maria is writing about. In her eloquent way, she shares the life...and death of a real, true, modern-day martyr.<br />
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<br />
The blurb on the back says it better than I can:<br />
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<i>"The shepherd cannot run at the first sign of danger."</i> - Fr. Stanley Francis Rother<br />
Fr. Stanley Rother was true to his word. He did not run. And was martyred at the age of 46.<br />
Fr.
Stanley arrived in Guatemala in 1968, and immediately identified with
his parishioners' simple, farming lifestyle. He learned their languages,
prepared them for the Sacraments, and cared for their needs. Fr.
Stanley, or "Padre Francisco" as he was called by his beloved Tz'utujil
Indians, had found his heart's calling.<br />
After nearly a decade, the
violence of the Guatemalan civil war found its way into the peaceful
village. Disappearances, killings, and danger became daily occurrences,
but despite this unrest Fr. Stanley remained hard at work, building a
farmer's co-op, a school, a hospital, and the first Catholic radio
station, used for catechesis. <br />
In early 1981, his name was on a
death list, so he returned to Oklahoma and was warned not to return. But
he could not abandon his people, so he went back, and made the ultimate
sacrifice for his faith.<br />
"Pray for us that we may be a sign of
the love of Christ for our people," said Fr. Stanley, "that our presence
among them will fortify them to endure these sufferings in preparation
for the coming of the Kingdom."<br />
<br />
Ever since I was just able to read, I saturated myself in the stories of the martyrs. I know I could never make that ultimate sacrifice, but I am deeply and profoundly humbled by those who can.<br />
<br />
And I'm deeply and profoundly humbled by Maria's great gift of storytelling and inspiration. Read the story of Fr. Rother---and be inspired.<br />
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It's available from www.osv.com and on amazon at: http://www.amazon.com/The-Shepherd-Who-Didnt-Run/dp/1612789153<br />
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Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-56072177894911495602015-02-20T06:00:00.000-08:002015-02-20T06:00:07.469-08:00The Poetry of the PhysicalI am mesmerized by this.<br />
<br />
I realize that some people find the lyrics to the song scandalous although I listened to the artist and he said he was writing about the sex abuse scandal in Ireland.<br />
I don't know and I don't really care.<br />
What has absolutely stunned me is the profound and sublime artistry of Sergei Polunin and what he can do with his body.<br />
He is truly physical poetry.<br />
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On this first Saturday of Lent, I vow to treat my body with more respect, feeding it and exercising it with greater care.<br />
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Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-85852566588708445122015-02-19T06:00:00.000-08:002015-02-19T06:00:05.008-08:00De Profundis<span style="font-size: large;">Out of the Depths</span><br />
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From the depths, I have cried out to you, O Lord;</div>
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Lord, hear my voice. Let your ears be attentive</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
to the voice of my supplication.</div>
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If you, Lord, were to mark iniquities, who, O Lord, shall stand?</div>
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For with you is forgiveness; and because of your law, I stood by you, Lord.</div>
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My soul has stood by his word.</div>
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My soul has hoped in the Lord.</div>
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From the morning watch, even until night, let Israel hope in the Lord.</div>
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For with the Lord there is mercy, and with him is plenteous redemption.</div>
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And he will redeem Israel from all his iniquities.</div>
<br />
I believe that all of us, at some points in our lives, find outselves <em>De Profundis</em>--in the depths. <br />
<br />
What depth are you crying from? The depth of self-loathing? Of depression? Of fear? Of anxiety?<br />
Remember, even when our depths feel as endless as space, space is itself suffused with the Divine. It is precisely in the depths that we will find both the Divine and ourselves--and come home again.<br />
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<br />
<br />Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-78397025021001637762015-02-18T06:00:00.000-08:002015-02-18T12:11:54.676-08:00Ashes to AshesThis Lent, I've decided that instead of the usual "giving something up," I am going to try to be pro-active in my disciplines. I know very well how to deny myself. Once I went an entire year without a taste of chocolate and I love chocolate. But discipline--ah that's a different story. I don't do well with self-discipline.<br />
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<br />
So I have decided that I will do something this Lent that will have help me increase my self-discipline and hopefully, bring some value to others. I have promised a wonderful group of women who are struggling, as I do, with needing to lose some weight that I would write a short prayer or devotion especially directed toward "weighty" issues each day of Lent.<br />
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So with that....<br />
<br />
I know a lot of people dislike the hymn "Ashes," feeling that its lyrics are smaltzy. However, it's one of my favorite because of the second verse: <br />
<br />
We offer you our failures, <br />
we offer you attempts,<br />
the gifts not fully given, <br />
the dreams not fully dreamt.<br />
Give our stumblings direction, <br />
give our visions wider view,<br />
an offering of ashes, an offering to you.<br />
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<br />
This resonates with me especially with dieting and weight. I keep failing to reach my goal. I keep attempting to stay on play. I dream about being fit and healthy, but I don't dream it fully enough to bring it to reality. <br />
<br />
So this Lent, one more time, I am making my offering of ashes...in the hope that I will finally find that wider view.Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-26950825988081983212014-07-12T14:18:00.000-07:002014-07-12T14:18:49.128-07:00Learning To Pace<br />
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I have never wanted to admit that I might actually have fibromyalgia or chronic fatigue, even when I could barely drag myself out of bed or when my days were filled with literally crawling from one place to the next.<br />
<br />
Admission felt like giving up.<br />
<br />
And if I gave up, I might as well give up on life itself.<br />
<br />
However, for the last few weeks, I have been in an unending cycle of pain, more, pain, fatigue, more fatigue followed by yet more pain and more fatigue. I finally understood why people contemplated suicide.<br />
<br />
So I have had to do something drastic.<br />
<br />
I mean DRASTIC.<br />
<br />
I have had to pace myself.<br />
<br />
Now I'll admit that I'm not very good at it. I have always believed that if you start a project you see it through from beginning to end, including all the clean-up afterwards. None of this half-hearted crap. All or nothing, baby.<br />
<br />
