GOD'S FAVORITE HAUNT

There had been a period in my life when I was like the girl in the story below who felt that inorder to find God and be with Him I should isolate myself from the people and the world. I soon realized that I did not have to be a hermit nor a cloistered nun to be close to Jesus.

The Lord obviously has called me to be in the world among His creatures, with a family to take cared of, and to make a difference in their lives. And this I continue to do in my own little ways and in accordance with His Will for me.

GOD'S FAVORITE HAUNT [1]
By Fr. Nil Guillemette, S.J.

MONA WAS an innately withdrawn young woman who enjoyed nothing more than being by herself. She could spend hours alone in her room, lost in her thoughts or intent on study or prayer. This latter occupation was something she had taken up only in recent months. Not that she was ever ungodly. In fact, she had always had a pious streak in her character. But this had greatly developed of late, namely since her brother had died in an accident. This tragedy had brought her closer to God. She had taken up daily meditation and had found great consolation in prayer. So much so that she could spend hours in solitary prayer, away from the hustle and bustle of human affairs, content to commune with God.

But one day something strange happened to Mona. Her prayer became suddenly very dry and distracted. What before had been a delight became a burden almost overnight. Of course the young woman had previously experienced some dry spells in her prayer, even desolation at times. These she had taken in stride with a fine courage, knowing full well that they were precious opportunities for self-detachment and for growth in pure love of God. But this new experience was something else. This was an unrelieved barrenness of mind and heart which had lasted now for well over a month. Try as she may, she had the impression that God was totally absent from her life, that she had been completely abandoned by God.

One day, in a paroxysm of despair she fell on her knees and cried out in her prayer, "Where are you, God?"

And, at that moment, she heard with utter clarity an inner voice saying, "Mona, leave your room, go outside and you will find me."

The young woman stood up immediately and ran into the street. Where would she go, she wondered. After some hesitation she decided to head for the nearest church.

"Surely," she thought, "God is waiting for me in a church."

On her way there she met a group of friends. These were in high spirits and hailed her merrily.

"Hey, Mona! We're going to the market. Come along with us!"

But Mona would have none of that: she was far too intent on finding God.

"Sorry," she answered, "but I'm very busy right now." And she hurried off in the direction of the church.

When she arrived at the church, she knelt down and waited for God to manifest himself. She did not know what to expect, but on the strength of the inner voice she had heard in her room she was sure that God would come to her in one way or another, either in a great consolation or in a vision or by some other means. And so she waited confidently.

Time passed., After a long while her knees began to hurt. So she decided to sit down. An hour passed and nothing happened. The young woman's confidence began to waver. Had she misunderstood God? Another hour passed and still nothing happened. By now Mona's confidence was completely shattered. Something had gone wrong. What was it?

"Where are you, Lord?" she prayed in despair.
Then a sudden thought occurred to her. God had said, "Go outside, and you will find me." Perhaps he meant to be found literally outside, that is in the open air, in nature. If that were the case, it would explain why Mona could not find Him inside a church. This logic struck her with such force that she then and there decided to leave the church and head for the countryside. So off she went.

In the outskirts of the town she met another group of friends. They called out to her, "Hey Mona! Come with us, we're going to the market." But Mona declined with a mumbled excuse and hastened toward the countryside.

There the young woman found a beautiful spot on the top of a hill from where she had a marvelous view of the entire landscape.

"Surely," she thought, "God will manifest himself here in the majesty of the nature he created." And she sat down to wait.

Again time passed and nothing happened. After an hour Mona became restless.

"Please God," she prayed, "have pity on me. I've been waiting for so long to find you, don't disappoint me this time."

"Another hour passed, and still nothing happened. By now the sun was going down in the horizon, and Mona grew desperate.

"Where, oh where is God?" she questioned frantically. And in her anguish she began to think of death. Was life worth living if one was unable to find God?

The thought of death soon became overpowering. And just then an extraordinary insight flashed in her mind: was not death what the inner voice heard in her room had referred to? "Go outside, and you will find me." Until then she had interpreted the word "outside" literally. But suppose it was meant to be taken figuratively? Suppose it meant: outside of life?
As Mona turned these thoughts over and over in her feverish mind, the idea of committing suicide soon blotted out all other thought. If ever she were to find God, she reasoned, it would be by meeting him through death. This conclusion seemed so inescapable that she forthwith stood up and began to walk toward the river. Her intention was to jump from the bridge and drown herself.

On her way to the river she met another group of jovial friends. "Come, Mona." they shouted as she passed by, "We're all going to the market. They say there's a circus in town."

But the girl hastened on instead without a backward glance. She was on her way to meet God.

When she got to the bridge, she had a moment's hesitation. The water seemed so cold and dark... But then she remembered the urgency of the voice heard in her room. As an echo rumbling in a deep well the words of the voice reverberated in her mind, "Go outside... go outside... go outside..." That was enough to overcome her reluctance. And, without any further consideration, she threw herself into the water.

Fortunately, a man was fishing from a boat anchored under the bridge, hidden from Mona's view. This man promptly rescued her even before she could lose consciousness. In a matter of minutes she was sitting on the bank of the river, drenched but safe and sound. The cold water had somewhat calmed down the young woman's religious over-excitement. Obviously the miraculous intervention of the fisherman was a clear sign that God did not want her dead.

Mona sighed. "What now?" she thought. Dejectedly, she set off for home.

Back in her room she dropped on a chair, drained of any feeling except for a dull ache in her heart. Soon this feeling welled up into a bitter resentment at God. Had the inner voice telling her to find God outside her room been an illusion? If so, how could God have allowed her to be so deluded all the while she was seeking him so earnestly? These and other similar thoughts began to whirl in her head. Finally she cried out in despair, "Please Lord, tell me where I can find you!"

All of a sudden a great calm came over her. And then she distinctly heard the same inner voice which had spoken to her earlier in the day. Now it spoke in a tone of gentle reproach.

"You cannot find me, Mona? Yet I have already told you on three occasions where you can find me."

This time the young woman was aghast. "Where is that, Lord?" she asked in utter dismay.

"Why, at the market place of course. Three times I summoned you there through the invitation of your friends."

This was too much for Mona.

"But why the market place?" she inquired incredulously.

"Because," pursued the gentle voice, "I am always present where people flock. After all, I am their shepherd."

Early the next day Mona went to the market place. As usual it was dirty, noisy and teeming with a boisterous crowd. But, for the first time in her life, the solitary girl did not mind. She knew God was there.

End Notes

1. Fr. Nil Guillemette, S. J, "Greater Than Our Hearts - God Tales for Young and Old", St. Paul Publications, 1989: chapter 23, pp. 105-109

2. I have Fr. Nil's permission to use his stories via his letter to me dated Feb. 10, 2001: "In answer to your letter of Feb. 1, which I received yesterday, I gladly give you permission to use my stories in your bible sharings. However, in order to discourage any illegal pirating from unscrupulous readers, please always add the proper reference (author, publisher, book, pages, etc.). "

GOD'S FAVORITE HAUNT

There had been a period in my life when I was like the girl in the story below who felt that inorder to find God and be with Him I should isolate myself from the people and the world. I soon realized that I did not have to be a hermit nor a cloistered nun to be close to Jesus.

The Lord obviously has called me to be in the world among His creatures, with a family to take cared of, and to make a difference in their lives. And this I continue to do in my own little ways and in accordance with His Will for me.

GOD'S FAVORITE HAUNT [1]
By Fr. Nil Guillemette, S.J.

MONA WAS an innately withdrawn young woman who enjoyed nothing more than being by herself. She could spend hours alone in her room, lost in her thoughts or intent on study or prayer. This latter occupation was something she had taken up only in recent months. Not that she was ever ungodly. In fact, she had always had a pious streak in her character. But this had greatly developed of late, namely since her brother had died in an accident. This tragedy had brought her closer to God. She had taken up daily meditation and had found great consolation in prayer. So much so that she could spend hours in solitary prayer, away from the hustle and bustle of human affairs, content to commune with God.

But one day something strange happened to Mona. Her prayer became suddenly very dry and distracted. What before had been a delight became a burden almost overnight. Of course the young woman had previously experienced some dry spells in her prayer, even desolation at times. These she had taken in stride with a fine courage, knowing full well that they were precious opportunities for self-detachment and for growth in pure love of God. But this new experience was something else. This was an unrelieved barrenness of mind and heart which had lasted now for well over a month. Try as she may, she had the impression that God was totally absent from her life, that she had been completely abandoned by God.

