Thankful Thursday #5: I Love This Town

Early this evening (New Year's Eve), I arrived home after letting my employees leave early for the day. I stayed on a bit because it is only after the hundreds stream home that I have time to catch up on the introverted tasks that need to be done. (If I were to change my open-door policy, I might get more of that kind of task done during the day; however, on the other hand, it might make no difference at all because many employees think that "open door" policy means "open the door.")

The kinds of things I am dealing with at work these days, as I explained in last week's Thankful Thursday post, are highly visible and highly challenging. To build a new office with various programs, managers, and employees in other states in a matter of one month is nigh onto impossible, but there is no option to fail. The work we are doing is in direct support of the US government efforts to bring peace in place of war. God has blessed me incredibly in putting me in this job and insisting that I stay in it. Now I understand perhaps why: with my many languages and experience in working in 23 countries, including the Middle East, I can bring some expertise to the process. In return, it is such a reward to be among those watching peace develop before the rest of the world sees it. (See my post on the wonder of being in the Soviet Union during the Cold War and perhaps contributing just a tiny bit to changes in that country.)

At my office (perhaps I should say offices, since I travel from one site to another routinely), I deal with the world at large, the international scene, the big cities, the places where one often ends up alone in a crowd, where interactions and relations are highly formal and formularized. (Of course, I do have close friends in the various places where I have lived and worked and a warm working relationship with most of my employees. Nonetheless, the mindset is big picture, process, strategic thinking, and impersonal implementation of programs.)

When I come home to San Ignatio, however, I enter an entirely different life. More than being in a different world, my whole life changes. I drove off the local road entering town and turned into the parking lot where we have our only set of stores, driving past the sign at the edge of town that says "Welcome to History." That sign about sums up our town; we still speak Spanish, we still attend daily Masses at the mission, we still very simply and supportively -- or at least, that is how I imagine people lived here 200 years ago.

I parked in front of the post office, which is a small wooden building with a wooden sign -- we are too small a town to merit home mail delivery. After picking up our mail, I called Donnie to see if he would like to order dinner from Pizza Factory, which is next door to the post office, while I went into the small grocery story, The Windmill Market, a few steps across the parking lot from the Pizza Factory, to pick up some dessert and small items for tomorrow. Yes, he wanted to do that, and so he called in the order.

As I stood in line at The Windmill Market about 15 minutes later, the Pizza Factory manager, one cucumber in hand, jumped into line in front of me. "Hi, Steve," I said, yielding room to him.

"Hey, Beth," he said, "I had to run in to get a cucumber for your salad! I'll see you over there in a few minutes. Your pizza is almost done."

After I put the groceries into the car, I started down the wooden sidewalk that connects all the wooden buildings that make up our tiny shopping complex. (I purposely do not call it the town center because the town center is the Old Mission; even the fire station and city hall, such as it is, are located across from the mission -- all of it walking distance from The Windmill, or perhaps I should say that The Windmill and everything else in town, including my house, is walking distance from the mission.) Rolling down the sidewalk on a scooter was a member of the city council.

"Hi, Beth," she called to get my attention. I walked over to hug her, and we got talking about her latest plan for feral cat rescue, an interest we share. We also both are members of Old Mission church; just about everyone in town is, and Fr. Ed is as much the town's leader as is the mayor, serving as chaplain for the fire department (there is no police department -- we are so blessed as a town not to need a police force) and acquainted, it seems, with every person in town.

After finishing the conversation with the city councilwoman, I finally popped into Pizza Factory to pick up my now-ready pizza. The owner was there along with four employees.

"Hi, Beth," the owner called out.

"Happy New Year," I responded. Elizabeth, the daughter of a woman who co-teaches the First Year Confirmation catechism class at Old Mission church with me, smiled. The other two, who were in the back room and whom I know from birthday parties held at Pizza Factory and many other visits there. (Pizza Factory is the only pizza shop in town and the closest thing we have to fast food -- nope, we have no McDonald's, Burger King, or Wendy's, etc.) As I paid for the food, I handed four $5 bills to Steve, one for each of the employees for New Year's. It is a very small amount, but it goes further here than in some other places. My special tip for the Pizza Factory employees is now a New Year's tradition, and for all of us, it is the thought that counts.