But that is no longer possible. Sometimes, by the time I get everything ready for a project, I'm too tired to start. And when I've done some of it, I'm too exhausted to totally clean it all up and put it away for the next time.<br />
<br />
Which, of course, means I rarely start anything because All or Nothing!<br />
<br />
However, I have been editing a series of unrelated books lately--unrelated except that all of them seem to have a message directly for me contained within the run-on sentences and dangling participles that I fix almost on auto-pilot.<br />
<br />
The message hasn't been subtle: You aren't living the life you created to live.<br />
<br />
So naturally I began praying...er whining..."How can I do what I want to do when I don't even have the energy to do what I have to do?"<br />
<br />
The answer came back: PACE<br />
<br />
So I've been trying to do that. Like today. I had a burst of energy so I got out the hose and Windex Outdoor and sprayed/cleaned four windows. I have 30 or more windows in the house, so four is like nothing. But I did the four, felt the exhaustion swallow me, so I turned off the water, coiled the hose, left the Windex Outdoor right beside the hose and came in the house.<br />
<br />
I wasn't very happy about not completing the entire project, but then I looked out my office window--one of the four--and realized that I could see so much more clearly that it really was worth it.<br />
<br />
Maybe later today I'll have the energy to do four more windows. Or maybe not. But at least there are four that are now clean that weren't yesterday.<br />
<br />
Pace.<br />
<br />
Not a lesson I'm enjoying but apparently the one I need to learn right now.<br />
<br />
Anyone else learning this same lesson? <br />
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<br />
<br />
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<br />Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-80999127982641364142014-06-05T17:38:00.000-07:002014-06-05T17:59:30.521-07:00Punishment vs AccountabilityDo you know <b>the difference between punishment and accountability consequences</b>?<br />
<br />
I didn't. At least not until recently.<br />
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I was taught that if you did something "wrong," you were punished. It's a lesson I think most of us learn as kids. Misbehave and you'll be punished. When we become adults, that ingrained lesson lingers. We think of our boss "punishing" us when we are late or sometimes even our spouse "punishing" us when we fail to do something. The consequence of our less than ideal behavior is a punishment. In fact, we even "punish" ourselves. How many times have you blown a diet, only to punish yourself by saying you will never eat sugar again?<br />
<br />
Consequence equals punishment.<br />
<br />
The old lesson dies hard. Very hard.<br />
<br />
But thanks to <a href="http://www.dovbaron.com/">Dov Baron</a>, my mentor and friend, I began to reframe my thoughts.<br />
<br />
I've come to realize that a punishment is something imposed on us from the outside. It may--or may not--have anything to do directly with whatever it is we have failed to do. This stems from our earliest training. If you ran into the street, your mother might have yanked you back and given you a swat on the bottom. You were punished for running in the street, but being swatted and running in the street really don't have anything to do with each other per se. It's just that's how your mother decided to impart a certain lesson.<br />
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Or think about a child who won't eat dinner and is sent to the corner. Sitting in a corner and refusing to eat peas aren't absolutely linked. Again, it's just how your parents decided to teach a lesson about food and eating.<br />
<br />
As we get older, the mantra becomes "Let the punishment fit the crime," so missing a curfew means getting grounded, for example. But still and all, punishments rarely address the subject of accountability. They simply are negative consequences imposed on us by an authority. If punishment were truly effective, there would be no repeat offenders. And our jails give lie to that.<br />
<br />
Which brings me to accountability and consequences. Accountability means that I take full responsiblity for my actions--all of my actions, good or bad, right or wrong, foolish or wise. I and I alone am responsible for them.<br />
<br />
Now I can hear the objections already: What about things outside my control? What if, as happened to me today, I said I would send a file to someone and my email server went down. How can I be accountable for that?<br />
<br />
Well, I'm not accountable for the failure of the email server. But I am accountable for the fact that the file didn't get where it was supposed to be at the time it was supposed to be there.<br />
<br />
And here's where the idea of consequences comes to play. I am still accountable for the file transfer, regardless of the email situation. I am must hold myself accountable with consequences for my failure to do so on time even though it was "impossible" because of circumstances outside my control.<br />
<br />
I realize this is a challenging concept...and not a particularly fun one because it eliminates every possible excuse and requires a consequence for every failure.<br />
<br />
I can hear you again--this is crazy. If I can't do something, I can't do something so why should I punish myself for something I couldn't do?<br />
<br />
And that's where the difference between punishment and accountability consequences comes in. If I were simply going to punish myself for not having sent the file on time because the server was down, I might make myself drink my coffee black for a week, or work out for an extra hour or any number of unpleasant things designed to be a punishment. But none of those would show accountability--merely masochism.<br />
<br />
Instead, and this is what I did do, when the file finally was able to transfer, I told the recipient that because the email server was down and because I wasn't able to deliver on time, I would be at his disposal for the next 24 hours to immediately make any changes that he would like--at no extra charge.<br />
<br />
The reason I did this was because I was accountable for my action and inaction. I wasn't "punishing" myself. I was simply telling him--and me--that I have the moral integrity to be responsible at all times for all the things I do.<br />
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There's a bit more to it than that, but I've reached the word limit that the gurus tell me is optimal for a blog, so I'll leave the rest for the next post.Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-72276748180722772222014-05-26T15:05:00.002-07:002014-06-05T18:00:24.045-07:00The Last Responsibility<span style="font-size: large;">The security guard passed me, close enough to touch, as I exited the courtroom. For a moment I was tempted, like Lot's wife, to turn around and watch as the defendant was handcuffed and taken into custody, but I didn't. I spilled through the doors to Courtroom 306 into the hallway with the rest of the observers and witnesses to stand for a few minutes in stunned silence before we went into the rest of our lives.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I walked the two blocks from the courtroom to the parking structure. Across the street, a small farmers' market offered fresh spring produce. The early afternoon sunshine warmed the sidewalk, causing little wisps of steam to rise from the wet spots in the gutter. My heels clicked as I walked. I normally wear flats, but today I wore heels. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">As I entered the glass-fronted elevator and pushed the button to the third floor, I thought, "My mother always wore heels."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My mother had died two years and five months before, almost to the day. Today marked the end of a betrayal,