One day, in a paroxysm of despair she fell on her knees and cried out in her prayer, "Where are you, God?"

And, at that moment, she heard with utter clarity an inner voice saying, "Mona, leave your room, go outside and you will find me."

The young woman stood up immediately and ran into the street. Where would she go, she wondered. After some hesitation she decided to head for the nearest church.

"Surely," she thought, "God is waiting for me in a church."

On her way there she met a group of friends. These were in high spirits and hailed her merrily.

"Hey, Mona! We're going to the market. Come along with us!"

But Mona would have none of that: she was far too intent on finding God.

"Sorry," she answered, "but I'm very busy right now." And she hurried off in the direction of the church.

When she arrived at the church, she knelt down and waited for God to manifest himself. She did not know what to expect, but on the strength of the inner voice she had heard in her room she was sure that God would come to her in one way or another, either in a great consolation or in a vision or by some other means. And so she waited confidently.

Time passed., After a long while her knees began to hurt. So she decided to sit down. An hour passed and nothing happened. The young woman's confidence began to waver. Had she misunderstood God? Another hour passed and still nothing happened. By now Mona's confidence was completely shattered. Something had gone wrong. What was it?

"Where are you, Lord?" she prayed in despair.
Then a sudden thought occurred to her. God had said, "Go outside, and you will find me." Perhaps he meant to be found literally outside, that is in the open air, in nature. If that were the case, it would explain why Mona could not find Him inside a church. This logic struck her with such force that she then and there decided to leave the church and head for the countryside. So off she went.

In the outskirts of the town she met another group of friends. They called out to her, "Hey Mona! Come with us, we're going to the market." But Mona declined with a mumbled excuse and hastened toward the countryside.

There the young woman found a beautiful spot on the top of a hill from where she had a marvelous view of the entire landscape.

"Surely," she thought, "God will manifest himself here in the majesty of the nature he created." And she sat down to wait.

Again time passed and nothing happened. After an hour Mona became restless.

"Please God," she prayed, "have pity on me. I've been waiting for so long to find you, don't disappoint me this time."

"Another hour passed, and still nothing happened. By now the sun was going down in the horizon, and Mona grew desperate.

"Where, oh where is God?" she questioned frantically. And in her anguish she began to think of death. Was life worth living if one was unable to find God?

The thought of death soon became overpowering. And just then an extraordinary insight flashed in her mind: was not death what the inner voice heard in her room had referred to? "Go outside, and you will find me." Until then she had interpreted the word "outside" literally. But suppose it was meant to be taken figuratively? Suppose it meant: outside of life?
As Mona turned these thoughts over and over in her feverish mind, the idea of committing suicide soon blotted out all other thought. If ever she were to find God, she reasoned, it would be by meeting him through death. This conclusion seemed so inescapable that she forthwith stood up and began to walk toward the river. Her intention was to jump from the bridge and drown herself.

On her way to the river she met another group of jovial friends. "Come, Mona." they shouted as she passed by, "We're all going to the market. They say there's a circus in town."

But the girl hastened on instead without a backward glance. She was on her way to meet God.

When she got to the bridge, she had a moment's hesitation. The water seemed so cold and dark... But then she remembered the urgency of the voice heard in her room. As an echo rumbling in a deep well the words of the voice reverberated in her mind, "Go outside... go outside... go outside..." That was enough to overcome her reluctance. And, without any further consideration, she threw herself into the water.

Fortunately, a man was fishing from a boat anchored under the bridge, hidden from Mona's view. This man promptly rescued her even before she could lose consciousness. In a matter of minutes she was sitting on the bank of the river, drenched but safe and sound. The cold water had somewhat calmed down the young woman's religious over-excitement. Obviously the miraculous intervention of the fisherman was a clear sign that God did not want her dead.

Mona sighed. "What now?" she thought. Dejectedly, she set off for home.

Back in her room she dropped on a chair, drained of any feeling except for a dull ache in her heart. Soon this feeling welled up into a bitter resentment at God. Had the inner voice telling her to find God outside her room been an illusion? If so, how could God have allowed her to be so deluded all the while she was seeking him so earnestly? These and other similar thoughts began to whirl in her head. Finally she cried out in despair, "Please Lord, tell me where I can find you!"

All of a sudden a great calm came over her. And then she distinctly heard the same inner voice which had spoken to her earlier in the day. Now it spoke in a tone of gentle reproach.

"You cannot find me, Mona? Yet I have already told you on three occasions where you can find me."

This time the young woman was aghast. "Where is that, Lord?" she asked in utter dismay.

"Why, at the market place of course. Three times I summoned you there through the invitation of your friends."

This was too much for Mona.

"But why the market place?" she inquired incredulously.

"Because," pursued the gentle voice, "I am always present where people flock. After all, I am their shepherd."

Early the next day Mona went to the market place. As usual it was dirty, noisy and teeming with a boisterous crowd. But, for the first time in her life, the solitary girl did not mind. She knew God was there.

End Notes

1. Fr. Nil Guillemette, S. J, "Greater Than Our Hearts - God Tales for Young and Old", St. Paul Publications, 1989: chapter 23, pp. 105-109

2. I have Fr. Nil's permission to use his stories via his letter to me dated Feb. 10, 2001: "In answer to your letter of Feb. 1, which I received yesterday, I gladly give you permission to use my stories in your bible sharings. However, in order to discourage any illegal pirating from unscrupulous readers, please always add the proper reference (author, publisher, book, pages, etc.). "

Poor Housing Market and Home Staging

The struggling housing market is forcing people to take more drastic measures to sell their homes. A local credit union held a class aimed at helping homeowners attract buyers. Many homeowners say they need all the help they can get. With the struggling housing industry, many homeowners have to do a lot more than a sign to market their homes. When the market is not good, you have to do things to make your house stand out.

Home Staging is the way to make your house stand out from the crowd. To learn more about home staging, buy 301 Simple Things You Can Do To Sell Your Home NOW and For More Money Than You Thought.

Poor Housing Market and Home Staging

The struggling housing market is forcing people to take more drastic measures to sell their homes. A local credit union held a class aimed at helping homeowners attract buyers. Many homeowners say they need all the help they can get. With the struggling housing industry, many homeowners have to do a lot more than a sign to market their homes. When the market is not good, you have to do things to make your house stand out.

Home Staging is the way to make your house stand out from the crowd. To learn more about home staging, buy 301 Simple Things You Can Do To Sell Your Home NOW and For More Money Than You Thought.

William Daglish, Santa Cruz, California

I recently found some advertising materials for Daglish’s Health Food Service of Santa Cruz, California, and a little research led to a colourful story.

An article from the Santa Cruz Sentinel by Carolyn Swift provided some details.

The story begins in 1928, when Sarah Jane Kitchen married William Edward Daglish. The couple moved to Santa Cruz at the height of the Depression, opening the “Daglish Free Welfare Depot”. William quickly earned a reputation: the report describes him as "something of a fanatic, driving a "sign-flaunting gas chariot"... on a boisterous one-man moral crusade".

Life for his wife was difficult. She was described as "semi-invalid" and, forced by her husband to eat his chosen diet, some thought she was slowly starving – and said she occasionally went to neighbours for more food.

On July 17 1940, Sarah Jane died. She was buried the next day, Thursday, when William delivered the funeral sermon. On the following day he eloped to Reno, Nevada, with 22-year Joan Allardyce where the couple were married. This series of events led to nationwide news coverage, and one newspaper reported:

"If Daglish and Miss Allardyce had reached the Remo marriage license clerk four minutes later than they did, their marriage would have to be postponed until Sunday because Daglish’s church, Seventh Day Adventist, does not sanction marriages on Saturday."

Meanwhile, back in Santa Cruz, the authorities had ordered Sarah Jane’s body to be exhumed from the Felton Cemetery, and tested for poison.

William protested his innocence and gave his version of the story. He accused the authorities of a plot against him because of his campaigning against vice and gambling. He claimed that Sarah Jane had approved of Miss Allardyce as his future wife, and had urged him to marry her immediately after the funeral.

No poison was detected in the tests, and the authorities accepted the coroner’s decision that Sarah Jane had died of “hemorrhagic pancreatitis”.

The handbill dates from just after this in 1941. The photo shows William, Joan and their daughter Noaomi Celeste. William continued his business until his death in 1952.

William was born in 1896 in Indiana, the son of John Daglish and Mary Aldrich. His grandfather, also John Daglish, had emigrated from England.

I would be very interested to know more about the family and their story, or to hear from any relatives. Also any photos of the Daglish store in Santa Cruz, which was covered with various slogans and adverts - I have seen one small photo from the 1950s, but this is too small and the quality too poor to show here.