The Windmill is on the south edge of time, and my house is on the north side of town. From The Windmill to my house is a one-minute drive and a ten-minute walk. The one minute, though, is wondrous this time of year. The main street lights are decked out with Christmas wreaths that look like halos at night and pictures of saints. (This year they went up in October because City Hall is being renovated and there was no place to store them. City Hall, which is a two-room building, is still being renovated, and so the decorations may stay up for some time yet. That is okay; they are part of what contributes to the feeling of holiness in this town. (My retarded son, Doah, when he first set foot in town after God clearly led me here, stopped, took assessment, and pronounced, "God here!")

As I was carrying the pizza into the house five minutes later, our next-door neighbor showed up with some apples. I thanked and hugged her. She departed as quickly as she had arrived, leaving Donnie and me to our dinner.

I love this town! I am overwhelmingly thankful to God on this Thursday for putting me here.
More information about the Thankful Thursday meme can be found at the website of Grace Alone.

Only in San Ignatio

San Ignatio is a wonderfully quiet, peaceful, and crime-free place. Or at least it was until a couple of months ago when suddenly there was a rash of car break-ins. No one knew what to make of it, and without a police force (we have a sheriff and deputy for the county who occasionally cruise the town), catching the thief seemed unlikely until, in true San Ignatio fashion, along came help. Here is the front-page story from our newspaper, The San Ignatio Star (more exciting than most of our front-page stories):

RASH OF RECENT CAR BURGLARIES THWARTED BY HARLEY THE DOG
by John Hopper

Over the past couple of months a sudden increase in auto burglaries has taken place in town, including the police vehicle of Mayor Ed Lavarone as well as this reporter's vehicle. At press time, rumors of some 20 break-ins were being circulated around town. Undersheriff Pat Turturici confirmed that the numbers were more like seven and definitely less than a dozen.

According to San Ignatio resident Jeff Bagley, he was awakened around 1:30 a.m. one morning during the week of February 1 by the sudden growling of Harley, Bagley's dog. "He was looking out the window growling, and the hair was standing up on his back. he was really upset," said Bagley. Peering out the window, Bagley saw a sweatshirt-hooded scoundrel going from car to car in the parking lot, wiping the dew from the car windows and examining the contents with a flashlight.

With Harley keeping an ever-close eye, Bagley dialed the Sheriff's Dispatch Center to give a second-by-second account of the perpetrator's activity. Nearby deputies quickly emerged on the scene. "I saw him go around the side of one of my neighbors' car just about the time the Sheriffs were showing up," said Balgey. Bagley later learned that the vehicle had been entered and a wallet taken. Deputies contacted the suspected burglar a short distance away from the scene but did not find the wallet in his possession.

At press time, Undersheriff Turturici said that an arrest was imminent in this string of auto burglaries but was unable to comment on specifics.

Harley the dog was found by Bagley on the streets of San Ignatio about 10 yers ago. He found the owners and returned Harley, but when he found the dog wandering the streets a second time some weeks later, the owners said they no longer wished to care for Harley. Harley, a Chihuahua and Rat Terrier mix, is believed to be about 14 years old. Although Harly was very ill this past month or so, Bagley says Harley is much better now but still not 100%. Harley enjoys taking walks, chasing squirrels, and going to work with Bagley. "When I was on the Fire Department, Harley loved to ride in the engine," said Bagley.

Harley did not have a statement for the Star and was very apprehensive about having his picture taken.

The Star will be nominating Harley to the Sheriff's Office and the Mayor for a special Crime Prevention Award.

Send Harley a thank you note c/o The San Ignatio Star.

About That Lamb...

