Fishy stories

Here in England the snow and ice has put a halt to my usual schedule. The cold weather started a week or so before Christmas.
Just before the New Year dawned, we were getting low on food. My hope was, that shopping could be resumed as soon as the snow cleared a bit. On the last night of 2009 I tried to be resourceful by making a pizza from scratch.
I dug deep into the pantry looking for ingredients when my boys "stuck in a thumb", and pulled out - a tin of Anchovies.
When you are six, discovering that an Anchovy is a little salty fish which has travelled all the way from Spain, can be pretty exciting. I showed them the word " ESPANOL" stamped into the base of the tin.
On their insistence, I duly planted a single anchovy tiddler onto their pizza slice.
Having served it up I waited.....
"Mum, we don't like them - Anchewees are Toooo salty!"
(Yep, just as I expected.)
I tried to regale the virtues of fish, by telling them of their great grandfather who had laboured in building the East Lancashire road. He had claimed that his compatriots had all wilted and died along the way; but the oil in the sardines he'd ate kept out the cold and kept him alive.
Later, as we lay in our warm beds, the New Year was welcomed in by more hardy individuals who noisily braved the Arctic conditions. (Sardine-eaters no doubt.) Next door's dog (Jack), amused himself by barking at fireworks for the best part of the night.
Next morning at breakfast Matthew told me; "I don't like Spaniels!"
"Oh, is that so?" I said, thinking he was referring to Jack's canine -Karaoke session the previous evening.
"Did the neighbours dog keep you up with his barking?"
"No!" he scolded,"...I don't like them on my pizza!"
(I was glad that hangovers on New Year day were a long-gone part of my past.)
"Ah, you mean Anchovies...from Espanol?"
"Yes mum...."

With the cosiness of Christmas holidays too soon over; January the sixth, had us trudging schoolward, through the snow. Stepping off every kerb plunged us ankle deep into troughs of cold black water.
The festive lights which had glowed like warm coals through the gloom of winter streets had mostly been taken down now.
John shared his thoughts; "God likes to make snow for kids, but this time I think he has made a bit too much!"
"Why does God make too much snow?" Asked Matthew.
"God never makes too much snow, " I said "It's always the right amount."
"Maybe the fields needed it to improve the soil for crops."
It was difficult to answer all the usual questions and give regard to the safest places to step.
As far as I could see the pavement was littered with footmarks, impressed clearly like letters on the base of an anchovy tin - and just as smooth and slippery.
An elderly couple struggled past us; I watched as the lady lost her footing and glided sardine-like toward a garden fence. I imagined that sequined evenings in the ballroom flashed through her husband's mind as he intervened with a tango hold.
"Lord help us!" she exclaimed her face pale with fright.
I wondered if that was the first prayer she'd said for a little while....
So, now I have the real answer to why God seemingly makes "too much snow" sometimes...as a "fisher of men" he's ingenious!

Swallowing the star

This time last year, Matthew, (being five) did the obligatory thing of eating too much jelly and then joining in the newly formed trampoline team with his cousins on Gran's bed.
Later he described the consequences:
"Mum, I have pains in my tum, they are playing hide and seek - they are making square-cles (circles) all over my tummy!
Some are triangles and some are squares and there is a star in there being pointy!"
Now that's what I would call a case of "Christmas Indigestion!
This year we had a stay-at home Christmas, and I got a chance to cook just what I wanted for my kids.
I asked them what they'd like for Christmas dinner and like the hosts of Angels they sung with one accord;- "MEATLOAF!"
What bliss to not have to worry about dry turkey meat and if gran was expecting roast potatoes instead of lumps of charcoal!
For afters, instead of mince pies or trifle the kids wanted something chocolaty.
Once on visiting a museum cafe, I bought my daughter a concoction of Chocolate Ganache - and she liked it so much I was foolish enough to find a recipe and attempt to replicate it.
It all went a bit ad -hoc, but she liked the result very much.
When she Alleluiah' d! At the top of her lungs for more of the same, this year, I persuaded her to try a chocolate log instead. (Coward, yes I know!)But it turned out for the best.
The compilation of a chocolate log became a family event...each of the children made their own robin to decorate it - (if you've seen the film " Flushed away, " you will note the unintentional resemblance to the singing slugs...)

