the kind of writing I want to do when I grow up

                             Crabapple holding in arms

what almost has

vanished,

selvage and leaf-lavish open.

Pumpkin seed in the hand,

lick the salt after.

What remains, after.

Bowl fill with woodpecker’s shavings of cedar.

Door of the beak, release attic.

Voice remain fragrant.

Love hold the lungs again open.

By the bed, here.

By silence and whiteness,

by staying.

Carved scent of orange-oil, open.

By rise of the woodpecker’s question,

of crabapple fruiting,

clasp now this room that is given.

Open with flood what is given,

once again fragrant and here.

       ~Jane Hirshfield,                                                  

“Spell to Be Said After Illness”                        

in The Hungry Ear: Poems of Food & Drink

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I’m a big fan of Heather King’s writing.

I’ve mentioned this exceptional Catholic writer before, but just in case you missed it… check out her blog here, and go here to read about Redeemed, my introduction into Heather’s writing.

It’s not just Heather’s quality of thought and of writing—which is, indeed, brilliant.

Perhaps what I enjoy and appreciate the most is Heather’s ability to take an intellectual concept (or an academic idea, or a conceptual artistic expression), and in genuine Ignatian fashion, deliberately and honestly explore, question and challenge herself -- until she discovers and is able to describe God’s presence there.

It’s the type of writing I want to do when I grow up.

It seems fitting, therefore, on this feast of St. Ignatius of Loyola, to connect once again with Heather’s blog, a place where I so frequently feel invited –and provoked – to experience God, day by day.

From one of her blog posts last week:

"There is a custom which I have met only in Thailand, whereby a person composes a small cookbook before her or his death, so that it can be distributed as a keepsake to the mourners attending the funeral.

The recipes, typically no more than a score, are likely to be those which the deceased especially enjoyed. They need not have been composed or used by the deceased, but often are. Sometimes they incorporate little anecdotes and attributions. . . .

The idea is attractive. With what better keepsake could one depart from a funeral? What other would equally well keep one's memory green among friends?”

“Funeral Cookbooks” by Alan Davidson,

 in The Penguin Book of Food and Drink

Check out the rest of her blog post—and Heather’s personal recipe for Tuscan Rosemary and Pine Nut Bars—here!

What an interesting idea, to create a keepsake of recipes for the mourners at my funeral. What would you put in yours? 

My Funeral Cookbook would definitely have to begin with a good paella recipe... and plátanos maduros... and Cuban rum cake...

imagine...God looking at you and smiling!

 

happy third week of Advent!!

“But discernment only operates in an atmosphere of prior trust—only when we admit an experience and let it develop do we have the grounds for discernment. You cannot discern from a distance. You have to get involved, to take the risk; only on that basis can you assess the feedback and make the adjustment. Discernment implies relationship. 

In the third Addition, Ignatius invites us into a complex, relational reality. If God is looking at us, God is in relationship with us. As we try to understand this relationship, we can focus either on God or on ourselves. We can consider what it is like to be looked at. How am I feeling? We can also consider the God who is looking, and what that God is like. How is God feeling? As we move between these two ways of responding to Ignatius’ invitation, they begin to fuse, to enrich each other, to be woven into something intricate and beautiful. I am looking at God looking at me looking at God. When I look at the God who looks at me, it is not a matter simply of seeing the other as one object among many, but of looking, gazing, contemplating. We see each other. The look transforms—it is encounter.”

~Robert R. Marsh, 

“Looking at God looking at you: Ignatius’ Third Addition”

Although St. Ignatius wrote his Spiritual Exercises as a 30 day silent retreat for his “company” of men, both times that I have completed the Exercises, all the meditations, readings and prayers have been modified and presented as a program for lay people in the midst of everyday life.

A great example—and one that I highly recommend for people in the Oklahoma City Archdiocese, is called “Retreat in Daily Life.”

During the first week of the Spiritual Exercises, St. Ignatius sets up several prayer opportunities to help us reflect on how loved we are, how much God loves us. 

The idea is that here’s where it all begins. It is within this Love experience, this relationship, that we are able to respond to God in complete sincerity and honesty, and it is then that we can begin to see truthfully and then, confront our sinfulness.

It is such a critical and central point of reference!  It is from, with, and in this Love that all else comes, develops, unfolds—even sorrow for our sins, which then allows us to receive God’s mercy and love.

I think Jesuit Anthony de Mello summarized it in beautiful simplicity:

 “Behold God beholding you … and smiling.”

[Source: Hearts on Fire: Praying with Jesuits, Michael G. Harter (Editor)]

Last week my amazing daughter-in-law Mary sent me this delightful video of my Twinkies, who are now 1-year-old.  At first I thought that their giggles came as a response to their big sister Elena.

But, no.  The twins were simply looking at each other—gazing at each other in complete wonder—and the response was utter delight. Joy! Manifested in their smiles and laughter.

When you watch Cecilia and Ignacio in this video, may you imagine

God looking at you… and smiling!

the way of Love

“The intimacy that exists between soul and body is a marvel of creation and a mystery of human existence. Yet we do wrong to think, because the soul will be judged after death while the body crumbles to the grave, that this mortal handful of dust is any less a gift of God, any less noble or beautiful than the immortal soul. It is in the body that we exist and work out our salvation. It is in the body that we see and take delight in the beauties of God’s created universe, and in the body that we ourselves bear the marks of Christ’s passion… We are constantly, day in and day out, hour after hour, under the influence of these mysterious workings of soul on body and body on soul.” 

~Fr. Walter J. Ciszek, S.J., in He Leadeth Me 

[Note: more on Ciszek and the body here] 

“Sing, my tongue; sing, my hand; sing, my feet, my knee, my loins, my whole body. Indeed I am His choir,” wrote Saint Thomas Aquinas, one of the great teachers of the medieval Catholic Church, honored with the titles Doctor of the Church and Angelic Doctor. 

Although I am doing well overall, I feel physically zapped today. So reading Aquinas' dramatic, passionate statement recognizing his body as God's masterful creation, frankly overwhelms me more than inspires me!

Yet when God proclaims, 

"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I dedicated you”  [Jer 1:5]

 God means this creaky and tender body of mine, as it is today.

Elenita, looking at herself in mirror

My friend Pat, who is undergoing treatment for brain cancer, recently reminded me that spiritual maturity requires that we not only merely accept, but to look in the mirror and downright acknowledge just how beautiful we are, physically.

I have a ways to go in learning, believing that I am God’s work of art, that I am God’s choir. It’s that different level of “understanding” that St. Ignatius of Loyola termed “knowing.”

I do want to “know” that all that I am, as I am, God created with specific and deliberate purpose and love so that I may claim my place in God’s choir in this world. This is the “more excellent way,” the way of Love that gives God glory and praise through my life.

There is not greater reality—and in truth, there is no greater challenge.

Cecilia, one month old

“You formed my inmost being;

you knit me in my mother’s womb.

I praise you, because I am wonderfully made;

wonderful are your works!

My very self you know.

My bones are not hidden from you,

When I was being made in secret,

fashioned in the depths of the earth.”

~Psalm 139:13-15