the end of seemingly endless time spent in criminal investigations and the justice
system but most of all, it marked the end of my responsibilities toward my mother. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">(Read the story behind the story <a href="http://registerguard.com/rg/news/local/31613760-75/mckee-eugene-victims-court-prison.html.csp">here.</a>)</span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">It began when I quit my full-time job to work as a free-lancer and become her caregiver. <span style="line-height: 107%;">I was her only child and there
was no one else to care for her. Her health was poor, she was in her late 80s and was not expected to live too long.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%;">She had some
money from the sale of her house in a savings account that she wanted to keep
“in case of an emergency.” As paying for her care, including numerous
hospitalizations and surgeries, got more and more difficult, I finally made the
decision to ask her loved and trusted financial advisor to invest that money in something that would give her a
modest return so I could have some help in paying the bills.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%;">He took the money--and that's when the nightmare began. For four more years, I struggled to give her the quality of end of life we all deserve, all the while the quality of my own life was spiraling downward. She declined slowly, inexorably, spending nearly one year on hospice--meaning that every night for months on end I went to bed expecting to receive a call telling me she was gone.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">During these months, her financial planner continued to tell me that things would turn out okay in the end, even though the "nest egg" that I had given him had been lost in bad investments. I trusted him, because I was too exhausted and grief-ridden to question.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%;">Then one night in January 2012, after I had been assured by hospice that she still had some time left, the phone rang at 3 am. She was gone and for once I was not there. I was devastated and racked with guilt.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%;">Her advisor attended her funeral and came to my home afterwards and met with my
closest friends and family. A few days
later, I got a call from a detective who came to my home and helped me
realize that my mother’s money had not been invested, but stolen. The investor had put half into his personal checking account, which was overdrawn at
the time, and used it to make payments on his Porsche, pay his children’s private
school tuition, and pay on a personal credit card. The other half he used to shore up a failing business he owned to get others to invest in it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%;">For the next two years, through a series of legal manuervers and wrangling, he managed to avoid trial and remain free. I ran into him once at Costco and slipped behind the tv display to avoid a confrontation. I had begun to think he would never be accountable for his crimes--which included stealing nearly one million dollars from nine clients, including my mother, and much more in security fraud from others. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%;">But the end finally came. When the judge passed the sentence, one of the first things she said was "How could anyone have to gall to attend a funeral when he knew he had stolen her money?" I have no answer to that, other than to recognize that once you start down the path to deceit and crime, the slope rapidly becomes steeper and more slippery. His actions affected, not just me and the others he robbed, but our families--and his family as well. Like ripples in a lake, the evil spread and spread, creating waves of pain and sorrow on far distant shores. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%;">These past two years have been the hardest ime of my life, not just because of the financial stress, which has been considerable, but because I could never come to true closure about my mother's death because this, my last responsibility to see that justice was done in her name, was with me every single day.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%;">I was tempted to watch as he was handcuffed, but that would have meant continuing to look backwards. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Now it's time to move forward.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-6467746684085401072014-03-05T14:56:00.004-08:002014-06-05T18:00:54.049-07:00De Profundis<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Out of the depths I cry to You, O Lord; Lord, hear my voice.<br />
Let Your ears be attentive to my voice in supplication.<br />
If You, O Lord, mark iniquities, Lord, who can stand?<br />
But with You is forgiveness, that You may be revered.<br />
I trust in the Lord; my soul trusts in His word.<br />
My soul waits for the Lord more than sentinels wait for the dawn.<br />
More than sentinels wait for the dawn, let Israel wait for the Lord,<br />
For with the Lord is kindness and with Him is plenteous redemption;<br />
And He will redeem Israel from all their iniquities.--Psalm 130</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It's been half a year since I blogged and I truly feel like I am coming "out of the depths." Today, as Lent begins, I felt like it was an opportune time to write again, to think again, to share again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">These past half year I've been looking at myself, especially at the role of forgiveness in our lives. During the next weeks, I want to share some of the insights I've gained and some of the ideas that have and are changing my life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But for today, the ancient words of the Ash Wednesday service will suffice: <i><b> </b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i><b>Remember, woman, that you are dust and to dust you shall return.</b></i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-76988611941703906322013-07-22T20:21:00.001-07:002013-07-22T20:21:04.359-07:00SkyfallSometimes only a song can express what one is feeling.<br />
Skyfall.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/q-gLRp5bSpw?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-3869178304361472442013-07-10T15:41:00.001-07:002013-07-10T15:41:48.403-07:00Change and Pain in the BrainI am not tidy.<br />
I'd like to be, but I'm tidy-challenged. Clutter enters my life at light-speed.<br />
<br />
I try. I really do.<br />
<br />
But I find it very difficult to get rid of things.<br />
<br />
I have friends who say things like, "Doesn't it feel LIBERATING!!! and FREEING!! and WONDERFUL!! to get rid of all things? Don't you just LOVE the feeling of tossing out things?"<br />
<br />
Um, no. No, I don't.<br />
<br />
I find it difficult, painful and I often end up regretting having let go of something. Letting go hurts...and so I find it difficult to toss out things like a
favorite dress that no longer fits or a card from a friend from five
years ago.<br />
<br />
Now I know why.<a href="http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/the-science-willpower/201208/why-it-s-hard-let-go-clutter"> A new study at Yale</a> indicates that in some people the same areas of the brain that register physical pain light up when people are faced with getting rid of a possession: the anterior cingulate cortex and the insula. Which means that no, I don't feel great when I get rid of things; I experience anxiety and pain.<br />