To back track to a few weeks before Christmas; I was gifted with a whole set of Crib figures in need of some repair - My Methodist neighbour was bemused as we sat drinking tea. She kept glancing up with a strained look in her eye.
Noticing her discomfort I explained it wasn't a "Catholic" thing" to have the Nativity scene displayed this early; it was just that, they were on my Kitchen windowsill until I could find a proper home for them, and do a few repairs.
It was a " safe" zone where the kids couldn't reach them.
But Christmas arrived, and I had only managed to sort out the Ox and the Ass.
My kids decided they would come to my assistance, and paint them for me. On seeing their eager little faces I forgot about worrying if they might get broken, and what the giver of said figures might say; I relented, and so the figures are much more colourful now - who needs a halo when you have hair like this?
Now I have more reasons to smile when I see those figures in the crib with Jesus at the centre; Christmas really does belong to children, its a special time to enjoy their company along with that of the infant Jesus.

A happy and Blessed Christmas to all God's children who visit here!
Anglican Archbishop Rowan Williamsspeaks up for preserving childhood.
PHOTOS: all (C)jlewis 2009

Holy Virgin appears at Warraq, Giza

It seems the Virgin Mary has appeared again, this time in Cairo, just as she did in Zeitoun in 1969.
Apparition in Cairo youtube
At this time of year the Eastern Churches celebrate Saint Mary and her role in salvation.
I am not one for alleged apparitions when we have plenty approved. (Which all serve the same function:- to exhort us to prayer and reparation for the world.)
However, I do yearn at times for Mary to visit her dowry (Richard II gave England to Her as Her dowry in Westminster, 1381 AD)in some spectacular way and re - awaken us here to the things of God. But would any one in England notice if she appeared here as she has at Zeitoun (and probably Cairo this year?)
The decline of Mary's presence, and her image being stripped from our places of worship did not end 400 years ago with the death of Henry -
While the "Hail Mary" is an optional part of the liturgy of the Mass, it is being consistently removed in some parishes.
In my own Church, there has not been a May procession for the past eleven years, and the school children are not taught "Marian" hymns. It's not their fault they do not know her. To keep a child from its mother is surely unjust?
We just have to trust that God will not allow this dumming down of His Mother to continue indefinately. After all, the evil one was allowed no dominion over her. We too must not allow him dominion over us, by becomming despondent, but remain faithful and steadfast.
It would seem it is taking a Brazilian living in Australia to help us English out, (and indeed Europe as the prophecies of Saint John Vianney, Dominic Savio, and Our Lady of La salette herself indicate.)
His name is Raymond da Souza, who has set up The Walsingham project A project dedicated to collating prayer for the conversion of England, and re-conversion of Europe.
How soft have we become in the practices of our faith! How brorw beaten - but it needn't be that way - What we need is genuine fervour!

A PRAYER FOR FERVOUR;~ JOHN HENRY NEWMAN.
In asking for fervour,
I ask for all that I can need,
and all that you can give.

In asking for fervour I am asking for
effectual strength,
consistency,
and perseverance;

I am asking for
Faith,
Hope,
and Charity,
in their most heavenly exercise.

In asking for fervour I am asking to be rid of
The fear of man,
and the desire of his praise;
I am asking for the gift of prayer;
I am asking for the loyal perception of duty, which follows on yearning affection;
I am asking for sanctity, peace and joy - all at once.

PHOTO: Our Lady of Walsingham image.

Passing the time

What is time
if not something borrowed from a greater source?
A river has to bloom and swell
before it runs its homeward course
One cannot grasp
the onward flow which passes through our lives
We can but choose to use it well
and hope that at its cease
The way in which we spent it grants our restless spirits peace.

