God Talk and Tea

Liberating the heart with God's grace

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”                                                                                                                                                                  

The words of the minister hung in the air. I’ve heard them many times before.

At this point in life, I’ve stood at the gravesides of countless loved ones and acquaintances, and each time I am struck by something different – the circumstances of the death; the reaction of family members, especially children; the season of the year, a hymn, nearby headstones.

This time it was those familiar words – ashes to ashes.

But rather than eliciting sorrow, I felt a smile coming on. I recalled a Lenten retreat many years ago when the impassioned facilitator drew upon the title of a well-known hymn and encouraged our Lenten prayer to be, “Cremate in me a new heart, Lord.”

I also remember trying to stifle a chuckle during the retreat, especially when the leader then stressed that we should “make ashes of all that is not of God.”

Her slip of the tongue elevated an excellent retreat into an extraordinary experience for me, because, years later, I am still asking myself the question, “What needs to be cremated in my life?”

At one time the list was considerable, most of them fears of one kind or another. I’ve invested a significant amount of reflection and prayer in getting to the root of those fears so I could turn them to ashes, but their ghosts still linger at times.

I’m fine with that, because I am aware of it, and acknowledgment is the first step to change. And I haven’t given up the fight.

But there is one thing on the list that still has me stymied – attachment.

That’s a pretty big issue in the spiritual life, and the emotional life, as well.

St. John of the Cross, who taught often about the need to practice detachment in all things, encouraged, “Strive to preserve your heart in peace; let no event of this world disturb it.”

The peace to which he referred is the peace of detachment, the peace of true joy.

My attachments are most obvious in my struggle to let go, emotionally, of the homes I’ve lived in with my family.

While I was forced to let go of my childhood home when my parents died, and our home of many wonderful memories in Ortley Beach after Superstorm Sandy, I have never been back to either neighborhood to visit because it is difficult for me emotionally.

This attachment disturbs my peace. It has a control over me that limits my freedom to be present to the friends and family who are God’s gift.

While it is easy to see how we might be attached to such things as money, success, power, or possessions, it is not so easy to recognize our attachment to people.

It requires an understanding that attachment, even to those closest to us, is not the same as love. Attachment is an imbalance in a relationship.

Whether spouse, child, friend or acquaintance, when we allow other people’s issues and emotions to generate a negative response within us, we give them power to change who God intends us to be.

In his Ash Wednesday homily this year, Pope Francis compared the heart to a magnet. It “needs to attach itself to something. But if it only attaches itself to earthly things, sooner or later it becomes a slave to them … Whereas if our heart is attached to what does not pass away, we rediscover ourselves and are set free.”

Lent, said Pope Francis, “is the time of grace that liberates the heart from vanity. … It is a time to fix our gaze on what abides.”

What abides is Jesus, the Holy Father stressed. “From the cross, Jesus teaches us the great courage involved in renunciation. We will never move forward if we are heavily weighed down. Jesus … calls us to a life that is passionate for him, which is not lost amid the ashes of the world.”

There's an angel over my shoulder! ~ by Jennifer Britton, guest blogger

As Sept. 29, the Feast of the Archangels, and Oct. 2, the Feast of our Guardian Angels, quickly approaches, I find myself reflecting back on the many, and unexpected, signs I have received over the last seven years from “my” angels.

As Christians, we learn that we all have a Guardian Angel, given to us from the time of our birth, acting as a protector, to watch over and guide us. I never really thought about it much until the passing of my father – a time in my life that was very difficult for me.

It wasn’t long after his passing that I awoke in the middle of the night and saw my father sitting at the end of my bed. Was it really him or was I dreaming? For several weeks after that he appeared in my dreams, the same dream over and over again. Dad was standing next to the car looking into the window at me.

When I woke each time, it seemed as if it had really happened. It was all very unsettling. Was I just not dealing with his passing or was there a message being conveyed? After a few weeks the dreams stopped and I started to forget about them.

As time passed, I continued to struggle with his death. Not many days went by that I didn’t think about him in some way.

Soon, “other” signs started to appear. First it was dimes, showing up right in front of me in the middle of nowhere. I’ve heard of “pennies from heaven,” but dimes? Was it Dad again? He did always have a great sense of humor.

Every time I stumbled upon a dime it would become a ritual to bend down and pick it up, look toward Heaven and say, “Thanks, Dad, I’m thinking about you, too, but could you send some bills!”

For some strange reason, I felt like I was receiving a message that he was watching over me and that he was ok and at peace. I didn’t feel that same unsettling that I felt with the dreams.