<br />
However, some people, with different brain chemisty, have the opposite reaction. They get a high every time they get rid of something. So they get rid of as many things as they can, as often as they can because their brain registers the activity as pure pleasure.<br />
<br />
Now, the two really big questions are:<br />
1. Why people who experience pain with letting go of things so often enter into relationship with people who experience pleasure from it?<br />
2. And why do the tossers of life seem to think that they are completely and utterly morally superior to the keepers when it all is just brain chemistry?<br />
<br />Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-14576142607844371112013-07-09T11:27:00.000-07:002013-07-09T11:27:49.017-07:00An Ice Cream Shop and Papal Style<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://wp.patheos.com.s3.amazonaws.com/blogs/deaconsbench/files/2013/07/999493_633431970001744_1919922996_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://wp.patheos.com.s3.amazonaws.com/blogs/deaconsbench/files/2013/07/999493_633431970001744_1919922996_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
There seems to be a divide between people who find Pope Francis's style of dress and liturgy to be inspiring and <a href="http://www.patheos.com/blogs/deaconsbench/2013/07/would-it-be-too-much-to-throw-one-a-little-brocade-once-in-a-while/">those who find it distressing</a>. The ones who are upset miss the high style and what they see as the "beauty" of the Church (which others dismiss as "smells and bells.")<br />
<br />
I think part of the reason for the divide is what people, especially relatively new (since the middle to end of the JPII pontificate) converts expect of the Church and what those who have been around for a lifetime expect.<br />
<br />
Maybe an illustration that came to mind as I tried to get to sleep last night will help.<br />
<br />
Imagine an ice cream shop that has opened under new management. This shop sells many flavors of premium ice cream including a few unusual ones like lavender and honey. People who have been coming to the shop for many years are used to
changes of ownership on a fairly regular basis. So they come in, check out the
new selections, and get back to their lives. People who have never been to this shop before are thrilled and return daily to see what new delights have appeared. They get so used to premium ice cream they can't imagine a time when there wouldn't be this special ice cream shop or their favorite owner. They write blogs about the wonders of the shop and bring all their friends in for samples.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.vinceandjoes.com/images/gelato41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="http://www.vinceandjoes.com/images/gelato41.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
One day the old owner dies and a new owner takes over the shop. The people who loved the old shop are a little nervous, but instead of premium ice cream, the new owner now serves even richer, more decadent flavors including some recipes from the past like butter pecan salted caramel with toasted nuts. The ice cream lovers are over the moon. Many line up for hours just to see what special flavor has been created. Those people who prefer plain vanilla and chocolate still come by, but they aren't enamored with the new treats. However, since they can still find vanilla and chocolate in the far back containers, they are okay with the new management. They know that there will be another new owner sooner or later.<br />
<br />
Just when the people who recently came to love the shop are completely comfortable, reassured that they will have wonderful rich ice cream available for the rest of their lives, the new owner suddenly sells the shop. Much to the ice cream lovers' dismay, the shop now sells--gasp--frozen yogurt! No more butter pecan salted caramel with toasted nuts. Just yogurt plus a few plain flavors of ice cream.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://taylorshocks.files.wordpress.com/2010/10/prep_yogurt1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://taylorshocks.files.wordpress.com/2010/10/prep_yogurt1.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
The new ice cream lovers are horrified. They have been betrayed. They had come to expect premium ice cream whenever they wanted it and now all they can get is frozen yogurt (and a few plain flavors of ice cream.) This is NOT what they signed up for when they started coming to the ice cream shop. It is an outrage, a travesty! They are angry, hurt and frustrated.<br />
<br />
However, there are many people who are now coming to the shop who haven't been in years. They happily sample the yogurt. They never really liked the fancy flavors anyway. And those who always did like the plain flavors of ice cream are now very happy that they can get their scoops without having to drag out a carton from the back freezer.<br />
<br />
As the fancy ice cream lovers mourn the loss of their favorite shop, the one they had expected to be able to go to for the rest of the lives, the new owner points out that it never really was an ice cream shop to begin with.<br />
<br />
He shows them a sign that has been on the door since the very beginning--it's a frozen dairy product store. Just because the recent owners had decided that meant ice cream didn't make it so. Yogurt is just as much a frozen dairy product as the most premium ice cream, the new owner explains. It has the same general ingredients, even the same calorie count (more or less) as ice cream. It meets all the requirements for the shop.<br />
<br />
And the new owner adds that he hasn't forbidden anyone from having butter pecan salted caramel with toasted nuts; he just isn't serving it right now. After many years of focusing on customers with refined palates, the shop is now going for a the health-conscious, yogurt-preferring, plain vanilla crowd who have been hard pressed to find their preferences for many years. <br />
<br />
The ice cream lovers may not be happy, but no one owns the shop forever, the new owner adds. And who knows...the next owner might decide to serve gelato, he chuckles. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_J6p8Ps65TPk/TVG2va23GPI/AAAAAAAAAM0/mjMB_q5gDtA/s1600/gelato3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="243" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_J6p8Ps65TPk/TVG2va23GPI/AAAAAAAAAM0/mjMB_q5gDtA/s320/gelato3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-66319544255339330302013-06-17T11:27:00.001-07:002013-06-17T11:30:34.661-07:00Sacred Space<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
From my book in progress: <i>Every Day Holy Day</i><br />
<br />
Standing at the edge of Sacred Cenote at the ancient Mayan temple city of
Chichen-Itza, I stared at the vibrant green water nearly 30 meters beneath
me. I knew that archaeologists had recovered artifacts of gold, jade,
pottery and human sacrifice from this alarmingly placid sinkhole, where Mayan
priests, hoping to court the favor of the gods, had tossed their helpless
victims who often included children. Just a few steps away, I could hear
the cacophony of tourists buying cheap souvenirs and bottled water, but at the
rim of the well, silence prevailed.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSKLqCN-wboeuGdILZlUQlM3Y-kiG8MIHQImY_qwh40OpYVS3rC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSKLqCN-wboeuGdILZlUQlM3Y-kiG8MIHQImY_qwh40OpYVS3rC" /></a></div>