POEM and PHOTO: Aira falls Cumbria (C)jlewis 2009

Our Lady of Guadalupe - protectress of the unborn

At age 42, I found to my delight that I was pregnant. I went to my doctor for confirmation.
However he; was not so delighted, telling me that women of my age should have more sense than to risk having a child at my age.
I smiled at him.
So he went on, to tell me that it would be too stressful for me, that I would lose the child, and it may also have "problems...."
I went undeterred from the doctor's surgery, and waited a month for my first scan.
The nurse smiled " I had a feeling it would be a good day," she said...
She turned the screen for me to view the two small shapes on the screen. "I am not sure what my doctor would say to this!" I said -" Double disapproval no doubt!"
The nurse it seemed was a person of faith - "Trust in God" she said, !"Each day I turn to my bible and that gives me strength."
"A special day to meet a "special" nurse I thought. I felt God was taking care already.
Initially, as I kept my regular check-ups with the hospital, it was suspected that one of the twins would have downe's syndrome.
They took me aside, and offered to inject this baby with salt solution to kill it off. I refused this "help" and the nurse who spoke to me seemed relieved at my choice.
I missed one of the regular scan appointments, only to be told that it had been one of " vital importance".
The specialists were quite distraught, and the screen showed more anomalies; Both the babies had serious "defects" which showed up as a strange light that appeared over the area of their hearts. The specialist hurried me to a consultant, who advised me to do away with them both, being late for the scan meant this was my last chance to do so. Now I understood why they had been so keen to see me.
But I wasn't prepared to follow that advice; if the children had problems, with God's help - I would cope. The main thing is that I would love them.
So I smiled and said " Thank you, but no..."
A smile of relief played across the face of the assistant nurse,which she hid from the specialists, who clearly thought I was crazy.
I thought of younger mums, who perhaps were not quite so staid as an old timer like me; who might have given in to the pressure to follow the advice of the experts.
Next day at church, an old parishioner told me off " Every morning you are on my mind and I have to pray for you, like it or not!" She complained.
In the following weeks, I struggled daily to get my daughter to school, but kept on believing that God was in it all.
I lay on the couch all day, exhausted from the exertion until I recovered enough in time to pick her up again.
My next scan came and went. "Pre-eclampsia" they said; "You will have to be induced - you are high risk..."
"Yes, in a day or two I'll come" I said, playing for time to gather my thoughts - but no, the day was set: "You are to be here tomorrow at 9.00 a.m.ward 11."
And so, on the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, protectress of the unborn two perfectly healthy twin boys were born to me.
Today I cooked two birthday cakes, tomorrow I will ice them, and on Saturday, Mary's feast day and theirs, I will give thanks to God.
Image - composite from the Tilma of Guadalupe.

Keeping motivated

I have been trying my hand at making a rubber mold for a small figure of a Madonna and child I sculpted a few months back.
It is a steep learning curve, and I have messed up for the second time despite double checking the instructions. The rubber is not cheap, and of course I will have to start again.

I was bemoaning all that had gone wrong to my husband as he was trying to read an old book of psalms he had borrowed from a Friend.
As we were talking he turned the page, and out fell this little ditty which had been used as a bookmark.

DON'T QUIT
(Author unknown)

When things go wrong as they sometimes will,
When the road you are trudging seems all uphill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high,
And you want to smile but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest if you must, but don't you quit.

Life can be odd with its twists and turns,
As every one of us often learns.
Many a failure can turn about -
And we might have won had we stuck it out;

Don't give up though the pace seems slow -
you may succeed with another go.
Success is failure turned inside out -
The silver tint of clouds of doubt,
You never can tell just how close you are,
Success may be near though it seems so far;
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit-
Its when thing seem worst that you MUST NOT QUIT!

Photos:1 Madonna plaque 2. Hammy - never quit tryin' to chew through those bars..!

looking for Jesus

When my children were really little, I was no longer free to go to Mass each morning. Sometimes this separation hurt - and so I thought the best thing to do was to offer even that little suffering up.
I had learned about spiritual communion - but always seemed to remember it when I was about to tuck into a snack. (I prayed it anyway...leaving God to decide the outcome.)
In the quiet of prayer one day, I was lamenting that I couldn't visit him in the way I wanted. (N.B. Note the "I wanted" phrase in that last sentence!)
Interiorly I heard the words "Worship Me, in them."
How did I interpret this?
Well I didn't believe Children should be worshipped; I've seen many a young prince spoiled in his youth only to reap the seeds of over - indulgence in adulthood. (Loneliness, insecurity, and unresolved anger.)
Worship is a form of love and respect.
I believe love requires for parents to be models of authority for their children. We need to teach them to share in housework so that they may learn to care for themselves when they are older; we need to allow them to do little chores such as putting the knives and forks on the dining table ready for a meal, that they might learn how to serve others-
Jesus often corrected his disciples when needed; measured discipline is also part of love.
There is also a need to respect a child's need for play and fun; and their inability to express disappointments or illness except by their sometimes unacceptable behaviour. Then we need understanding.
To respond to those words, I had most of all to believe in the Sacrament of Baptism I had given my children. That the effects of the sacrament had begun their journey from exile into redemption: - it had expelled the inherited original sin of Pride, and now, within them was the perfect and pure dwelling place for the Trinity to reside in His fullness.
I had to see as a reality the vulnerability that Jesus had subjected Himself to, and act accordingly. That meant being His protector, being vigilant in His formation, and putting aside my own desires.