William Daglish, Santa Cruz, California

I recently found some advertising materials for Daglish’s Health Food Service of Santa Cruz, California, and a little research led to a colourful story.

An article from the Santa Cruz Sentinel by Carolyn Swift provided some details.

The story begins in 1928, when Sarah Jane Kitchen married William Edward Daglish. The couple moved to Santa Cruz at the height of the Depression, opening the “Daglish Free Welfare Depot”. William quickly earned a reputation: the report describes him as "something of a fanatic, driving a "sign-flaunting gas chariot"... on a boisterous one-man moral crusade".

Life for his wife was difficult. She was described as "semi-invalid" and, forced by her husband to eat his chosen diet, some thought she was slowly starving – and said she occasionally went to neighbours for more food.

On July 17 1940, Sarah Jane died. She was buried the next day, Thursday, when William delivered the funeral sermon. On the following day he eloped to Reno, Nevada, with 22-year Joan Allardyce where the couple were married. This series of events led to nationwide news coverage, and one newspaper reported:

"If Daglish and Miss Allardyce had reached the Remo marriage license clerk four minutes later than they did, their marriage would have to be postponed until Sunday because Daglish’s church, Seventh Day Adventist, does not sanction marriages on Saturday."

Meanwhile, back in Santa Cruz, the authorities had ordered Sarah Jane’s body to be exhumed from the Felton Cemetery, and tested for poison.

William protested his innocence and gave his version of the story. He accused the authorities of a plot against him because of his campaigning against vice and gambling. He claimed that Sarah Jane had approved of Miss Allardyce as his future wife, and had urged him to marry her immediately after the funeral.

No poison was detected in the tests, and the authorities accepted the coroner’s decision that Sarah Jane had died of “hemorrhagic pancreatitis”.

The handbill dates from just after this in 1941. The photo shows William, Joan and their daughter Noaomi Celeste. William continued his business until his death in 1952.

William was born in 1896 in Indiana, the son of John Daglish and Mary Aldrich. His grandfather, also John Daglish, had emigrated from England.

I would be very interested to know more about the family and their story, or to hear from any relatives. Also any photos of the Daglish store in Santa Cruz, which was covered with various slogans and adverts - I have seen one small photo from the 1950s, but this is too small and the quality too poor to show here.

NO STRINGS ATTACHED

If we are truly serious in our desire to live a life in union with our Lord we will continue to strive towards detachment from earthly things. We will also try to do away with habitual faults that deter us from making headway in our quest for holiness. For as long as we keep on with our "personal strings" in our lives we will have a hard time progressing in our journey towards a closer and intimate relationship with God. This Lenten season is a great opportunity to reflect on these personal strings and try to overcome them through prayer and fasting.

*****

NO STRINGS ATTACHED [1]
By Fr. Nil Guillemette, S. J.

“A voluntary, deliberate choice (against God’s will),
however slight the object, prevents not
only union, but all progress.”

- St. John of the Cross,
The Ascent of Mount Carmel,
bk. 1, ch.11

*****

THEY WERE a deeply committed Christian couple. They had been faithful to each other throughout the years, had raised their three children as best they could, had gotten involved in various social and charitable causes. That evening they had attended their monthly talk on Carmelite Lay Spirituality, given by a Carmelite priest. And the two of them, Max and Sylvia, had listened most attentively to what the speaker had to say.

That evening he had expounded on the absolute necessity of detachment from sin for any real spiritual progress to be made. In the wake of St. John of the Cross’ teaching, he had insisted that the object or matter of a given sin could be very small, but that nevertheless it created an insurmountable obstacle to progress in intimacy with God since, by its very nature, sin is a “no” to the will of God, a deliberate choice not to give God what he is asking. Saying “no” to God and loving Him simultaneously are impossible. The examples given were: being demanding and fastidious over food; indulging in tittle-tattle and gossip; preferring a person’s company to what we know is God’s will at a given moment; and so forth.

At one point the speaker had brought up John of the Cross’ famous metaphor of the string: whether a bird is tied down by a cable or by a mere string, it doesn’t matter, for the end-result is the same, it cannot fly. Likewise in the life of the soul: if we remain enslaved even to a small choice against God’s will, we cannot progress towards him.

The talk was now over, and Max and Sylvia were back home, holding a postmortem on the talk over a light snack. Sylvia was the first to steer the conversation into the area of personal applications.

“You know, Max,” she said half-smiling and half-serious, “I think I’ve got a string in my life.”

Max was surprised. He knew his wife so well he couldn’t imagine that a woman of her total dedication to the things of God could have a disorderly attachment in her life, something that would create an obstacle to her intimacy with God.

“Oh? Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m pretty sure. It’s those cheap novels I love to read every day; you know those pocketbooks of detective stories, romance, science fiction?”

“But there’s nothing wrong in that! Those books are not immoral or anything.”

“No – it’s just that they’re such a loss of time. Just think that I easily spend two hours a day reading such books, while I could be doing any number of more useful things for the Kingdom.”

He didn’t insist. come to think of it, it was true that Sylvia had been addicted to reading pocketbooks for years, sometimes neglecting more urgent things in order to satisfy her passion. But now that the children were grown up and that she had more time on her hands, he had figured that she could indulge herself in her innocent pastime. Nonetheless, if the Spirit was moving her towards abstention, he would certainly try to give her the support she would need.

“Anyway,” he said, “it’s up to you, honey. Just be sure it’s not going to be too difficult for you. After all, the Lord’s yoke is supposed to be easy and his burden light.”

She was grateful for his understanding. Max was truly a man of God, she thought with admiration, and she always discovered new aspects of his utter dedication to the service of God and his fellowmen. She didn’t imagine he had any strings keeping him from spiritual progress.

“By the way,” he continued after a pause, “I think I’ve got a string too.”

“Are you serious?” she asked in astonishment.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s about my habit of watching TV every evening until past midnight .”

“But you’re not doing anything wrong either.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be too sure about that. You know how lousy I feel in the morning when I get up. I’m a bit cranky at breakfast – or at least sullen. I’m so sleepy at the wheel when I drive to work that I’m a public menace. Then it takes me part of the morning to reach my cruising speed on the job. No, honey, I’ve become aware of these things lately – after years of not really noticing anything wrong: strange, isn’t it? – and now I know in my bones that God wants me to do something about it.”

“Like what, do you think?”

“Well, like turning off the TV after the ten o’clock news, for instance. Yeah, I think that’s what I’m going to do.”

She didn’t protest. She had too much respect for his sterling honesty and level-headedness. If he figured he had too much TV he was probably right.

“Okay, Max,” she said. “I’ll second you on that. But just make sure you’re not more cranky at breakfast for having missed your favorite programs.”

She was joking, of course, because Max was very even-tempered, at least exteriorly. They both laughed.

“Well then,” he said in conclusion, “do we agree to both work on our personal string at least for a trial period? Then we can evaluate and see if we made the right decision.”

They agreed on a one-month period.

The following month was difficult for both of them. At times Sylvia thought she would go crazy without her novels. And so, in order to fill the horrible void in her life (she was really surprised at the strength of her addiction) she took up meditation and spiritual reading on a much more regular basis, began visiting old ladies in her neighborhood and doing their shopping for them, got involved in voluntary assistance to the handicapped, enrolled in an Art course at the university, and in general progressed enormously in her awareness of God’s presence in her life.

On his part, Max experienced a similar deepening of his closeness to God – apart from feeling much moiré alert and alive when he got up in the morning. He also found he had more time to pray, to relax, to enjoy Sylvia’s company. But these benefits were not gained without a fierce struggle on his part. And there was many a time when he would turn off the TV after the ten o’clock news only with the greatest reluctance.

At the end of the month they compared notes. They both observed that the sacrifice they had made had cost them terribly – much more that they had anticipated – but that it was well worth it. And so, they decided to hold themselves to their resolution, come what may. this they did, and their spiritual progress continued with great intensity, allowing of course for the inevitable ups and downs of Christian life. Thus a year passed.

When the time came for Max’s annual vacation, they decided to spend it driving around the country, so as to admire nature’s beauty. Their three grow-up children came to see them off on their trip.

Just as they were leaving the driveway, one of the children shouted to them.

“Hey! Drive carefully there! It’s easy to get killed on those superhighways.”

“We know,” Sylvia shouted back with a laugh, “but we’re ready to die.”

Those were their parting words. And also their last message to their loved ones, for they never came back from that trip. Both were killed instantaneously when a big truck rammed their car at full speed.