I don't know where the words came from. I could hardly believe they came from my mouth, yet I heard them as they slid out. "I don't think you are taking this project seriously," I said to the recently assigned project manager of a subcontractor at our Washington DC branch. She cringed and averred differently. I only shook my head unkindly and walked off to begin the presentation I had come to deliver.

I can explain how I got to the point of saying those words. In preparing for an all-day briefing to be conducted in DC together with a specialist from one of our subdivisions, I discovered that the concept papers we were to use were so poorly done that we could not use them. So, I had to re-do the work of several employees, whose supervisor had assumed that the work was fine. To worsen matters, the computers had been down (server outage) for the two days prior to my departure for DC. I had only one day to get everything done once the computers were back on line. That day I had several meetings, and during the time available in and around the meetings, one after another employee came into my office on small issues (well, important issues to them but ones I considered minor at the moment). Although I had closed my door, no one had seemed to notice. My open-door policy had been turned into an open-the-door policy. Too much to re-do, too little time to re-do it, and too many distractions from doing it! I was annoyed.

Add to that annoyance the fact that everyone around me seemed to be falling apart. I had one senior manager undergoing emergency surgery and another in the hospital with internal bleeding, cause undetermined. An employee had gone into the hospital for routine knee surgery and ended up comatose and packed in ice (we were waiting to here whether and when heroic measures would cease), and a junior manager had been diagnosed with a tumor and had to be brought back from his field assignment. This was all in the space of two days. Our senior leadership at the annual BBQ the day before I left for DC was decimated. I was stressed.

I did not escape any drama by leaving. As the plane was taxiing into Dulles International Airport, I quickly checked my Blackberry and learned two disturbing pieces of information. First, a project that I was to have been involved in had been downsized; much of the physical risk had been removed from it (that part was good -- while I was unconcerned for my own safety, my prayer group had been praying that something like this would happen), and the performance date had been moved to September, interfering with my need to be in Korea at that time. Second, my supervisor had overturned my appointment on an assignment I had promised to an employee. (She deserved it, and later in the day he recanted.) However these things work out and worked out, I arrived disappointed.

Following a night of only five hours of sleep after cleaning up from the BBQ, which had been at my house, and having had to go to work earlier than normal to begin that day of meetings and interrupted work, I had to jump onto a redeye from San Franciso to DC. Of all times, the pilot raced across the continental skies, arriving 30 minutes ahead of schedule, leaving me with a mere four hours of sleep. I was tired.

When I arrived at ground transportation, I blackberried the supervisor of our DC branch for an address to give to the taxi driver. She gave me the office address. I showed up there only to find out that the briefing was taking place at the premises of the subcontractor in another part of town. Now I would be late. I learned that the mistaken address was deliberate: the supervisor wanted to discuss the project with me alone. That meant that the specialist, who did not have the briefing powerpoints (I had them) would have to do with the first presentation without them and without me. I was angry.

Annoyance, stress, fatigue, disappointment, and anger combined to evoke my caustic remark when, having finally arrived at the subcontractor's location in time for the second presentation, I was informed by the project manager that two key personnel would come only after lunch. Any one of those conditions would have served as an excuse for my remarks, I initially tried to justify to myself. However, no justification exists for arrogance, and it was certainly arrogance that lay behind my words: whatever I had to say was more important than anything they had to do, and obviously that was not true.

I apologized to the project manager later. However, words don't dissolve; they don't run away; taking them back is nothing more than a vacuous expression.

While I know that I have not lost God's love, I was not thinking of God's presence when I made my unkind remark, and so I did not feel God's presence. The worst part? I lost an entire morning with God. That time will never be regained.

Clearly, I needed some time with God alone. After finishing the day of presentations, I ran to the nearby metro station where I knew there would be a line of cabs to assist me in my cab-plane-car dash to our Georgia branch. I grabbed a cab, driven by a courteous and calm middle-aged man from Pakistan. We chatted casually, and while the conversation was calming, it permitted no opportunity for time alone with God, as there had been none all day. I missed San Ignatio with its quiet spirituality.