Being an older mum, I was so often very tired and near to exhaustion; my patience was not what it should be.
I was irritable and prone to having a tantrum of my own on occasion;- When a four year old tells you that you are a "Big Baby" you have to straighten up fast!
It came home with a bump that parents also must teach their children self-control through example...
Along this journey into parenthood, priests in the confessional advised and encouraged me..."When it gets tough, remember to ask for the help of Mary our mother"they said ...and "Pray for these gifts of patience, self control and...(never could remember the last one - I wonder if it was "memory?)

I had strived to remain in a " state of grace" - and now I was awakening to the fact that these virtues which seemed so difficult, I didn't have to do all on my own. The Holy Spirit resided in my baptised soul too. He is known as the " enabler" and all I had to do was let Him act through me.
He was so much kinder and understanding to the children than I, and He helped my stormy nature become a small squall.
I realised that Jesus truly slept in the boat of my heart while the storms arose - and I had only to call on Him to sort things out.
The children responded better to this maturity that belonged to God, and was on loan to me.
The experience confirmed my vocation as "Mother" and that Parents are sanctified through their children.
In time, the children began to attend school and I returned to daily Mass.
At the end of mass, when Jesus is within me - not just in spirit but in body, I love him as I would a small baby nestling within my bosom. That is the time I have heaven on earth.
But lately, parishioners like to stop and talk to me, and I ask again of Our Lord "What am I to do?" and complain that this is my time for Him.
This morning my old Friend Ronnie chatted and chatted to me in the last pew near the door. When I thought she had finished she would speak some more - (she had only been catching her breath.) I was praying inside as I listened; " How can I be alone with you Lord,I am already late getting home now?"
And then my Friend said " I am buying you a song for Christmas - it's called "Jesus is my Friend, He always listens when I need Him."And I knew God was telling me something about my having to listen to others when they need me.
Ronnie needed me today.
Photos: "Crib Jesus 1&2" and "Baptism"(c) jlewis 2009

I repaired a statue for my priest last week, so in return he gave me a set of crib figures. In the bottom of the box I was surprised to find a life size baby Jesus statue, broken here and there.
I repaired him and returned him. As Bishop Sheen once said: "Jesus is found in unexpected places."

Mary, watchful Mother

(Photo: Our Lady of Lydiate - 14th century)
Some years ago, I read the "The Secret of the Rosary" by Saint Louis de Montforte. In the book he recounts stories of those who had reached the judgement seat of God and been found wanting. It was then that the Blessed Virgin had intervened in the judgement of a soul and obtained a reprieve.
Sometimes the soul saw the number of rosaries they had prayed, weighed against their sins. The rosaries "won."
I wondered at the time how that might have been possible, until I read the account of the American priest who had experienced the same intervention of Mary. Also the British prostitute who changed her life after a near-death experience in which was aware of the presence of Mary.
In both cases, Mary was someone that neither the priest, nor the prostitute had any previous devotion to.
As children, how often are we unaware of our own mother's presence. Yet she is there to keep a watchful eye over us, often intervening in situations without our knowledge, to bring us some good we are in need of.
(For story and video of Father steven scheier )

GLADYS AND MARY
I once mentioned "Mary" to my neighbour Gladys, and realised her understanding of Mary's role in salvation was different to mine.
We'd had many a chat over the garden fence, swapping plants and recipes for cakes.
When something needed mending, my husband would always be there for her.
On my fridge is a little magnet she gave to us as a way of saying " Thank you"
which says :

"Good neighbours are a blessing,
They give you peace of mind,
You never have to ask them
They always have the time
One such as you dear Friend,
Is very hard to find."

Well, today I saids a farewell for my old neighbour, Gladys, along with Friends and family at the local Methodist church.
The service comprised in the main of eulogies on Gladys'life.
Her grandson, resplendent in navy uniform with a row of medals twinkling on his chest shared with us his memories. How she had loved her bible, and strived to form her children in the ways of God. At times she had rebuked them, at others pleaded for them when they were in need of mercy for some transgression.
She had watched over them and protected them as a good mother would.
And I wondered if Gladys had now met with Mary, though she had no devotion to her; and if at last she might have the joy of understanding Mary's role as advocate and mother of all.
I am sure that Mary has been watching over Gladys all her life, despite her being unaware of her presence.
And I shall remember my dear freind Gladys in my rosaries, to live up to that little verse she gave us in thanks: because:
"good neighbours never have to be asked... they always "find the time."

All - "Holy" Eve ...