It wasn’t long before I stumbled upon my first feather in a parking lot while taking a walk on my lunch break. I stopped in my tracks, lifted it from the pavement and thought, “What are you trying to tell me Dad?”

That first feather found a resting place on my shelf next to my desk. It’s still there, and I look at every day. Those feathers would continue to find me in strangest places, even inside my house. While walking down my stairway, there was a small white feather just sitting on my step, which was very unusual for a clean freak like me.

Butterflies were next. I was becoming an empty nester and needed a hobby to fill my time, so I began gardening. I’ve always loved flowers, but never really had the time to spend on a garden. My dad loved to tinker in the garden. He had a green thumb, found it relaxing and grew some beautiful flowers to boot.

Amateur gardener that I was, I picked up a random bush on clearance to plant in the garden. That’s when the butterflies started to visit me and follow me around the yard. I had planted a butterfly bush. It was yet another message.

Butterflies were something Dad and I had in common. When I was a teenager I loved butterflies, my room was decorated with blue and lavender butterflies and all my jewelry pieces were butterflies. He always teased me about my passion for these beautiful creatures.

I now find it relaxing, and emotional, when I prune that bush, which is often during its growing months and the butterflies that surround me remind me of my father and bring a broad smile to my face.

Looking back, it seems as though those signs came when I needed them most, when I was contemplating something that was weighing heavy on my heart or I was struggling with some type of change in my life. They were a blessing in disguise that gave me reassurance that there is a greater, pure and spiritual heavenly being guarding and guiding me always. And I am reminded how wonderful God’s creations are.

It is reassuring to know that my Guardian Angel and my Father are forever over my shoulder.

These powerful messengers of God will be present before, during and after their feast days, so pay close attention…they may send you a sign!

Jennifer Britton works in the communications industry, is a wife, DIY mom of two who believes life is one big opportunity to Sparkle!

Entering the fall season with reflection, gratitude and a quiet spirit

It’s funny how often we come across insights that resonate profoundly with our circumstances at different times in our lives.

Today, I found one in my in-box, in the form of a newsletter, “Living in Season,” by Waverly Fitzgerald:

“I feel that urge that so many of us feel in September to begin a new year. I’m eager to get on with new projects, yet still struggling to finish up the old ones. It’s been a difficult summer. Too hot, too scattered, too busy. I look forward to the coolness, the darkness, the quiet, the inward focus of autumn. …

"I know I want to use this turning point to contemplate what I've accomplished during the past year. Certainly not all the things I anticipated. Am I taking on too much? Do I have good balance in my life? Am I spending as much time nurturing myself as nurturing others? It might also be a time to compare my budget (which represents my wishes) with my actual income and expenses (not always pleasurable, but always informative).”

I realized that the tug on my spirit brought on by the first crisp scent of fall was a call to reflect on the very questions Waverly asks in her essay, My Season: Assessing the Harvest.

Fall, the season of gathering the harvest and expressing gratitude for God’s abundant blessings, reminds me of the human spirit’s need for rituals. Surely, this is the reason celebrating Thanksgiving has so much meaning for me, but I’m feeling there should be more reasons to light up our homes than the deeply commercialized versions of Halloween and Christmas.

Perhaps it is time to add a new ritual and celebration in my life. I am intrigued by Michaelmas, the Feast of St. Michael and All Angels, Sept. 29. It has been celebrated in various ways over the ages, and is still a time to gather family and friends for a simple harvest meal, offered with prayer and graced by the beauty of fall foliage, including the lovely Michaelmas Daisies.

As you enter into the spirit of fall, may your celebrations recall all you have gathered, begun or accomplished, during the summer season, and be moments of restoring balance in your life.

Lovely photo by Daiga Ellaby on Unsplash.

Sorrow lifts when we surrender our memories to God

Recently, during an extended time at home recuperating from a medical procedure, I whiled away a Sunday afternoon watching a marathon of Mario Lanza movies.

I grew up with Mario Lanza, the renowned American actor, tenor and opera singer who was known as one of the great romantic performers of his time, because my mother, Georgette, was smitten by his voice.

Sundays in our home were times of a special Sunday dinner and a few hours of watching musicals or my mom’s favorite movies, which often featured Mario Lanza, Errol Flynn or Robert Taylor. Of course, in Maria Lanza’s case, if there were no movies on, there was always our record collection.