Having swiftly picked up my ticket and passed through security without incident except for my typical random search, I took the airport train to the Delta terminal and made my way to Gate 76, keeping my eye out for any place at all for quiet prayer. There was none at all, just masses of people moving in cohorts to and from gates, into and out of restrooms and restaurants, and along the corridors. I missed even more San Ignatio's quiet spirituality where nearly every nook and cranny provides an opportunity for prayer.

I had more than an hour to wait for a now-delayed plane. I opted for a yogurt cone and seated myself at a table near a large potted plant, surrounded, of course, by other travelers.

My thoughts turned to my increasing unease. From whence these feelings? A change in the equilibrium of my life! I realized that I spend most of my time helping others, sometimes because I have been given a divine task, sometimes just because I stumble across someone in need (which may not always be accidental), and most often because those in need are people who work for me. My last few days, however, had been focused on me: the just-completed presentations in DC and the upcoming one in Georgia. I had moved away from helping others for lack of time (the employees to whom I had shut my door), lack of authority (the overturning of my decision by my supervisor), and lack of ability (the sick folk). I missed helping others, being God's helper. I missed time with God. It would be two more days before I would return to San Ignatio.

Even though I had no sense of God's presence while I waited for the plane, I wailed a silent prayer, spilling out those emotions and desires. I knew God would hear, understand, and forgive.

And then everything changed. Delta cancelled the flight. There were no other flights on Delta that night. I would miss the Georgia presentation, scheduled for early in the morning the next day. I called my admin assistant to inform the folks in Georgia, as Delta set about rescheduling all its passengers.

"Does anyone speak Russian?" one of the gate agents called out loudly, then a few seconds later, appealed "we really need someone who speaks Russian."

"I'll call you back," I told my admin assistant. Then I stood up and raised my hand, "I speak Russian."

The gate agent was visibly relieved. So were the mother and daughter who were trying to get back to Moscow via Atlanta. We very easily settled everything for them, and as their stress level eased, so did mine. (I find that happens a lot -- if you help someone who is stressed out, it eases your own feeling of stress.)

The grateful Delta agent offered to take me out of turn, but I waved off the offer, telling her that my office could handle my situation. It did. I ended up coming back to San Ignatio early! On a United non-stop flight direct to San Francisco. What could be better? How about a surprise complimentary upgrade to first class? Another redeye, but one on which I could sleep very comfortably.

All was right with the world. I was on my way back to San Ignatio. I wondered how much of this occurred because of my plaintive prayer about missing my quiet time with God. Ah, for any part of it -- and every part of it -- I am grateful.

All the way back home I could not sleep in spite of two short-sleep nights. The excitement of nearing San Ignatio overpowered every thought and emotion. God no longer has any need to look for this lost lamb. This lamb knows where to find the rest of her flock and her Shepherd!

What happened next? Unbelievable!

Looking back on that awful day and what I had done and felt, I should have been punished. Instead, a loving God brought me home to San Ignatio, back to Him in every meaning of that phrase, back to where I belong, where nothing of the material world matters. Now, too, I could look forward to being on time two days later for the retreat being led by Fr. Kevin, who also leads a contemplative-prayer-for-busy-people group in San Jose that I have participated in for nearly two years now. I would have had to arrive late because of returning from out of state.

I took the next day off from work -- I was owed comp time -- to be with God now that I was back in a spiritual environment. What a marvelous day that turned out to be!

The first thing after I arose (later than normal, yes!) I checked my email. Astonished, I read one note twice. It was the cancellation of a mandatory meeting on Friday, the second day of the retreat. I had worked it out with Fr. Kevin that it would be okay to miss Friday because of that meeting. Now I would have no distractions during the retreat!

A short while later, I attended noon Mass in the little chapel, celebrated by Fr. Paul on his last day in our community before returning home to Nigeria. Still reeling perhaps from my out-of-control behavior on Monday, I felt so very unworthy to be there and at the same time so loved. As I stood in line for communion, I could not keep the tears from pooling in my eyes, and I did not care if anyone saw them; we are all friends and all God's children.