Hooray for the Vatican speaking out against the popularity of Halloween as a celebration of darkness.
Here is the article from the Daily Mail newspaper,Vatican slams halloween
Many see Halloween celebrations as just a bit of fun, and an excuse to dress up.
"Dressing up", or "Role play", is used as an effective tool in learning establishments - therefore it is wise to monitor what we allow our children to explore in games of "dressing up".
When my boys were three, we went to a local shopping centre, where we were approached by two scantily clad witches on stilts, who were carrying buckets of sweets.
We tried to avoid them by diving into the nearest shop doorway before the children saw them but it was too late. The girls pursued us, even though the children were visibly very frightened.
They leaned down to the children and hissed and growled at them - my husband was near to thrusting a size nine boot into their stilts at this point, but refrained because they were some one's daughters after all.
We encountered other shoppers equally disgruntled by their behaviour. No doubt they were just two (usually out - of - work) circus / drama students, getting all too carried away with their chance to do some "method acting".
We found the store manager ...after a very long search...)and made sure that he knew this was not something that was helping to draw in shoppers.
So, if a pair of cheap plastic fangs and a pointy hat can turn two young ladies into kiddie -bullies - what effect does dress -up have on a child?
It seems to me, that the evil one must be behind the pagan celebration of Halloween;
How else could people be co-ersed into parting with their hard -earned money for so much plastic tat and cheap meals advertised as "Halloween Specials".
As for my children, they seem to have learned from the experience that Pagan Halloween is a bad thing.
This year I had a party at my house, because my sister rang saying she needed some help with her 8 year old daughter who was feeling the pressure from her school peers to be a ghoul rather than a girl.
So my sister and I invited the children to dress up as heroes, saints and angels. I painted " happy Holy evening" on the mirror with some poster paint, just to help endorse the real meaning of "Hallowed". We made paper angel streamers to decorate the dining room to help things along.
We even made little heart biscuits. (Main photo- Jesus and Mary hearts.)
There was a low point though, when my daughters hamster who had been getting rather old, decidied to leave this world. Of course we had a funeral in the garden for her; and even this we managed to turn around as a special day when Holy hamsters go straight to heaven. (We can always explain the theology at a later date - as the boys insisted on putting her on my pious list!)
The children had a dance, some games and all went home happy, and didn't miss out on any fun ... (Which is, I think, what most parents feel guilty about if they do not comply.)
My other sister lives in the next county; she told me she gave out presents for trick or treat, which included miraculous medals. Now there's Catholic for You!

Blessed Virgin Mary's Bower - welcome message

Each year I like to re -post my welcome message to all new visitors; so here it is once again.
Jesus told us to "Honour thy father and thy Mother".
I am sure He would be pleased if we honour His most worthy mum! Each post here is a small spiritual flower ~ or something to ponder on - (Even a little laughter can be good for the soul!)
I welcome you to have a stroll through this scented garden and gather a whole bouquet!

PHOTO: miraculous image of the mother of God, heavenly, triumphant queen of Schonstatt ~ with a frame of added flowers!
(All artwork on this site is copyright to "Gnette's Art 2006" unless otherwise specified)
All bible quotes are taken from the "New Jerusalem Bible, ISBN:0-232-52077-1

Monster musings

Having small children goes hand in hand with the obligatory school "Dinosaur project"
I have become quite "au fait" with many things pre-historic. Like my husband for example, insisting on breast pocket handkerchiefs...
With interest I read the following report today:

"Dinosaur experts in Dorset are examining the fossilised skull of a sea monster so large they say it could have eaten a Tyrannosaurus-rex for breakfast.

The fossil head is 2.4m (8ft) long, suggesting that the beast measured up to 16m (54ft) from the tip of its massive, crocodile-like snout to the end of its muscular tail, making it one of the largest specimens ever found.

The skull belongs to a pliosaur, one of a group of giant aquatic reptiles which roamed the warm seas over what is now southern Britain 150 million years ago."

(Quote; The Times.)
Of course it caused a lot of comments to ensue on the creation of the universe:
My favourite post was this one from someone who didn't believe in a creator - God:-

"The Earth formed from a cloud of dust in space...."

Well...o.k....but then who made the dust?