<br />
I understood why. The very rocks and cliffs seemed to have absorbed the fear
and terror of those who had died and now, centuries later, their feelings
reverberated, forcing even the most oblivious sightseer to silence.<br />
<br />
Because of the horrors committed there, the place wasn’t holy, in the way
that a great Cathedral is, but it was still sacred. It was a location where the
veil between now and eternity was stretched so thin I could almost reach
through it.<br />
<br />
For me that is one definition of sacred.<br />
<br />
I’ve felt that same sense at San Clemente in Rome, as I climbed down layers
of excavation from the 12th century basilica where St. Clement is buried,
through a fourth century church, to an altar to the Roman cult god Mithras and
finally to the spring where the pre-Romans worshipped unknown deities.<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://faculty.cua.edu/pennington/churchhistory220/lectureone/mithrasrom1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="http://faculty.cua.edu/pennington/churchhistory220/lectureone/mithrasrom1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I’ve also had that feeling at the oldest church in my town, where Mass has
been offered every day for nearly 100 years. When I enter the soft
darkness, broken only by rainbow shafts from the stained glass windows, I know
that I am in a place where the human and the divine intersect.<br />
<br />
Reflecting on the sacred places I’ve visited, I think I understand that a
location becomes sacred, not by declaration, but through honest and sincere
prayer, even when, because of lack of knowledge, that prayer isn’t directed to
the Triune God.<br />
<br />
The Cenote at Chichen-Itza isn’t sacred because the Mayan priests declared
it to be so, nor because of the sacrifices that took place there, nor because
of the gods that were worshipped there, but because, at the moment of their
deaths, individual souls cried out to their Creator, seeking mercy, salvation
and hope and, at the moment of those deaths, their Creator answered.<br />
<br />
San Clement is sacred because for thousands of years, people have been
coming to that spot, seeking to do the will of God as they understood him, even
when they believed that will involved slitting the throat of a bull and washing
its blood way with spring water.<br />
<br />
St. Mary’s in my town is sacred, certainly because the Sacrifice of the Mass
is and has been offered there so many times, but also because countless prayers
from countless pilgrims on life’s spiritual journey have been said in its pews,
giving an ordinary city block a sacred dimension.<br />
This power to transform the ordinary into the sacred isn’t the prerogative
of priests and saints. It’s something we all possess. By the way we
focus our attention on the divine, we can turn our homes, yards, even our cars
into sacred spaces.<br />
<br />
Summer is a wonderful time to work on this transformation because during
this season, doors and windows are left open, meals are eaten on porches, and
evenings are spent under the stars. We experience a fluidity between in
and out which can become a living example of how the mundane can become sacred
by our actions, intentions and our prayers.<br />
<br />
This day, I urge you to infuse your own physical spaces with the intention
of allowing the divine to permeate. Using the example of Brother Lawrence
who says, “It is a great delusion to think our times of prayer ought to differ
from other times. We are as strictly obliged to cleave to God by action in the
time of action as by prayer in the season of prayer,” we can gradually alter
our environment so that when someone enters it, they immediately know they are
stepping into sacred space.Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-75462100358822367482013-06-16T20:43:00.001-07:002013-06-16T20:43:49.129-07:00Sunday GratitudeI'm trying to pack and do all the things I think need to be done before going to the Catholic Media Convention, like leave notes about the cats for the house sitter, water the plants etc.<br />
<br />
I wonder why it is that I feel compelled to do things that I would normally put off for days just before a trip...maybe it's the same principle as wearing clean underwear in case you get in an accident. Want the house to look better than it normally does just in case...<br />
<br />
Since I have the vestiges of a sore throat and feel less than wonderful, this time the house will just have to be its normal not ready for staging self.<br />
<br />
This Sunday I am grateful for:<br />
<br />
1. A cell phone. I really love my cell phone and I wonder how we ever survived without them? I remember the first person who got one and how impressed I was with the giant brick that made calls almost anywhere.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://cdn3.mos.techradar.futurecdn.net//Review%20images/TechRadar/Mobile%20phones/iPhone/iPhone%204S/Hands%20on/iPhone%204S_08-580-100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://cdn3.mos.techradar.futurecdn.net//Review%20images/TechRadar/Mobile%20phones/iPhone/iPhone%204S/Hands%20on/iPhone%204S_08-580-100.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
2. Chocolate. It really is a miracle drug.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSpm675vgSRC8B_dtH3MMdPJJa-JAzA2dNIUVtcNoNajB8KCLRZ" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSpm675vgSRC8B_dtH3MMdPJJa-JAzA2dNIUVtcNoNajB8KCLRZ" /></a></div>
3. Good friends. I am so grateful for the people in my life who make me better than I would be on my own.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
(No pictures....you know who you are.) </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
4. Nefer and Basti. They sometimes drive me crazy, but their joie de vivre helps me remember that all of creation is a song of praise to the Creator.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V1oO1SDo-lw/Ub6FTV3zCAI/AAAAAAAAAjA/D8RqwuyJYfc/s1600/Nefer+climbing+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V1oO1SDo-lw/Ub6FTV3zCAI/AAAAAAAAAjA/D8RqwuyJYfc/s320/Nefer+climbing+up.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
5. My bed. Dorothy might have said there's no place like home, but there's really no place like your own bed.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lxCQSC_EeIE/TvBDQL_vklI/AAAAAAAAAAU/EsJDkQjdSP4/s1600/Round-Pillow-Bed-Pillow-.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lxCQSC_EeIE/TvBDQL_vklI/AAAAAAAAAAU/EsJDkQjdSP4/s1600/Round-Pillow-Bed-Pillow-.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-70067396114045240152013-06-15T17:48:00.001-07:002013-06-15T17:48:07.086-07:00Summer DazeIs there anything more splendid than the first days of summer!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oGc8NzYD2lc/Ub0LKjiADQI/AAAAAAAAAio/-nWsuyljmDU/s1600/photo-26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oGc8NzYD2lc/Ub0LKjiADQI/AAAAAAAAAio/-nWsuyljmDU/s320/photo-26.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
I'm relishing the beauty of pots on my deck and laughing as the cats fight over a basket to sleep in. You see, they always fought over the basket so I put up a second one and now they fight over who gets the new one. Just like kids!<br />
<br />
On Monday I head to Denver to the <a href="http://www.catholicpress.org/?page=CMC13Schedule">Catholic Media Convention</a> where I hope to see many old friends and perhaps make a few new ones. I'm hoping to try out some of my new-found almost skills with my iPhone camera as I visit a couple of places, including the <a href="http://www.augustineinstitute.org/">Augustine Institute</a> and their fabulous programs.<br />
<br />