Following Mass, two friends (one of them the person who assisted the priest in my RCIA class) asked me to join them for the rosary, after which we went out for cookies and milk. (I admit it; milk has always been my favorite drink.)

During our milk-and-cookie fest, I told my friends about my plaintive prayer, in which I bemoaned my separation from San Ignatio and loss of a sense of God's presence in the past few day's tumult, and how everything had suddenly worked out for me to spend the entire rest of the week with Him. One of my friends reiterated what a Sufi friend told me several years ago, word for word: "God spoils you."

Indeed, He does! And I am so very grateful!

(I posted the above story in two parts on my Modern Mysticism blog, but because of the title of this new, replacement-for-Blest-Atheist blog, it seemed apropros to include it here, as well.)

Voting in a Small Town

I rarely talk about politics. It is too good a way to lose old friends and make new enemies. Nonetheless, the experience of voting in a small town (compared to the city where once we lived) is a pleasurable experience to be shared.

In the city, one finds a parking space invariably too distant from the polling place to make it an easy hike, especially with Noelle trying to keep up in braces & crutches or a wheelchair. Then, there are the long lines, which take a half hour or more to get through. By the time we would reach the head of the line, all too often I would reach for my ID and realize that I had left it in the car. Another hike! Back and forth, then trying to talk my way back to the head of the line while Donnie, Lizzie, Noelle, and Shane were already voting... Rushing through the half-memorized ballot in order to catch up with the others, I would meet them somewhere near the car door. Afterward we would drive home, tired.

Tonight in tiny San Ignatio, however, we drove up to the school parking lot, where we had our choice of spots. If we were to line up everyone in town end to end, it might take as much as an hour to get everyone through the voting process. However, with two polling places to make it easier for those without cars, a surprisingly large number of people here, and 12 hours of being open, there is always a convenient space to park and never any waiting line. One lady was walking her dog outside, waiting for her husband to finish voting, when we walked up. In we went. "Hi, Beth," Margaret, one of the poll workers, called out. No need for ID here! Donnie and I were handed our ballots. We filled them out and left five minutes later, after having hugged Margaret and catching up on mutual news. The evening was young, and we were already out of the house. So, we went to dinner and a movie.

Yep, voting in a small town is a special kind of experience. Relaxing.

Monday Morning Meditation #26: Meeting Our Goliaths

This week I read the next chapter of I Samuel. I was stopped by the story of David and Goliath. Now, this was not a new story for me. Even those not raised on the Bible do generally know this story, as do probably the vast majority of non-Christians in the Western world (and some in the Eastern.) What stopped me, then, was not the newness of the story but a new understanding of it.

Reading: I Samuel 17
Meditation: Perhaps surprisingly the first phrase that caught my attention was David's comment that he had no fear because after all he had taken lambs out of the mouth of lions on many occasions. Now, I think I would be quite hesitant to approach a lion even if the occasion were to present itself, but I also know that somewhere deep inside us is a need to protect that for which we feel ourselves responsible, whether it be our children or something else. It seems a part of all nature. Bears are usually timid around people until they bear young and become fiercely protective of them. Likewise, we recently had a local hen hatch and raise a brood of chickens in our yard. (The local wild fowl have the run of San Ignatio by law and by people's protection, maybe the only place in the USA with this unusual situation. So, the hens get to choose where they raise their broods.) One day a stray dog (we have a few of those, too) grabbed one of the baby chickens. The other chicks ran in many directions, and Mama Hen went wild, flying to a roost high in our tree, alternately clucking her other chicks to return and squawking in despair about the little one in the jaws of the dog. I heard the commotion, went outside, and immediately saw what was going on. Without thinking I ran over to the dog and pried the little chick out of his mouth, scolding him for being a "bad boy." Mama Hen was soon reunited with all her chicks, including the one that the dog had tried to scarf up, the latter none the worse for his great adventure, and everyone went on his or her merry way. It was only then that I realized fighting an unknown stray dog bigger than I over a baby chicken was probably not the best reasoned thing I have ever done. But, in reading David's comment, I certainly understand the emotions that propelled him.