I've never bought into the "man evolved from apes" thing - The 'missing link' as an hypothesis has yet an actual "body" to be found to prove it.
My young daughter volunteered that "If we were all evolved from apes, then we would all be very hairy..." My husband could be suspect in that case; but I think the breast pocket handkerchief thing exonerates him.
That was the church's problem with Galileo; (not hirsuteness) having stated that the earth was round, provided no means of proving it.
Reminds me of the time I did jury service.
Those prosecuting had been disabled at the time of the infraction by drugs and drink. Such unreliable witnesses eventually led to the case being thrown out of court.
(Not to imply that Galileo was ever similarly incapacitated.)
I much prefer to think that although we may be genetically 95% similar to apes, (as that court case confirmed) an ape cannot compose a symphony or catch the bus to court.
To extrapolate;-
Cats will never evolve into hawks, even though both like to eat fish; (Surely a cat - sneaky as they are; would have done it long ago if it could...) Therefore the theory of natural selection doesn't hold any water, much less fish in it. (In my opinion.)
Evolution is not at odds with Catholic teaching, in fact, at some point in time God could have chosen to infuse a soul into the ape-being that was man.
This ape-like being or "human", would have been distinct from the ape species, just as dogs are a different species to giraffes.
A dog is a dog despite its innate ability for pedigrees to sire mongrels under the right conditions.They only ever produce a variety of different dogs.
Even though Hippos are apparently related to horses and Elephants to cows, they do not cross species.
Neither do Monkeys and humans cross species.
The "missing link" between apes and humans, is this: - the human soul.
That's why we can compose symphonies, study dinosaurs and choose to behave for good or evil at tea-parties.
Images; 1.A dinosaur looks for breakfast. 2. from "Cats in Hats" (with thanks.)

Kids Comments...

On Evolution....
"Mum, In England there was some people sitting having a cup of tea when a Meteor - iter (Meteorite) landed and all the dinosaurs became stinked out, (extinct)but the people were o.k."
(Now you know why the English drink tea...)

On the "H" word...
The boys came home from school and brought with them a swear word.
" Don't follow what the others say" I told them, "It's better that they should be copying you and then they will know how to be good."
Later in the garden they were exchanging bits of twig with the kids next door, when Matthew ran in to tell me:
" Mum next door were saying those bad words - I told them they mustn't or they will go to hell - but they ran away crying to their mum that I had used the "H" word!"

Revised Liturgy...?
Since I made John an alb for his part as a shepherd in the Christmas play, he likes to "Say Mass."
We all took our places with hands joined - John made his Memorial acclamation:
"Let us complain the mystery of faith..."

Mass like it used to be...?
Then it was Matthew's turn to "Say Mass.";
I said "'Mum' will have to put the tea on soon - how long will you be?"
He lowered his head, looked me straight in the eye and said:- "Mum, this is going to be a loooooong Mass!"

(Image : Saint Joseph listening to the word of God. (c) Jlewis 2009)
One of my boys asked me to make this statue for him: St. Joseph's mallet is put to one side, on the ground as the boy Jesus leaps to greet him. Saint Joseph cradles the bunch of lily's (purity) to his chest, and his cloak is wrapped around Jesus to show his protective role in the family. He inclines his old, tired head to listen to Jesus after his hard day's work. Joseph was a man of few recorded words, but he was attentive to the Word of God.

Month of the Rosary - October

(Image : Queen of the Holy Rosary (c) gnettesart 2009)
This being the month of the rosary, I am reminded that I have sorely neglected to add to my rosary blog; -Rosary primer
So Whilst I do that I leave you a photo of my latest finished processional figure of Mary, Queen of the rosary whose appearance echoes Our Lady of Fatima and the " Queen in gold of Ophir" of the old Testament.
For her face, I looked at the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe A depiction of Mary which God chose to reveal to us on the Tilma of a simple Mexican peasant, Juan Diego.
Mary is shown as small and dainty, unlike many of the willowy catwalk versions artists tend to offer.
In her hand is the lily of the Holy Trinity - as a reminder that she was a virgin before, during and after the birth of Christ. Chastity is a great gift from God; without it ones body seems to be easily driven by passing desires. If we obtain it; it purifies our intentions and drives. It is a virtue much needed in our present times.
As queen of priests, she wears a simple rope cincture; another symbol of purity. A cincture is traditionally worn by a priest around the waist of his alb (A long white robe)when celebrating Mass, to keep him mindful of his anointing as an alta Christus during the consecration.
"Hail Mary" the greeting the Angel Gabriel gave to Mary is on the base. "Hail" being reserved for greeting royalty.