There were many nights as a child when I fell asleep with his beautiful voice swelling from the record player or kitchen radio and filling our small home. My mother knew the lyrics to all the songs he sang, but one in particular had found a place in her heart: "Be My Love.”

Sometimes, when I would hear the moving melody of that song, I would sneak out of bed and tiptoe into the hallway to get a glimpse of her singing as she cleaned up after dinner: “Be my love, for no one else can end this yearning, this need that you and you alone create…”

Often, her face bore an entranced expression of being carried away to a different time and place, and I wondered if there were some secret of her heart to which I had never been privileged.

So, my Sunday afternoon marathon became more than a time of enjoyable movies. It became a time of memories and being teary-eyed, and when, during “The Toast of New Orleans,” Mario began singing “Be My Love,” it became a full-blown cry-fest needing half a box of tissues.

Memories are powerful things. They are moments from the past that have the power to transform who we are into who we were meant to be, or they may be pieces of time that serve as obstacles to our wholeness.

When my mother became seriously ill with cancerous lesions on her brain, and had lost her ability to walk or talk or see, and certainly to sing, I bought the tape of “Be My Love,” and a set of headphones and played the song for her every day. I prayed that, in listening, she would be transported once again to a place far away from her pain and impending death.

For a long time, the memory of her suffering and death paralyzed me with grief, and the lyrics of that song were unbearable. Now, as time and prayer have sealed the wounds and made healing possible, those words have taken on a new and deeper meaning in light of a beautiful Lenten meditation: "Nothing can satisfy the deepest longing and desire of the heart, except God alone."

The longing that inevitably overwhelms our hearts and minds when we lose someone we love is often the powerful, though deeply painful, experience that leads us to an understanding that our emptiness, our incompleteness, will only be filled with God.

The certain way for our imperfect human hearts to recover from what often seems like an endless succession of losses is to fall in surrender to the God whose divine heart is always open to take us in and hold us until the pain has subsided.

 I may never know, in this earthly life at least, what my mother yearned for, but I know that somewhere deep in her soul she knew a longing for God that is now fulfilled, a need for her Beloved that is no longer a need but a moment to moment communion.

“Something quite unexpected has happened. It came this morning early. For various reasons, not in themselves at all mysterious, my heart was lighter than it had been for many weeks. … Suddenly, at the very moment when, so far, I mourned [her] least, I remembered her best. … It was like the lifting of the sorrow removed a barrier.”  C. S. Lewis, “A Grief Observed”

Image is of my mom, Georgette Regina Clifford, circa 1945?

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'A perfect dose of grace' for all seasons

 This small but powerful book of stories is the perfect read for you when you want to reward yourself with some well-deserved quiet time! Rabbi Irwin Kula, author of “Yearnings: Embracing the Sacred Messiness of Life” wrote, “If you want to find God, know love, and truly understand these are the same, read this beautiful book. But be prepared to have your heart opened up, to laugh and to cry, to take many deep breaths of awe and wonder, and to shout out to the Heavens and to the people in your life, Thank You! Hallelujah! What a perfect dose of grace this book is for people of all backgrounds!"  

You can deliver this book now to your e-reader by visiting Things My Father Taught Me About Love, Kindle edition.

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

Peace comes in soup and sandwiches and red shutters

I’ve always hated white aluminum siding. But today I find myself homesick for it, and the little beach cottage that wears it with grace. Weather-worn windows are simply adorned with wine-red shutters and a freshly painted entrance door to match. Red is good energy for an entrance. At least, that’s what I’ve learned from the dog-eared pages of my  Feng-Shui manuals. Everything in the house is old. Not old enough to be valued antiques, but old enough to have memories. I even miss the occasional pungent aroma of cigar that wafts through the rooms while I’m there. Since my visits are most often solitary, I imagine the smoker is the keeper of some of those memories. We are on gracious terms, and I often thank him for letting me share in the deep peace of the place. Sometimes, when I am feeling melancholy, I invite him to come and sit a spell, and sometimes, he obliges.

Maybe I am comfortable with the arrangement because the smell of cigars reminds me of my Uncle Elias of Blessed Memory, the epitome of curmudgeon, full of bluff and bluster, who loved his family deeply. I remember him bringing soup and sandwiches from his coffee counter across the street from the hospital where I spent long hours in Hospice with my mom, after my dad died. Each day he would ask the same things about his sister. “Did she like the soup? Did she eat the sandwich? Tomorrow I’ll bring her a pastry.” It was his way of dealing. He fed people. For me, it’s about changing shells, like the hermit crab. My favorite is made of white aluminum with red shutters.