In the story of David and Goliath we find a great deal of abandonment of self to trust in God, not that unsimilar to the abandonment that comes, as David said, from rescuing lambs from lions (or perhaps chicks from dogs). I have never had to abandon myself to a situation where I had to literally kill a Goliath, but metaphorically, figuratively, sure. I am certain we all find ourselves face to face with a Goliath in our life, and we have the choice to trust God or run away and let someone else take care of the Goliath (or be "killed" by it ourselves).

In seems like I have a whole family of Goliaths in my life. Each time one is conquered after a little while a new one appears. Each time the Goliath is vanquished by the grace of God and little more (just a pebble). When, for example, Blaine, Ksenya, and Shura appeared in our path to be taken care of, we had no money. God found it for us, including a million dollars for Shura's medical care. The Goliath of poverty was overcome by a pebble slung in the right direction, in Shura's case toward a billionaire (with some re-direction from God -- we had the wrong address; he lived in a different state, and to this day I do not know how it was that he received my letter).

Oh, yes, there is often a Goliath in front of us. It could be poverty. It could be a legal or medical obstacle. It could be a difficult supervisor at work. It could be loss of a job like Shane is experiencing right now. It could be so many things. Were it only one Goliath! Killed once and gone forever! However, if you are like me, it seems to always be a matter of one down and many to go. One down and a clear road today, but rounding the corner tomorrow, oops!, there we go again!

Maybe we encounter many Goliaths (or at least I do), so that learning to trust God becomes a matter of habit. The more we trust and find the trust to be to good avail, the greater and more automatic our trust becomes. At least, that is my calculated, meditated guess.

And that is far as I can go with you on this Monday morning. I must retire to prayer to repent for those times that I have tried to take on Goliath on my own or to worry that Goliath will win, to thank God for always being with me and giving me the pebbles with which to win over the Goliaths that appear in front of me, and to give praise for His incredible faithfulness in guiding my puny pebbles so that I know that I can trust Him in anything and everything. After that, I will spend time in contemplation, my favorite part of the day, letting God take over the direction in which my relationship with Him moves.

I will now leave you to your prayer and contemplation, but first, I would like to bring to your attention a Monday morning prayer post that you might enjoy:

Fr. Austin Fleming, priest of the Archdiocese of Boston and pastor in Concord, Massachusetts, posts a prayer each Monday morning that he calls "Monday Morning Offering." I enjoy his prayers very much. I hope you also will find them inspirational. He has graciously given me permission to include a link to his blog on my Monday Morning Meditation posts.

For additional inspiration throughout the week, I would point out two sets of blogs: (1) the list of devotional blogs that follow the enumeration of Monday Morning Meditations on the sidebar of this blog and (2) my blogroll, where I am following a number of inspirational priests and writers about spiritual matters. I learn so very much from all these people. I highly recommend them to you.

Monday Morning Meditation #26: Meeting Our Goliaths

This week I read the next chapter of I Samuel. I was stopped by the story of David and Goliath. Now, this was not a new story for me. Even those not raised on the Bible do generally know this story, as do probably the vast majority of non-Christians in the Western world (and some in the Eastern.) What stopped me, then, was not the newness of the story but a new understanding of it.