I probably should go pack!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-86777621789136673122013-06-14T15:42:00.000-07:002013-06-14T15:42:23.120-07:00Ruminating on RumiI had the great honor of visiting the Tomb of Mevlana Celaleddin-i Rumi , when I was in Konya, Turkey. It was a holy moment, akin to visiting the tomb of a Catholic saint.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.thesufi.com/pilgrimages/mevlana_rumi_shrine_tomb-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://www.thesufi.com/pilgrimages/mevlana_rumi_shrine_tomb-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Today I found this wonderful verse of his.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
God's joy moves from unmarked box to unmarked box,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
from cell to cell. As rainwater, down into flowerbed.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gj2K-8f-ABw/T8tASxZzdBI/AAAAAAAAAe4/2eY46Yivzv8/s1600/Flower-Bed-Ideas1+landscapinggallery.info.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gj2K-8f-ABw/T8tASxZzdBI/AAAAAAAAAe4/2eY46Yivzv8/s320/Flower-Bed-Ideas1+landscapinggallery.info.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
As roses, up from ground.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Now it looks like a plate of rice and fish,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
now a cliff covered with vines,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
now a horse being saddled.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.jeanniesequestrianworld.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/saddle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://www.jeanniesequestrianworld.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/saddle.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It hides within these,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
till one day it cracks them open.</div>
Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-18520250552274583892013-06-10T14:10:00.000-07:002013-06-10T14:10:10.942-07:00I've been potted!Just playing with the camera.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzJgALH4Xp4MvL6VyNGOGt6a67-QXS3msKrTV0Ow27OGjBW_6L0-qt7gb1klPhdyoyIbT6YCxAr6zs' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-60309137645723674502013-06-09T19:24:00.000-07:002013-06-09T19:24:22.209-07:00Sunday GratitudeIt's not that I've been ungrateful the past several weeks, it's just that when I'm feeling mightily stressed, I tend to go into radio silence.<br />
<br />
But no use looking back!<br />
<br />
This week I am grateful for:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BVu-8vhkYn8/UbU3-_EOmEI/AAAAAAAAAh4/HdvKCjD0PXI/s1600/photo1a.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BVu-8vhkYn8/UbU3-_EOmEI/AAAAAAAAAh4/HdvKCjD0PXI/s320/photo1a.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Pots on the deck.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HxHFGFVDjDQ/UbU3-2coXcI/AAAAAAAAAiA/HC0HyyMKxCU/s1600/photo2a.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HxHFGFVDjDQ/UbU3-2coXcI/AAAAAAAAAiA/HC0HyyMKxCU/s320/photo2a.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A new manicure.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fwurD9HaTdc/UbU3-_2UUoI/AAAAAAAAAh8/LuD29US-yEs/s1600/photo3a.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fwurD9HaTdc/UbU3-_2UUoI/AAAAAAAAAh8/LuD29US-yEs/s320/photo3a.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Hydrangeas turning blue.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kPZDlmDdgIU/UbU3_Ny6CtI/AAAAAAAAAiQ/fc1wUnfw8MM/s1600/photo4a.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="313" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kPZDlmDdgIU/UbU3_Ny6CtI/AAAAAAAAAiQ/fc1wUnfw8MM/s320/photo4a.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A wild turkey that visited my backyard.</div>
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<a href="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRxOryCBTSfi0Nqfgq69sE28n4YRWigDbn4lXE0ZIhTT1RJmOSL0pUZLIq4" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRxOryCBTSfi0Nqfgq69sE28n4YRWigDbn4lXE0ZIhTT1RJmOSL0pUZLIq4" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sweet tea.</div>
Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-90944710835633765942013-05-21T14:42:00.000-07:002013-05-21T14:44:42.156-07:00A Favorite Prayer On this bleak, rainy Oregon day in May, I carry this prayer with me in my heart.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://globeattractions.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/01/road-rain-trees-nature.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://globeattractions.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/01/road-rain-trees-nature.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going.<br />
I do not see the road ahead of me.<br />
I cannot know for certain where it will end.<br />
Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that<br />
I think I am following Your will does not mean that I am<br />
actually doing so. </span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">But I believe that the desire to please You<br />
does in fact please you.<br />
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.<br />
I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.<br />
And I know that, if I do this, You will lead me by the right road,<br />
though I may know nothing about it.<br />
Therefore I will trust You always </span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">though I may seem to be lost
and in the shadow of death.<br />
I will not fear, for You are ever with me,<br />
and You will never leave me to face my perils alone.</span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">(Thomas Merton) </span></span></b></div>
Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-74903097063756409292013-05-20T11:42:00.005-07:002013-05-20T11:42:57.887-07:00A Minor MiracleI had a minor miracle happen last night. But then, are any miracles really minor?<br />
<br />
About 10 years ago, give or take, I lost my wedding rings. I thought they were still in the house, but I searched every place I could think of...and a whole lot that were the longest of long shots. I found a lot of things that were missing, but never my wedding set. About every six months or so, I would look for them again, but never located them.<br />
<br />
Last night, about 11, as I tossed and turned, I felt compelled to go searching one more time. I looked in all the places I've looked before and, of course, didn't find them. Then, because it was Pentecost, I decided that I would thank God in advance for having shown me where the rings were. As I went through drawers and boxes, I kept giving thanks for having found the rings.<br />
<br />
It was a long night.<br />
<br />
About 2 am, as I searched through a small jewelry box that I had looked through at least a dozen times before, I saw a small sparkle. I dumped the contents of the box into my hand and there, amid some mismatched earrings was my wedding set.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UqpD0hVcdBo/UZpuF2snhWI/AAAAAAAAAhk/aFR2jSSJAFc/s1600/ring.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UqpD0hVcdBo/UZpuF2snhWI/AAAAAAAAAhk/aFR2jSSJAFc/s200/ring.jpg" width="159" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Had it been there all along? If it was, I hadn't seen it all these years.<br />
<br />
And why last night? Why that night would I feel compelled to search for something that had been lost for so long?<br />
<br />
I don't know. I just know that I have found the rings and I give thanks for this minor--or not so minor--miracle.<br />
<br />