Afterwards, Sylvia’s last words, “we’re ready to die,” were repeated at the eulogy delivered during the funeral. And every one there who knew them agreed: Max and Sylvia at the end of their lives had both reached the point when they belonged totally to God, never refusing him anything. No strings were holding them back. They were ready to meet him.

End Notes

1. Fr. Nil Guillemette, S. J., “Arise, My Love – God Tales for Young and Old”, St. Paul Publications, Makati , Philippines , 1991, Chapter 20, pp. 99-103.

2. I have Fr. Nil's permission to use his stories via his letter to me dated Feb. 10, 2001: "In answer to your letter of Feb. 1, which I received yesterday, I gladly give you permission to use my stories in your bible sharings. However, in order to discourage any illegal pirating from unscrupulous readers, please always add the proper reference (author, publisher, book, pages, etc.). "

NO STRINGS ATTACHED

If we are truly serious in our desire to live a life in union with our Lord we will continue to strive towards detachment from earthly things. We will also try to do away with habitual faults that deter us from making headway in our quest for holiness. For as long as we keep on with our "personal strings" in our lives we will have a hard time progressing in our journey towards a closer and intimate relationship with God. This Lenten season is a great opportunity to reflect on these personal strings and try to overcome them through prayer and fasting.

*****

NO STRINGS ATTACHED [1]
By Fr. Nil Guillemette, S. J.

“A voluntary, deliberate choice (against God’s will),
however slight the object, prevents not
only union, but all progress.”

- St. John of the Cross,
The Ascent of Mount Carmel,
bk. 1, ch.11

*****

THEY WERE a deeply committed Christian couple. They had been faithful to each other throughout the years, had raised their three children as best they could, had gotten involved in various social and charitable causes. That evening they had attended their monthly talk on Carmelite Lay Spirituality, given by a Carmelite priest. And the two of them, Max and Sylvia, had listened most attentively to what the speaker had to say.

That evening he had expounded on the absolute necessity of detachment from sin for any real spiritual progress to be made. In the wake of St. John of the Cross’ teaching, he had insisted that the object or matter of a given sin could be very small, but that nevertheless it created an insurmountable obstacle to progress in intimacy with God since, by its very nature, sin is a “no” to the will of God, a deliberate choice not to give God what he is asking. Saying “no” to God and loving Him simultaneously are impossible. The examples given were: being demanding and fastidious over food; indulging in tittle-tattle and gossip; preferring a person’s company to what we know is God’s will at a given moment; and so forth.

At one point the speaker had brought up John of the Cross’ famous metaphor of the string: whether a bird is tied down by a cable or by a mere string, it doesn’t matter, for the end-result is the same, it cannot fly. Likewise in the life of the soul: if we remain enslaved even to a small choice against God’s will, we cannot progress towards him.

The talk was now over, and Max and Sylvia were back home, holding a postmortem on the talk over a light snack. Sylvia was the first to steer the conversation into the area of personal applications.

“You know, Max,” she said half-smiling and half-serious, “I think I’ve got a string in my life.”

Max was surprised. He knew his wife so well he couldn’t imagine that a woman of her total dedication to the things of God could have a disorderly attachment in her life, something that would create an obstacle to her intimacy with God.

“Oh? Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m pretty sure. It’s those cheap novels I love to read every day; you know those pocketbooks of detective stories, romance, science fiction?”

“But there’s nothing wrong in that! Those books are not immoral or anything.”

“No – it’s just that they’re such a loss of time. Just think that I easily spend two hours a day reading such books, while I could be doing any number of more useful things for the Kingdom.”

He didn’t insist. come to think of it, it was true that Sylvia had been addicted to reading pocketbooks for years, sometimes neglecting more urgent things in order to satisfy her passion. But now that the children were grown up and that she had more time on her hands, he had figured that she could indulge herself in her innocent pastime. Nonetheless, if the Spirit was moving her towards abstention, he would certainly try to give her the support she would need.

“Anyway,” he said, “it’s up to you, honey. Just be sure it’s not going to be too difficult for you. After all, the Lord’s yoke is supposed to be easy and his burden light.”

She was grateful for his understanding. Max was truly a man of God, she thought with admiration, and she always discovered new aspects of his utter dedication to the service of God and his fellowmen. She didn’t imagine he had any strings keeping him from spiritual progress.

“By the way,” he continued after a pause, “I think I’ve got a string too.”

“Are you serious?” she asked in astonishment.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s about my habit of watching TV every evening until past midnight .”

“But you’re not doing anything wrong either.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be too sure about that. You know how lousy I feel in the morning when I get up. I’m a bit cranky at breakfast – or at least sullen. I’m so sleepy at the wheel when I drive to work that I’m a public menace. Then it takes me part of the morning to reach my cruising speed on the job. No, honey, I’ve become aware of these things lately – after years of not really noticing anything wrong: strange, isn’t it? – and now I know in my bones that God wants me to do something about it.”

“Like what, do you think?”

“Well, like turning off the TV after the ten o’clock news, for instance. Yeah, I think that’s what I’m going to do.”

She didn’t protest. She had too much respect for his sterling honesty and level-headedness. If he figured he had too much TV he was probably right.

“Okay, Max,” she said. “I’ll second you on that. But just make sure you’re not more cranky at breakfast for having missed your favorite programs.”

She was joking, of course, because Max was very even-tempered, at least exteriorly. They both laughed.

“Well then,” he said in conclusion, “do we agree to both work on our personal string at least for a trial period? Then we can evaluate and see if we made the right decision.”

They agreed on a one-month period.

The following month was difficult for both of them. At times Sylvia thought she would go crazy without her novels. And so, in order to fill the horrible void in her life (she was really surprised at the strength of her addiction) she took up meditation and spiritual reading on a much more regular basis, began visiting old ladies in her neighborhood and doing their shopping for them, got involved in voluntary assistance to the handicapped, enrolled in an Art course at the university, and in general progressed enormously in her awareness of God’s presence in her life.

On his part, Max experienced a similar deepening of his closeness to God – apart from feeling much moiré alert and alive when he got up in the morning. He also found he had more time to pray, to relax, to enjoy Sylvia’s company. But these benefits were not gained without a fierce struggle on his part. And there was many a time when he would turn off the TV after the ten o’clock news only with the greatest reluctance.

At the end of the month they compared notes. They both observed that the sacrifice they had made had cost them terribly – much more that they had anticipated – but that it was well worth it. And so, they decided to hold themselves to their resolution, come what may. this they did, and their spiritual progress continued with great intensity, allowing of course for the inevitable ups and downs of Christian life. Thus a year passed.

When the time came for Max’s annual vacation, they decided to spend it driving around the country, so as to admire nature’s beauty. Their three grow-up children came to see them off on their trip.

Just as they were leaving the driveway, one of the children shouted to them.

“Hey! Drive carefully there! It’s easy to get killed on those superhighways.”

“We know,” Sylvia shouted back with a laugh, “but we’re ready to die.”

Those were their parting words. And also their last message to their loved ones, for they never came back from that trip. Both were killed instantaneously when a big truck rammed their car at full speed.

Afterwards, Sylvia’s last words, “we’re ready to die,” were repeated at the eulogy delivered during the funeral. And every one there who knew them agreed: Max and Sylvia at the end of their lives had both reached the point when they belonged totally to God, never refusing him anything. No strings were holding them back. They were ready to meet him.

End Notes

1. Fr. Nil Guillemette, S. J., “Arise, My Love – God Tales for Young and Old”, St. Paul Publications, Makati , Philippines , 1991, Chapter 20, pp. 99-103.

2. I have Fr. Nil's permission to use his stories via his letter to me dated Feb. 10, 2001: "In answer to your letter of Feb. 1, which I received yesterday, I gladly give you permission to use my stories in your bible sharings. However, in order to discourage any illegal pirating from unscrupulous readers, please always add the proper reference (author, publisher, book, pages, etc.). "

Primitive...

Im loving primitive, and Ive decided to get back on some prim Easter crafts. The last ones I done where at Christmas and I think out of all the crafts I do this has to be my fave!

A prim Easter egg:




Prim chicks!:

Primitive...

Im loving primitive, and Ive decided to get back on some prim Easter crafts. The last ones I done where at Christmas and I think out of all the crafts I do this has to be my fave!

A prim Easter egg:




Prim chicks!:

Daglish boxers of Workington

I recently stumbled upon an excellent web site abour Pre-War Boxing, run by boxing historian Miles Templeton. The site included details of two Daglishes who were boxing in Workington in the mid 1930s -Harry and Jim Daglish. From the site I obtained scans of two handbills from 1934.