Some years back, I felt strongly I had to make a figure of Mary. It seemed a crazy idea as I had no materials to do so and little experience.
It kept itching away at me - it was to be made of, well... plastic bags kept coming to mind, and a feeling of "lightness" as in weight - was important.
I thought, this isn't going to go away; so I duly began to find scraps that I might build an armature (Structure) for it. Before long the idea had taken shape.
My Deacon dad blessed it and she travelled from family rosary to family rosary, for a few years.
Image: (At the end of the service (c) R.H,way 2009)
Somehow being ferried around in the car didn't justify the inspiration for it to be so light. I thought "Yep" I was just being crazy after all, but my family have always tolerated my eccentricities, so it didn't cause a problem.
People who saw the little figure admired it - the face especially. And yet it is very simple - a bit like the Medieval French "Seat of Wisdom" statues of the Virgin and child. And so they encouraged me to develop this kind of work.
(I must thank here a spirit filled lady called Catherine who's message I kept for strength on days of discouragement. She said "I sense the urge to 'shout' interiorly for you to - Please Please Please - bring this into fruition;- as soon as you possibly can!!!!!" She might never know how much those words helped, as St. Francis said that "The worst temptaion for an artist is discouragement, .")

Then my sister moved up from London. She asked her new Parish priest if she could have a procession and evening of devotion to Mary. As he agreed, she took the unremarkable little statue to use that evening.
Because it was so light two small girls were able to process with the statue, and the priest duly consecrated it.
image : (the " lightweight" statue. (c) gnettesart 2009)
I was unwell and couldn't attend, but apparently there was a very good turnout.
Inspired by the enthusiasm, another parishioner organised a procession around an area of her town involving children from local schools. ( But she used another, heavier statue for the purpose.)
Now I have given the simple little statue to my sister for keeps and she takes it from school to school, bringing knowledge of Mary and the Rosary to the children.
Since making the statue I thought often of Noah and the ark, and how he must have felt a little crazy too. Seems God can do a bit with even a very small " yes" like mine and my sister's who had the courage to ask of her priest; to do something special to honour Mary!
Heres a big rosary event coming up you may want to take part....-a rosary day for the unborn

Food with a smile

I hear that Sir Paul mcCartney is trying to persuade people to eat more vegetarian meals by launching his "Meat-Free - Mondays" campaign. Its in the cause of reducing cancer risks.
Sounds kind of familiar - I seem to remember that Catholics once had a Meat - free Fridays thing going for some time. That was also to do with health improvement of sorts; practicing self-denial was good for strengthening ones "will power" muscles so to speak.
I must admit that on Wednesdays ( traditionally the day that the Pharisees plotted against Jesus)and on Fridays I often enjoy the vegetarian option as much as a meat one, so I am not sure if that "counts".
Have to say though when I open the fridge for lunch on Fridays that bacon on the middle shelf always looks irresistable. I think there must be an imp assigned to shiver in my fridge on Wednesdays and Fridays, just waiting for me to see the bacon.
Doesn't effect me like that on other days; for the rest of the week I can happily ignore it.
My photo above is a little cake my son decorated, having been given free reign of the "cake making and sweeties cupboard." I am sure there's a message in it for us somewhere.....Don't think I'll be using the idea for partys though.

(Images: funny cakes and dentist cake (c) gnettesart 2009)

Out of the mouths...

(Photo:St Therese statue before and after her 10 years younger makeover)

In recent months, a steady stream of Saint Mary's and other holy statues have passed through my garden shed to have their repairs and repaints done.
Because it is so cramped in there; a few find their way into the warmth of my dining room, where they stand on the windowsill and look out at the changing seasons until it is their turn.
Matthew is not always happy about that. " I can't eat my breakfast!" He'll complain "Why?" I ask.
"Because she is looking at me."
"Sit over there, with your back to her instead." I suggest.
It's really just an excuse not to have to finish his breakfast.
My 11 year old intrigued by all the restorations asked me if she could have a go, and so I bought her a Madonna and Child which was in a poorly state.
Having removed most of the old paint, it stood drying in the sunshine of my dining room window.
Matthew complained again.."Mum, I can't eat my breakfast!"
"Why I asked" thinking here we go again... "Its the Baby Jesus' his head is strange!" He said pointing dramatically at the little statue. I looked, and I have to admit he was right, (Photo:"Judge for yourself about the head - Sold as Seen...")
though I am not sure it was a good enough excuse to stop him from eating.
AS for Catherine, she has started high school - and is full of frustration at the new regime she's expected to juggle, and full of wonder at the challenge of her new found freedom.
(Using public transport instead of being ferried to and fro in a car.)
"Today" she told me, " We had to write about our hero - I couldn't think of anyone so I chose you mum...I tried to make it interesting, but it was difficult."
Ah well, there's one for my eulogy I guess...
Speaking of eulogies,and heroes - I recently attended my late uncle's funeral.
He had been in the navy during world war two and three of the submarines he had served in had suffered direct hits. He had been in open water on each occasion.
In his final weeks, cancer finally overtaking his strength - he told his daughters "Not to fuss"; "I've had a good life, I am 88, and I have seen young lads of seventeen die either side of me, I can't complain."
And throughout all his painful treatments - he seldom did. He died a holy death, blessed with the grace of receiving Holy Viaticum for his journey.
It was difficult having to get my black outfit together again just a year to the month of my dad's funeral.
I decided I would put on a different skirt this time - a flared one that one of my sisters had given me. It was a bit long, and reached down to my ankles.
I had a glittery black cardigan - one of those unwanted Christmas presents that test your charity - The "Oh yes it's lovely!" Type.
I thought I should wear my black mantilla as a mark of respect.
Matthew and John sat on the bottom stair in the hall as I stuck my last hair pin into place before leaving.
"You look lovely mum!" They exclaimed, eyes as bright as buttons...
"Oh thanks" I said, my mothers heart melting and slightly smug.
"Yes, mum you look great - just like Darth Vader!"
POP!!!
Yes that was the sound of my ego deflating. " They were right again! Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings" I thought. Perhaps I should re -consider the Mantilla thing, after all its the disposition of the heart that counts, not the externals.
They did make me laugh though, on an otherwise difficult day.
God Rest you in Peace, uncle Terry.
(Last Photo : from my late grandad's collection of Wills cigarettes series on " great escapes."