<br />Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-31200134665639891332013-05-19T21:12:00.001-07:002013-05-19T21:12:39.212-07:00Sunday Gratitude and Prayer Score CardI have a perfectionist streak that says if I'm not writing a perfect blog post I shouldn't write at all...which means I haven't written at all.<br />
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Anyone else have that problem? Perfect or not at all? I've been working on that and have made some progress, which I will write about...as soon as it's perfect.<br />
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Because it's late and I want to start the week's blogging, here is <span style="font-size: large;"><b>Sunday's Gratitude.</b></span><br />
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1. A lovely lily scented votive candle. I got several for my birthday last year and I decided not to "save" them, but to enjoy them...so this is one of the last. Its scent is heavenly.<br />
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<a href="http://www.freedomcandleco.com/images/votive05e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.freedomcandleco.com/images/votive05e.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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2. Red rhodies along the side of the road. As in blood red for Pentecost.<br />
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3. Finding a bracelet I thought I had lost.<br />
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4. Trader Joe's chocolate pudding.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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5. Finding someone to put the moss remover on the roof because I don't do roofs. Never have and never will. (NOT my roof. I do preventative moss remover!)</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Prayer Score Card</b></span></div>
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Actually, it's the same as last week. </div>
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3 Yes</div>
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10 No answer yet</div>
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<br />Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-39777278705179059072013-05-12T19:01:00.001-07:002013-05-12T19:01:38.907-07:00Sunday Gratitude and Prayer Score CardToday is the 19th anniversary of my father's death and, of course, Mother's Day. It's the second without my mother, although I don't recall much of last year at all.<br />
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So, remembering both my parents in prayer today. <b><span style="font-size: large;">I am grateful for</span>:</b><br />
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1. The <b>fountains </b>in my yard. Here's the one I see the most often. It reminds me of the Middle East, even though it is set in the midst of Oregon greenery.<br />
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2. The restoration and on-going<b> healing of a relationship</b>. Only God knows the end of the story, but I am grateful for the healing that has taken place. <br />
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3. <b>Skype</b>, which allows me to "talk" with my son.<br />
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4. The <b>white cupboards</b> in my kitchen.<br />
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5. Fabreze...I have cats. They have litter. Connect the dots.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Prayer Score Card</span></span><br />
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I have 10 things on my list this month. So far there have been 3 "Yes" and the rest are still waiting.<br />
Interestingly, and this is something I want to explore in more detail, the more specific the prayer, the more specific the answer. And the more immediate the prayer, the more immediate the answer. Both yes and no.<br />
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<br />Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-88557666740775498172013-05-10T17:35:00.002-07:002013-05-10T17:37:46.310-07:00Out of the DepthsI'd like to say, "Where does the time go?" but I know where it went. Into a black hole of work, with a dollop of worry, a slurp of travel, and a heaping cupful of procrastination. Yep, that's where the time went.<br />
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The perfectionist in me thinks that unless I go back and fill in all the missing days, I should write at all, but that serves no one, especially not me. So, just a brief backward glance and then moving on.<br />
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I was honored to be a guest on Donna-Marie Cooper-Oboyle's new EWTN show, Catholic Moms' Cafe in Birmingham along with several prestigious and well-known authors. Here's a picture of me with Donna-Marie, Marge Fenelon and Lisa Henley. And one on the set for the show. <br />
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Then I went to an incredible seminar/retreat in Canada that gave me great new perspectives on my career, my relationships, my motives and my life in general.<br />
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Now I'm back in Oregon where there hasn't been rain for days and everyone is talking DROUGHT, but I'm loving the sunshine. I think my heaven has to be sunny. It can sprinkle now and then, enough to give everything that fresh rain smell, but no long, grey, gloomy days that hang like a shroud over my life. (Yes, I do question why I live in Oregon, but apparently the greenery offsets the greyery.)<br />
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So, what have you been up to while I've been gone? <br />
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<br />Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-17613170359343346822013-04-19T07:00:00.000-07:002013-04-19T07:00:05.839-07:00Mom's Cafe<span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;">I<span style="font-size: large;">'ve long admired Donna-Marie Cooper O'Boyle, ever since I learned of her decade-long friendship with Mother Teresa. I never thought I'd get a chance to meet her, but God works in mysterious ways. Not only do I get to meet her, I will be a guest on her upcoming EWTN television series called "Catholic Mom's Cafe"!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;">Donna-Maria has written a simply marvelous book with the same name (almost): Catholic Mom's Cafe" 5-Minute Retreats for Every Day of the Year (Our Sunday Visitor, 2013). When I had a chance to see a copy, I promptly turned to my birth day and chuckled with it was all about not worrying. I think I have a PhD in worry, so the irony was not lost.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;">I've always loved daily devotionals and this little book is just my cup of tea (all puns intended.) Each day provides a quote from the Bible, an inspirational quote, a short but pithy meditation, a prayer and a thought to carry through the day. It's the ideal length for meaningful insight but not so long as to become another chore. It's the kind of book that would make a great gift for a new mom, a seasoned mother or even yourself!</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;">Donna-Maria also has a great blog at CatholicMomsCafe.blogspot.com. (Disclosure: I am an occasional guest there!) as well as a Facebook page at facebook.com/CatholicMomsCafe. Lots of good stuff there...and not just for moms!