The first is for Harry Daglish (born Henry Daglish, born 1917, died 1977). The fight to which the handbill refers took place on Monday November 12, 1934 at Drill Hall Carlisle. Harry beat his opponent Frank Moran on points.

At this time Harry would have been 17 years old. Miles tells me that he would be fighting for prizes of around 10 or 15 shillings, money that would support the family budget.

Harry was a member of Jim Pattinson’s Boxing Club and fought all over the North of England, from Workington to Manchester and across to the North East.

He carried on boxing until he was called up into the Navy during WW2. In the Navy he kept quiet about his boxing skills – but his daughter Linda tells a story:

“There was one fellow used to win bouts most of the time and he got rather too big for his boots - so Dad decided to bring him down a peg or two. Harry told his mate to put all the money he could scrape together on himself - and then he hammered the other fellow, much to everyone’s surprise! They all lost their money, except Dad’s mate - and of course the other fellow wasn't quite so big for his boots after that.”

Harry is part of the Daglish family which has been involved for many years with Workington’s famous Uppies & Downies held each year over the Easter period.

The other handbill is for Jim Daglish – and this is proving something of a puzzle, as no-one knows who this is! The fight appears to be a challenge match, as the handbill reads:

Daglish has asked for this contest, confident he will check Nugent’s series of victories. Will he?

Unfortunately we don’t know the result of the match!

My thanks to Miles Templeton for the handbills and to Linda Carter for the photo and family details.

Daglish boxers of Workington

I recently stumbled upon an excellent web site abour Pre-War Boxing, run by boxing historian Miles Templeton. The site included details of two Daglishes who were boxing in Workington in the mid 1930s -Harry and Jim Daglish. From the site I obtained scans of two handbills from 1934.

The first is for Harry Daglish (born Henry Daglish, born 1917, died 1977). The fight to which the handbill refers took place on Monday November 12, 1934 at Drill Hall Carlisle. Harry beat his opponent Frank Moran on points.

At this time Harry would have been 17 years old. Miles tells me that he would be fighting for prizes of around 10 or 15 shillings, money that would support the family budget.

Harry was a member of Jim Pattinson’s Boxing Club and fought all over the North of England, from Workington to Manchester and across to the North East.

He carried on boxing until he was called up into the Navy during WW2. In the Navy he kept quiet about his boxing skills – but his daughter Linda tells a story:

“There was one fellow used to win bouts most of the time and he got rather too big for his boots - so Dad decided to bring him down a peg or two. Harry told his mate to put all the money he could scrape together on himself - and then he hammered the other fellow, much to everyone’s surprise! They all lost their money, except Dad’s mate - and of course the other fellow wasn't quite so big for his boots after that.”

Harry is part of the Daglish family which has been involved for many years with Workington’s famous Uppies & Downies held each year over the Easter period.

The other handbill is for Jim Daglish – and this is proving something of a puzzle, as no-one knows who this is! The fight appears to be a challenge match, as the handbill reads:

Daglish has asked for this contest, confident he will check Nugent’s series of victories. Will he?

Unfortunately we don’t know the result of the match!

My thanks to Miles Templeton for the handbills and to Linda Carter for the photo and family details.

My first award!

I am so happy!
Ive been given my first award by a lovely lady!
Thank you so much Denise from Samaritan Women

My first award!

I am so happy!
Ive been given my first award by a lovely lady!
Thank you so much Denise from Samaritan Women

Corners of my home...

Ive been dying to do one of these posts for a while now as I love seeing all of yours!
So, here are some of my fave rooms in our home.

THE KITCHEN:










Please excuse the candle-making! I could'nt move it once I started!

THE DRESSER IN THE DINING ROOM:




MY GIRLS ROOM:









The old ottaman, I repainted and re-upholstered.

Corners of my home...

Ive been dying to do one of these posts for a while now as I love seeing all of yours!
So, here are some of my fave rooms in our home.

THE KITCHEN:










Please excuse the candle-making! I could'nt move it once I started!

THE DRESSER IN THE DINING ROOM:




MY GIRLS ROOM:









The old ottaman, I repainted and re-upholstered.

More cake....

I decided today to make one of my most favourite desserts! Its called Manchester Tart. It must be the easiest thing ever to make and it is just divine!!
I did cheat though and use ready made pastry as I didnt have time to make any.


Ingredients:
Pastry case
2-3tbsp Strawberry jam
1/2 pint custard
Desiccated coconut
2 Bananas (optional)

Recipe:

Fill the bottom of a pastry case with jam
Add sliced banana on top (this is optional, thats why I made 2 one with one without!)
Spoon custard on top of jam
Sprinkle with coconut

Put in fridge for approx 1 hour

After an hour, put kettle on, put feet up....and enjoy!!!

More cake....

I decided today to make one of my most favourite desserts! Its called Manchester Tart. It must be the easiest thing ever to make and it is just divine!!
I did cheat though and use ready made pastry as I didnt have time to make any.


Ingredients:
Pastry case
2-3tbsp Strawberry jam
1/2 pint custard
Desiccated coconut
2 Bananas (optional)

Recipe:

Fill the bottom of a pastry case with jam
Add sliced banana on top (this is optional, thats why I made 2 one with one without!)
Spoon custard on top of jam
Sprinkle with coconut

Put in fridge for approx 1 hour

After an hour, put kettle on, put feet up....and enjoy!!!

Remember When - a Daglish research story

This week I was sent a copy of "Remember When", a monthly magazine on local history covering Newcastle and the North East. Included in this issue is a story about a Daglish family - and how an interest in finding about their family history has brought together cousins living many miles apart.

The story starts in July 2007 when Stuart Daglish, who lives in Doncaster, came across some old letters which started his interest.

Stuart knew that his father, John Francis Daglish, was from Byker in Newcastle. His father never spoke much about his childhood, except to say that he was brought 130 miles south to Doncaster from Newcastle when he was aged about 13 by someone called Elizabeth Machin and her husband. Stuart's father died in 1987, and all that Stuart had to start with was his father's old, tattered and taped birth certificate, an old photograph of his grandfather in uniform and two old letters from the only known sibling.

Stuart's grandfather, John Maddison Daglish, was born in Gateshead in 1884 and died of wounds in 1915 whilst serving in Gallipoli with the Northumberland Fusiliers. Stuart's grandmother, Theresa Daglish (nee Francis), later re-married but died in childbirth in 1922.

Stuart placed an advert in the Newcastle Chronicle looking for family members brought immediate results. He remembers:

"Three days later one of my cousins replied. She had not seen the advertisement. It was a friend of one of her daughters who read it and rushed round to their house. We had a three hour telephone conversation that Friday night and she put me in touch with other cousins. I went up to Newcastle in September to meet them and they are all wonderful people, and we are now in touch regularly. It is wonderful to discover you have new enlarged family you were not aware of."

Pictured (left to right) Kathleen Nelson, Betty Garner, Stuart Daglish and Pat Whitton.

Betty Garner is the daughter of Henry Butcher and Isabella Daglish. Kathleen Nelson and Patricia Whitton are daughters of Thomas McKane and Catherine Daglish.

Pat has been working with Stuart on the research, spending many hours in the Tyne & Wear Archives at the Discovery Museum in Newcastle, looking not just at family records but also at where their ancestors lived and the social conditions in those times.

Stuart got in touch with me at the end of last year when he was trying to find out about his great great grandfather James Daglish who married Isabella Wheatley in 1844. James was proving hard to track down, but I was able to put Stuart in touch with Elaine, also descended from James and Isabella, who had found a possible answer to this mystery and extended the research on the family back to the parish of Whickham in the late 17th century.

Stuart and Pat hope that the article in "Remember When" might result in more contacts with relatives and people who knew the family. If you would like to get in touch with Stuart and Pat, please contact me at the e-mail address in the Profile section and I will be happy to pass on your details, or leave a Comment below.

My thanks to Pat for sending me the magazine and photos, and to Stuart for the details he has provided to the Daglish One-Name Study.

Remember When is published monthly by The Evening Chronicle and aims to record the recent history of the North East through the memories of local people.

Remember When - a Daglish research story

This week I was sent a copy of "Remember When", a monthly magazine on local history covering Newcastle and the North East. Included in this issue is a story about a Daglish family - and how an interest in finding about their family history has brought together cousins living many miles apart.

The story starts in July 2007 when Stuart Daglish, who lives in Doncaster, came across some old letters which started his interest.