Reading: I Samuel 17
Meditation: Perhaps surprisingly the first phrase that caught my attention was David's comment that he had no fear because after all he had taken lambs out of the mouth of lions on many occasions. Now, I think I would be quite hesitant to approach a lion even if the occasion were to present itself, but I also know that somewhere deep inside us is a need to protect that for which we feel ourselves responsible, whether it be our children or something else. It seems a part of all nature. Bears are usually timid around people until they bear young and become fiercely protective of them. Likewise, we recently had a local hen hatch and raise a brood of chickens in our yard. (The local wild fowl have the run of San Ignatio by law and by people's protection, maybe the only place in the USA with this unusual situation. So, the hens get to choose where they raise their broods.) One day a stray dog (we have a few of those, too) grabbed one of the baby chickens. The other chicks ran in many directions, and Mama Hen went wild, flying to a roost high in our tree, alternately clucking her other chicks to return and squawking in despair about the little one in the jaws of the dog. I heard the commotion, went outside, and immediately saw what was going on. Without thinking I ran over to the dog and pried the little chick out of his mouth, scolding him for being a "bad boy." Mama Hen was soon reunited with all her chicks, including the one that the dog had tried to scarf up, the latter none the worse for his great adventure, and everyone went on his or her merry way. It was only then that I realized fighting an unknown stray dog bigger than I over a baby chicken was probably not the best reasoned thing I have ever done. But, in reading David's comment, I certainly understand the emotions that propelled him.

In the story of David and Goliath we find a great deal of abandonment of self to trust in God, not that unsimilar to the abandonment that comes, as David said, from rescuing lambs from lions (or perhaps chicks from dogs). I have never had to abandon myself to a situation where I had to literally kill a Goliath, but metaphorically, figuratively, sure. I am certain we all find ourselves face to face with a Goliath in our life, and we have the choice to trust God or run away and let someone else take care of the Goliath (or be "killed" by it ourselves).

In seems like I have a whole family of Goliaths in my life. Each time one is conquered after a little while a new one appears. Each time the Goliath is vanquished by the grace of God and little more (just a pebble). When, for example, Blaine, Ksenya, and Shura appeared in our path to be taken care of, we had no money. God found it for us, including a million dollars for Shura's medical care. The Goliath of poverty was overcome by a pebble slung in the right direction, in Shura's case toward a billionaire (with some re-direction from God -- we had the wrong address; he lived in a different state, and to this day I do not know how it was that he received my letter).

Oh, yes, there is often a Goliath in front of us. It could be poverty. It could be a legal or medical obstacle. It could be a difficult supervisor at work. It could be loss of a job like Shane is experiencing right now. It could be so many things. Were it only one Goliath! Killed once and gone forever! However, if you are like me, it seems to always be a matter of one down and many to go. One down and a clear road today, but rounding the corner tomorrow, oops!, there we go again!

Maybe we encounter many Goliaths (or at least I do), so that learning to trust God becomes a matter of habit. The more we trust and find the trust to be to good avail, the greater and more automatic our trust becomes. At least, that is my calculated, meditated guess.

And that is far as I can go with you on this Monday morning. I must retire to prayer to repent for those times that I have tried to take on Goliath on my own or to worry that Goliath will win, to thank God for always being with me and giving me the pebbles with which to win over the Goliaths that appear in front of me, and to give praise for His incredible faithfulness in guiding my puny pebbles so that I know that I can trust Him in anything and everything. After that, I will spend time in contemplation, my favorite part of the day, letting God take over the direction in which my relationship with Him moves.

I will now leave you to your prayer and contemplation, but first, I would like to bring to your attention a Monday morning prayer post that you might enjoy:

Fr. Austin Fleming, priest of the Archdiocese of Boston and pastor in Concord, Massachusetts, posts a prayer each Monday morning that he calls "Monday Morning Offering." I enjoy his prayers very much. I hope you also will find them inspirational. He has graciously given me permission to include a link to his blog on my Monday Morning Meditation posts.

For additional inspiration throughout the week, I would point out two sets of blogs: (1) the list of devotional blogs that follow the enumeration of Monday Morning Meditations on the sidebar of this blog and (2) my blogroll, where I am following a number of inspirational priests and writers about spiritual matters. I learn so very much from all these people. I highly recommend them to you.

After the Rain

Today we received our first rain of the rainy season (cannot really call it winter when you get no snow -- at least, not in my book, a child of Maine). Although I was at work all day, Donnie was home when the rain stopped and got a great picture from our house of our sacred little San Antonio, embraced by a rainbow. I thought I might share a little of the beauty that we live with all the time, from our house to yours.