</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;">The book will be out soon and I've got it on good authority that you can get an autographed copy at her website. They will be available at <a href="https://catalog.osv.com/Catalog.aspx?SimpleDisplay=true&ProductCode=T1272">Our Sunday Visitor</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Catholic-Moms-Cafe-5-Minute-Retreats/dp/1612785751/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1366325493&sr=8-1&keywords=Mom%27s+Cafe">A</a><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Catholic-Moms-Cafe-5-Minute-Retreats/dp/1612785751/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1366325493&sr=8-1&keywords=Mom%27s+Cafe">mazon</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/catholic-moms-cafe-donna-marie-cooper-oboyle/1112764041?ean=9781612785752">Barnes and Nob</a><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/catholic-moms-cafe-donna-marie-cooper-oboyle/1112764041?ean=9781612785752">le </a>and Catholic bookstores as well.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: navy; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, Serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;">And in case you are interested, here's <a href="http://catholicmomscafe.blogspot.com/2013/04/my-second-guest-on-upcoming-catholic.html">link to the upcom</a><a href="http://catholicmomscafe.blogspot.com/2013/04/my-second-guest-on-upcoming-catholic.html">ing TV show</a> and one of Donna-Marie's guests. :) </span></span></span></span></span></div>
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</span></span></span>Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3485196.post-1024289671513464792013-04-10T16:53:00.000-07:002013-04-10T18:36:39.908-07:00Inside Anxiety<b>Anxiety and panic are inside jobs.</b><br />
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That's one reason why it's so hard for someone who hasn't experienced them to understand what they are like.<br />
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In the past few days, I've had the opportunity to try to explain what they feel like to friends and family who have loved ones who suffer from anxiety and panic. If there is any good that can come out of my experience, perhaps being able to share the "inside" information is it.<br />
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Imagine sitting in your favorite chair, with your favorite beverage at hand. (Island Coconut Coffee with real cream.) The sun is splashed across the floor and the cat is basking in the warmth. You aren't awaiting a medical diagnosis. No debt collectors are banging at the door. You aren't facing foreclosure or starvation. No one is dying right this second. All in all, things are pretty okay. If anyone were to look at you, you'd look downright peaceful and content.<br />
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On the outside.<br />
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Inside it's a different story.<br />
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Let's start with the heart. It's probably racing, as fast as if you had just run around the block. It might even feel like it's skipping a beat now and then. But that's nothing compared to the stomach. It's in literal knots, twisting and churning, with surges of nausea. It feels like coming down with the flu. Only you aren't. Then the breath. You feel like you are suffocating, like nothing short of great gasping gulps will bring in enough oxygen. Yet you know if you give in, you'll hyperventilate and feel even worse than you do right now, so you try to breath as slowly and steadily as you can...all the while feeling like you are suffocating.<br />
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That's just the tip of the physical feelings. You might add feeling faint, dizzy, shaky, trembling, too restless for words--or conversely, absolutely frozen in place unable to move. All the while, sitting in your favorite chair, watching the cat stretch in the sunshine, looking peaceful and calm.<br />
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Mentally it's even worse.There is a sensation of impending disaster and complete doom. You might have enough money in the bank to pay your bills this week, but your mind looks ahead to next Christmas and goes hysterical about how you are going to pay to travel to be with the family if they invite you again. Not to mention how you are going to pay the taxes next April. If you can slow down those thoughts, others catapult in. What if your mammogram, which is scheduled in six months, comes back with a problem like it did a year ago even though it turned out to be fine and you didn't have cancer? What if, when you decide you want to sell your house, you have to repaint it all and how will you find a reliable painter who won't overcharge? And what if the jar of jam that is in the refrigerator has gone bad and you'll get food poisoning because you had it on your toast this morning? And what if you are out of work next year? How will you pay your bills? And how will you pay the taxes in April!!!! Especially if the family wants you to visit at Christmas.<br />
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Inside, it's as if your body and mind have become a blender of terror, the physical contributing to the mental and the mental to the physical, all shredded and whirled into fear soup.<br />
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Well-intended family and friends try to reason with you...if you risk enough to share what's going on...by telling you that Christmas is more than nine months away and it's not even tax day this year, much less next year, and you aren't planning on selling anytime soon and jam has too much sugar to go bad and no one knows for sure if they will have a job next year.<br />
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It doesn't help. You know these things intellectually and if logic were enough to banish anxiety and panic, no one would suffer from them. <br />
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Sometimes people who are frustrated because anxiety and panic don't make logical sense and tell you to just get over it. If it were that easy, you'd do it because you would like nothing more than to be freed from these mental and physical sensations.<br />
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Others suggest that you take medications and even if you are taking what your doctor has prescribed, you know that the only way to be totally free of the feelings is to be drugged into oblivion and you can't or won't live that way. Not to mention that the mind is the most powerful force on earth and a panic-striken mind can override all but the strongest of drugs.<br />
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There probably are some moments when the panic lifts. Maybe it's first thing in the morning, when you wake and think, "Oh, it's gone for good!" Or perhaps it's at night, when you fall into bed, praying that when you wake it won't be brooding on your pillow waiting for consciousness to break through. In those times, when the physical and mental torture wanes, you hope that perhaps today will mark the end or at least the beginning of the end. When it doesn't, the disappointment is almost too much to bear. You understand why some people think that suicide is the only way to be released from the unrelenting grasp of fear and panic because you don't know if you can stand to be disappointed one more time.<br />
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But you take a deep breath, sip your coffee, watch the cats and say a prayer that you make it through this minute because that's the only way you can manage. One prayer, one minute at a time. Because anxiety and panic are inside jobs. <br />
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<br />Woodeenehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221862327354832759noreply@blogger.com0