Stuart knew that his father, John Francis Daglish, was from Byker in Newcastle. His father never spoke much about his childhood, except to say that he was brought 130 miles south to Doncaster from Newcastle when he was aged about 13 by someone called Elizabeth Machin and her husband. Stuart's father died in 1987, and all that Stuart had to start with was his father's old, tattered and taped birth certificate, an old photograph of his grandfather in uniform and two old letters from the only known sibling.

Stuart's grandfather, John Maddison Daglish, was born in Gateshead in 1884 and died of wounds in 1915 whilst serving in Gallipoli with the Northumberland Fusiliers. Stuart's grandmother, Theresa Daglish (nee Francis), later re-married but died in childbirth in 1922.

Stuart placed an advert in the Newcastle Chronicle looking for family members brought immediate results. He remembers:

"Three days later one of my cousins replied. She had not seen the advertisement. It was a friend of one of her daughters who read it and rushed round to their house. We had a three hour telephone conversation that Friday night and she put me in touch with other cousins. I went up to Newcastle in September to meet them and they are all wonderful people, and we are now in touch regularly. It is wonderful to discover you have new enlarged family you were not aware of."

Pictured (left to right) Kathleen Nelson, Betty Garner, Stuart Daglish and Pat Whitton.

Betty Garner is the daughter of Henry Butcher and Isabella Daglish. Kathleen Nelson and Patricia Whitton are daughters of Thomas McKane and Catherine Daglish.

Pat has been working with Stuart on the research, spending many hours in the Tyne & Wear Archives at the Discovery Museum in Newcastle, looking not just at family records but also at where their ancestors lived and the social conditions in those times.

Stuart got in touch with me at the end of last year when he was trying to find out about his great great grandfather James Daglish who married Isabella Wheatley in 1844. James was proving hard to track down, but I was able to put Stuart in touch with Elaine, also descended from James and Isabella, who had found a possible answer to this mystery and extended the research on the family back to the parish of Whickham in the late 17th century.

Stuart and Pat hope that the article in "Remember When" might result in more contacts with relatives and people who knew the family. If you would like to get in touch with Stuart and Pat, please contact me at the e-mail address in the Profile section and I will be happy to pass on your details, or leave a Comment below.

My thanks to Pat for sending me the magazine and photos, and to Stuart for the details he has provided to the Daglish One-Name Study.

Remember When is published monthly by The Evening Chronicle and aims to record the recent history of the North East through the memories of local people.

SMALL IS BEAUTIFUL

It is a fact that most everyone is finding it so hard to practice the virtue of humility - I personally do - probably because by his very nature man is a proud creature. It has been said that pride is the root of all evils while humility is the foundation of all virtues. That is probably the reason why it is difficult to be truly humble. Once we even start saying we have acquired humility we begin to realize we do not genuinely possess it.

In my own personal experience for instance, whenever I beg the Lord to make me humble, He immediately responds to my prayer. He places me right away in very humbling circumstances or situations and sometimes when that happens I find myself complaining out loud to Him. So, where is true humility in that?

Anyway, I can easily relate to the Nun in the story below. The advice of the street sweeper gives very good insight for all of us on how we can begin to practice this particular virtue, thanks to Fr. Nil.

*****

SMALL IS BEAUTIFUL [1]
By Fr. Nil Guillemette, S. J.

*****


"In humility count others better than yourselves." - (Ph 2:3)

"My son, conduct your affairs with humility, and you will be loved more than a giver of gifts." - (Sir 3:17)

*****

IMPERIAL DE LOS REYES WAS by nature a proud woman. Understandably then, when she entered a contemplative order at eighteen and perceived how her pride was an obstacle to any real progress in living out the Gospel, she set about changing herself, fiercely determined to become humble, whatever the cost.

And, for the following thirty years, she humbled herself in every conceivable way. Not only did she always seek the last place and the most distasteful tasks in the monastery, but she also frequently meditated on those passages of the Gospel which enjoin the necessity of becoming small in order to enter the Kingdom of heaven. However, her chief occupation was to dwell on her sinfulness so as to succeed in despising herself more thoroughly. Unfortunately, all these efforts seemed to produce little result. After thirty years of soul-searching and breast-beating, she was still very proud and well aware of it.

One day, as she was near despair over her incurable pride and meditating in her cell about what she should do to finally become small in her own eyes, she heard the voice of God speaking in her heart with utterclarity.

It said, "Imperial, go to the window and you will see a truly humble soul." Stunned by this strange occurrence, she held her breath, unable to believe what was happening to her. Since she was a verylevel-headed person, she was not one to lay much store on so-called heavenly voices. But then, to her amazement, she heard the voice once more, this time with a ring of authority that no created agency could ever contrive. "Obey, Imperial," it said, "for such is my wish. Go to the window and look out on the street. There you will see a truly humble soul."

The persuasiveness of that voice was overpowering. There was only one thing to do, and that was to comply. And so, somewhat dazed by this strange experience, Imperial stood up and walked to the window of her cell. It looked out on the adjacent street, a busy thoroughfare alive with vehicles and pedestrians. As the nun peered through the window, she immediately spotted a young woman, a street sweeper working her way towards the corner. "Yes, that is she," confirmed the voice, "go to her and learn from her." At this point Imperial felt at a complete loss. Was it possible that an uneducated girl could teach her, a middle-aged contemplative, what she had been unable to learn after thirty years of constant effort? Yet, thecommand of the voice was so peremptory that she was left with no other choice but to obey. So she left her cell and hurried into the street.

Naturally Imperial had no idea on how she would broach the subject of her inquiry, or even how she would strike a conversation to begin with. But luck was on her side - or was it Providence? The moment the girl saw the nun approaching, her face lit up. She interrupted her sweeping at once and said, "Oh, excuse me, Sister. I was hoping to meet a Madre this morning, and there you are." She was a rather plain girl in her early twenties, but her radiant smile and her natural gracefulness amply compensated for her lack of beauty. Imperial was grateful that her task was thus made easy. She smiled back nervously and asked, "Is that so? Well, then, what can I do for you?"

It turned out that the girl, who introduced herself as Parva, was anxious about the health of a sister-in-law who was pregnant and had a difficult time of it; she wished to have "special prayers" said for herrelative. Imperial promised to pray faithfully for that intention in the weeks to come. Then she adroitly shifted the conversation. "In return, Parva," she said, "perhaps you could do me a favor."

"Of course," replied the girl eagerly, "what is it?". Then Imperial explained as simply as shecould that the Madres too need other people's prayers. Take her, for example. She had tried for many years to obtain the grace of humility and was still seeking it. "Believe me, Parva," she concluded, "I am still veryfar from being humble."

While the nun was talking, Parva had resumed her work. On these last words of her new acquaintance she briefly glanced up and asked, "How is that possible? I thought that humility was very easy to acquire in thereligious life." The nun smiled at this popular misconception. "Oh no, Parva, it isn't. We do have lots of exercises of humility, we are even taught to seek humiliations, but that is very different from humilityitself." The girl took on a puzzled air. "An exercise of humility? What is that?" she inquired.

While the young street-sweeper pursued her task, the nun explained to her what the phrase meant. Thus, without having planned to do so, she found herself describing exactly what she herself had been doingfor the past thirty-years. While she was talking, she observed that the girl wielded her broom with energy, yet managed to keep the dust at a minimum. She also smiled sweetly at those vendors or bystanders whom she had to disturb as she proceeded with her work. It seemed as if she regarded everybody as her social superior. This struck Imperial very much because, try as she may, she had never sincerely believed herself to be inferior to anyone.

When the nun concluded her explanation of what is meant by "exercise of humility," she added, "Do you understand now, Parva?"

"Oh yes," answered the girl, "but - " she paused for a moment, as if to silence an objection. Then she simply smiled and said nothing. Imperial was curious to know what the girl was about to say. So she prodded her on.

"Tell me, Parva, don't you have any difficulty in being humble?"
The girl laughed gaily at the odd question. "Well," she answered with a twinkle in her eyes, "I must say I did have for a while. But then I discovered why and changed my way of doing things. Since then, I don't know if I have made any progress in humility, but it doesn't seem important to me anymore."

Imperial was intrigued by these words. How she longed to know the secret of this simple street-sweeper! "Come on, Parva," she urged, "share your experience with me!" The girl laughed delightedly again, amused at the prospect of being interviewed by a Madre. How could she, a mere street-sweeper, teach anything to a mature contemplative nun? But, sensing the earnestness of Imperial's request, she nevertheless set aside her reluctance and began to speak with great simplicity.

"Well, Sister," she said, "when I heard the priest read in the Gospel that one has to become small in order to enter the Kingdom of heaven, I started to look down on myself and I became very busy with the thought of making myself small. But that did not seem to work out very well. I soon noticed that, despite all my good will and my best intentions, I was still concentrating on myself. Of course, it was always for the purpose of blaming myself for my sins and of realizing how weak I was. But that did not succeed in changing me. It was, you know, like in one of those plays where the hero is very wicked. I was the wicked hero of my play. But I was still at the center of the stage."

Parva smiled to herself at the memory of her naivety. In her concentration, she had forgotten her work, her broom standing idle in her hands. How clearly she recalled the insight that had brought her to changeher outlook! "Well," she resumed, glancing at the nun with a smile of apology for her boldness in speaking so much of herself, "I finally understood that looking down on myself was useless. Instead, I began tolook up to the people around me. You see, Sister, whenever I look at a person with reverence and love, I see that person as taller than I am. And so now I have no more difficulty in feeling small." She concluded with acomic shrug of the shoulders, as if to deprecate her discovery, "I guess it's all a matter of where you look, Sister."

Imperial said nothing more. She knew in her heart that the girl was right. Besides, she could see with her own eyes what the course followed by Parva could do to a person. For indeed, here was someone whose every spontaneous gesture expressed naturalness, freedom from pride, utter simplicity. As the voice had said: a truly humble soul.

The nun felt an immense gratitude for what the street-sweeper had taught her unwittingly. In an impulsive reaction of affection she hugged the girl right there on the street corner. "Thank you very much, Parva,"she said with tears in her eyes, "I will remember faithfully what you just shared with me." Then she returned to her convent.

She never met the street-sweeper again. But the girl's words were not lost on her. From then on she stopped looking down on herself and began looking up to her sisters with reverence and love. And eventually, without even being aware of it, she lost pride forever.

End Notes

1. "A GENTLE BREEZE - God Tales for Young and Old," by Fr. Nil Guillemette SJ, Chapter 12, pp. 80-84, St Pauls Publication, Makati City, Philippines, 1989.

2. I have Fr. Nil's permission to use his stories via his letter to me dated Feb. 10, 2001: "In answer to your letter of Feb. 1, which I received yesterday, I gladly give you permission to use my stories in your bible sharings. However, in order to discourage any illegal pirating from unscrupulous readers, please always add the proper reference (author, publisher, book, pages, etc.). "

SMALL IS BEAUTIFUL

It is a fact that most everyone is finding it so hard to practice the virtue of humility - I personally do - probably because by his very nature man is a proud creature. It has been said that pride is the root of all evils while humility is the foundation of all virtues. That is probably the reason why it is difficult to be truly humble. Once we even start saying we have acquired humility we begin to realize we do not genuinely possess it.

In my own personal experience for instance, whenever I beg the Lord to make me humble, He immediately responds to my prayer. He places me right away in very humbling circumstances or situations and sometimes when that happens I find myself complaining out loud to Him. So, where is true humility in that?

Anyway, I can easily relate to the Nun in the story below. The advice of the street sweeper gives very good insight for all of us on how we can begin to practice this particular virtue, thanks to Fr. Nil.

*****

SMALL IS BEAUTIFUL [1]
By Fr. Nil Guillemette, S. J.

*****


"In humility count others better than yourselves." - (Ph 2:3)

"My son, conduct your affairs with humility, and you will be loved more than a giver of gifts." - (Sir 3:17)

*****

IMPERIAL DE LOS REYES WAS by nature a proud woman. Understandably then, when she entered a contemplative order at eighteen and perceived how her pride was an obstacle to any real progress in living out the Gospel, she set about changing herself, fiercely determined to become humble, whatever the cost.

And, for the following thirty years, she humbled herself in every conceivable way. Not only did she always seek the last place and the most distasteful tasks in the monastery, but she also frequently meditated on those passages of the Gospel which enjoin the necessity of becoming small in order to enter the Kingdom of heaven. However, her chief occupation was to dwell on her sinfulness so as to succeed in despising herself more thoroughly. Unfortunately, all these efforts seemed to produce little result. After thirty years of soul-searching and breast-beating, she was still very proud and well aware of it.

One day, as she was near despair over her incurable pride and meditating in her cell about what she should do to finally become small in her own eyes, she heard the voice of God speaking in her heart with utterclarity.

It said, "Imperial, go to the window and you will see a truly humble soul." Stunned by this strange occurrence, she held her breath, unable to believe what was happening to her. Since she was a verylevel-headed person, she was not one to lay much store on so-called heavenly voices. But then, to her amazement, she heard the voice once more, this time with a ring of authority that no created agency could ever contrive. "Obey, Imperial," it said, "for such is my wish. Go to the window and look out on the street. There you will see a truly humble soul."

The persuasiveness of that voice was overpowering. There was only one thing to do, and that was to comply. And so, somewhat dazed by this strange experience, Imperial stood up and walked to the window of her cell. It looked out on the adjacent street, a busy thoroughfare alive with vehicles and pedestrians. As the nun peered through the window, she immediately spotted a young woman, a street sweeper working her way towards the corner. "Yes, that is she," confirmed the voice, "go to her and learn from her." At this point Imperial felt at a complete loss. Was it possible that an uneducated girl could teach her, a middle-aged contemplative, what she had been unable to learn after thirty years of constant effort? Yet, thecommand of the voice was so peremptory that she was left with no other choice but to obey. So she left her cell and hurried into the street.

Naturally Imperial had no idea on how she would broach the subject of her inquiry, or even how she would strike a conversation to begin with. But luck was on her side - or was it Providence? The moment the girl saw the nun approaching, her face lit up. She interrupted her sweeping at once and said, "Oh, excuse me, Sister. I was hoping to meet a Madre this morning, and there you are." She was a rather plain girl in her early twenties, but her radiant smile and her natural gracefulness amply compensated for her lack of beauty. Imperial was grateful that her task was thus made easy. She smiled back nervously and asked, "Is that so? Well, then, what can I do for you?"

It turned out that the girl, who introduced herself as Parva, was anxious about the health of a sister-in-law who was pregnant and had a difficult time of it; she wished to have "special prayers" said for herrelative. Imperial promised to pray faithfully for that intention in the weeks to come. Then she adroitly shifted the conversation. "In return, Parva," she said, "perhaps you could do me a favor."

"Of course," replied the girl eagerly, "what is it?". Then Imperial explained as simply as shecould that the Madres too need other people's prayers. Take her, for example. She had tried for many years to obtain the grace of humility and was still seeking it. "Believe me, Parva," she concluded, "I am still veryfar from being humble."

While the nun was talking, Parva had resumed her work. On these last words of her new acquaintance she briefly glanced up and asked, "How is that possible? I thought that humility was very easy to acquire in thereligious life." The nun smiled at this popular misconception. "Oh no, Parva, it isn't. We do have lots of exercises of humility, we are even taught to seek humiliations, but that is very different from humilityitself." The girl took on a puzzled air. "An exercise of humility? What is that?" she inquired.

While the young street-sweeper pursued her task, the nun explained to her what the phrase meant. Thus, without having planned to do so, she found herself describing exactly what she herself had been doingfor the past thirty-years. While she was talking, she observed that the girl wielded her broom with energy, yet managed to keep the dust at a minimum. She also smiled sweetly at those vendors or bystanders whom she had to disturb as she proceeded with her work. It seemed as if she regarded everybody as her social superior. This struck Imperial very much because, try as she may, she had never sincerely believed herself to be inferior to anyone.

When the nun concluded her explanation of what is meant by "exercise of humility," she added, "Do you understand now, Parva?"

"Oh yes," answered the girl, "but - " she paused for a moment, as if to silence an objection. Then she simply smiled and said nothing. Imperial was curious to know what the girl was about to say. So she prodded her on.

"Tell me, Parva, don't you have any difficulty in being humble?"
The girl laughed gaily at the odd question. "Well," she answered with a twinkle in her eyes, "I must say I did have for a while. But then I discovered why and changed my way of doing things. Since then, I don't know if I have made any progress in humility, but it doesn't seem important to me anymore."

Imperial was intrigued by these words. How she longed to know the secret of this simple street-sweeper! "Come on, Parva," she urged, "share your experience with me!" The girl laughed delightedly again, amused at the prospect of being interviewed by a Madre. How could she, a mere street-sweeper, teach anything to a mature contemplative nun? But, sensing the earnestness of Imperial's request, she nevertheless set aside her reluctance and began to speak with great simplicity.

"Well, Sister," she said, "when I heard the priest read in the Gospel that one has to become small in order to enter the Kingdom of heaven, I started to look down on myself and I became very busy with the thought of making myself small. But that did not seem to work out very well. I soon noticed that, despite all my good will and my best intentions, I was still concentrating on myself. Of course, it was always for the purpose of blaming myself for my sins and of realizing how weak I was. But that did not succeed in changing me. It was, you know, like in one of those plays where the hero is very wicked. I was the wicked hero of my play. But I was still at the center of the stage."

Parva smiled to herself at the memory of her naivety. In her concentration, she had forgotten her work, her broom standing idle in her hands. How clearly she recalled the insight that had brought her to changeher outlook! "Well," she resumed, glancing at the nun with a smile of apology for her boldness in speaking so much of herself, "I finally understood that looking down on myself was useless. Instead, I began tolook up to the people around me. You see, Sister, whenever I look at a person with reverence and love, I see that person as taller than I am. And so now I have no more difficulty in feeling small." She concluded with acomic shrug of the shoulders, as if to deprecate her discovery, "I guess it's all a matter of where you look, Sister."

Imperial said nothing more. She knew in her heart that the girl was right. Besides, she could see with her own eyes what the course followed by Parva could do to a person. For indeed, here was someone whose every spontaneous gesture expressed naturalness, freedom from pride, utter simplicity. As the voice had said: a truly humble soul.

The nun felt an immense gratitude for what the street-sweeper had taught her unwittingly. In an impulsive reaction of affection she hugged the girl right there on the street corner. "Thank you very much, Parva,"she said with tears in her eyes, "I will remember faithfully what you just shared with me." Then she returned to her convent.

She never met the street-sweeper again. But the girl's words were not lost on her. From then on she stopped looking down on herself and began looking up to her sisters with reverence and love. And eventually, without even being aware of it, she lost pride forever.

End Notes

1. "A GENTLE BREEZE - God Tales for Young and Old," by Fr. Nil Guillemette SJ, Chapter 12, pp. 80-84, St Pauls Publication, Makati City, Philippines, 1989.

2. I have Fr. Nil's permission to use his stories via his letter to me dated Feb. 10, 2001: "In answer to your letter of Feb. 1, which I received yesterday, I gladly give you permission to use my stories in your bible sharings. However, in order to discourage any illegal pirating from unscrupulous readers, please always add the proper reference (author, publisher, book, pages, etc.). "

JOURNEY TO INNOCENCE

How does one become like a little child to be able to enter God's kingdom? St. Therese of Lisieux has given us an example through her doctrine of spiritual childhood. Personally, St. Therese' autobiography has truly given me much insights on how to have simplicity of heart as that of a child. I realize however that it isn't always easy to practice it as it may seem to be so.

The insightful story below tells us how we can attain much spiritual growth as we "grow younger". This is the challenge: If you enjoy the story and finds it delightful you probably have the heart of a child. If you find it corny and boring you probably still need to do a lot of "growing younger". (smile)

*****

JOURNEY TO INNOCENCE [1]

By Fr. Nil Guillemette, S.J.

"Amen, I say to you, unless you turn and become like little children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven." (Mt 18:3)

Nov. 14, 2743

Dear Diary. When I landed on Grypton-IV this morning, I was in for a shock. Greeting me at the spaceport were a bunch of children. All were humanoid in shape and wore an air of gravity on their faces which suited the official welcome of a representation from the Galactic Federation. There was no red carpet in sight, but everything suggested pomp and circumstance, including a special display of daylight fireworks!

I was greeted by Emperor Hokkor himself, a young boy of about eight years old. Then he introduced to me and to my delegation his consort Empress Atuarre, a girl of approximately the same age, along with his son, his grandson and his great-grandson. The first was a young man in his late twenties, the second was a middle-aged man, and the third was an ape-like oldster of about seventy-five.

I had heard that Grypton-IV was a strange planet, but I was not prepared for what I encountered today. People here are born old. This is how it happens. An old ape in one of the many Reservations of the planet suddenly mutates into a humanoid, when certain conditions of cosmic radiations prevail. Once the mutant has passed the threshold of rationality, he is adopted by a middle-aged couple, who take charge of his formal education as a humanoid. However, and this is the crucial features of this planet, his biological evolution reflects his spiritual growth - but in the reverse direction of what Earthlings would expect: he evolves from old age to youth! That is, provided he accepts to mature in wisdom and moral excellence. Otherwise he remains stuck indefinitely at a given age. For instance, a stubborn humanoid who refuses to "grow up" will remain at sixty-two for decades. Strange, isn't it? But more of this later. I have to go to bed now because the Emperor has scheduled several state functions for tomorrow and I'll need to have all my wits about me.

Nov 15, 2743

Dear Diary. Phew! That was quite a day! In the morning we were introduced to the various Ministers and their staff. I don't think any Cabinet member is above ten years old. But they all look wiser than anybody I ever met on Earth. Polite they are, but they don't waste time on empty talk. They just look you straight in the eye and ask you one of those extraordinary questions you don't expect from a politician. for example, Torm, the Minister of Culture, asked me, "Do you like sunsets?" Urupuan, the Minister of defense, asked, "Do you agree that truth and non-violence are a planet"s best weapons?" The Minister of Education, a certain Chubakka, asked me if on Earth universal tolerance was taught as a subject in curriculum. He also inquired how many of our students major in God. You see what I mean.

In between visits to the various Ministries I managed to learn how an Emperor was made. It's very simple. After the reigning Emperor has died, the youngest humanoids of the planet submit to a contest of wisdom and virtue, and the winner is crowned Emperor for life. I was unable to learn more about this important topic, but I'll try my luck tomorrow.

The afternoon was spent visiting various educational centers. First there was the Truth Center, a place where people are taught the difficult art of telling the truth in love. Then there was the Simplicity Center, where people learn to practice poverty, detachment and sharing. Then there was the Chastity Center, where people learn the beauty of faithful commitment and self-mastery. I learned that the various students of these centers "graduated" when they became young enough..... Yes, believe it or not, dear diary!

In the evening we were given a state banquet. The fare was marvelously simple, since the guests there - senior ranking members of the government - were all children. We were served the Earth equivalent of pop-corn and soft drinks. No liquor or wine, no complicated hors d'oeuvres, no elaborate pastries. The whole affair was concluded by a series of parlor games. Again, believe it or not! All present had the time of their life, while I was trying to preserve the minimum of decorum one would expect from a representative of the Galactic Federation. Of course, I looked ridiculous. But not my hosts. They kept gently encouragingly me to join in the fun. I think, I will never forget this evening..... ..

Nov. 16, 2743

Dear Diary. We left Grypton-IV this afternoon and are presently on course toward the next planet on our tour, Altarm Major.

I truly regret that our visit to Grypton-IV had to be so short. Many questions remain in my mind concerning that strange planet.

Anyway, this morning during my leave-taking courtesy visit to the Emperor, I succeeded in asking him something which had been bothering me ever since I learned about the retro-aging process on the humanoids there.

"Your Imperial Majesty," I asked the boy, "at what stage of his spiritual evolution is a Gryptonian young enough to die?"

He smiled indulgently, aware that a middle-aged man like me could hardly be young enough to know the answer to such a question. But he was far too wise to show any surprise at my ignorance.

"When one has uttered the Perfect Prayer," he said.

I was still in the dark, for I had no idea what Perfect Prayer could indicate that one had reached supreme maturity.

"And what is that, Sire?" I pressed on.

He became serious and quite still, as if looking deep within himself. Then he spoke up again in a very soft and reverent tone of voice.

"When a person can say with his whole heart, `Father, into your hands I commend my spirit', then he has uttered the Perfect Prayer, and then he is ready to die." He added with one of his enigmatic smiles, "We, Gryptonians never go to sleep without saying those sacred words. Perhaps it is superstitions, but we believe that anyone at any age can turn to God and mature overnight into childhood."

Those were his parting words.

Nov 17, 2743

Dear Diary. I have just heard over the SpaceCom that Emperor Hokkor died in his sleep a few hours ago. I am not surprised. He was too young to go on living much longer.

I guess I'll start practicing the Perfect Prayer myself. Who knows? Maybe I'm not too old to die young.

End Notes

1. Fr. Nil Guillemette, S.J., "RUNNING WATERS - God Tales for Young and Old", St. Paul Publications, Makati, Philippines, 1991, Chapter 15, pp.85-88.