A little flower blooms in England

(Photo: Kathy's "St. Therese".)
Once long long ago, in the far east, there was a tower which the people of Babel decided to build.
They thought that if they built it high enough, they could reach God.
He needn't come to them - they'd go right to the top under their own efforts.
The building of the tower would be an icon of man's power. Not an edifice built for the worship and praise of God, but as a monument to the glory of those who built it.
They cleared the land, made the preparations, and planned the date of its completion.

"Come' they said,let us build ourselves a city and a tower with its top reaching heaven. Let us make a name for ourselves so we do not get scattered all over the world."(Genesis 11:4).

(New Jerusalem Bible)
God, seeing what the people were doing, came down and confused their languages so that they no -longer understood each other. Hence the people became scattered throughout the earth. Their tower was never finished.
God did this to quell their pride, so that they might come to understand that heaven can never be reached by our own efforts.

I was visiting the shrine of Ladywell at Fernyhalgh last month. In the room of martyr's relics, a sprightly old lady with her two companions admitted that "She didn't like relics". Some folks find them "creepy" others disdain their presence as a means of procuring superstition.

My kids looked at the papery hand of Saint Margaret Clitheroe displayed in the small perspex box. They had seen things like this before, but it didn't phase them.
Egyptian mummies at the museum did. My daughter, on a school field trip - refused to go anywhere near the displays. In their hearts they have an understanding about relics, just as the woman with the hemorrhage who touched the fringe of Jesus cloak did.
The Jewish people believed that the tassels on the priest's garments were holy, and contained the power to heal.
But the power of God was not in the cloak, it was transmitted through it in some way because it was in such intimate contact with Jesus.
As He stated: " I felt power go out FROM ME."

I knelt before the ancient altar used by Martyr priests, about to say a prayer for England; when one of the grey-haired companions quietly said in my ear
"I was healed by a relic of St. Therese of Liseux..."

She had lived seventy five years so far - but at the age of five, it could have all been over. Leaning too far from the sash -window of a third floor Victorian villa she had fallen over the ledge and dashed her head upon a large stone in the grounds below, thus fracturing her skull.

She was barely conscious, but recognised one of her aunts. The doctors told her parents that she was not expected to live through the night.
As the family gathered to pray the rosary around her, the priest was duly called to minister her final anointing. He arrived having made a visit first to the hidden Carmelite convent of West Derby and brought a relic of St. Therese of Liseux.
The relic was placed upon her chest and they all continued in prayer throughout the night....
and seventy years later she is able to tell me of her miracle granted through the intercession of Our Lady and Saint Therese.

I wasn't able to visit the relics of St. Therese as they visited the Cathedral of Christ the King ( Known affectionately as " Paddy's wig wam.")but many of my family did. It was reported that in Liverpool alone, in excess of seventeen thousand people came to venerate the relics.
And so, I read some of the News reports of the event on the net, and the accompanying comments; some good, but as always some filled with bile and ignorance, citing the usual objections to such Catholic practices - " Money - making, fairy stories, sickos..." and so on. Blah blah - we have heard it all so many times ad nauseum.

The re-curring question used by reporters was "Why so many visitors to the relics?"
I can only offer the following; it is because Therese teaches us that The towers we build to reach heaven by our own efforts will fall. We have to be like little children who entrust their salvation to God.
When pilgrims reach out to touch the reliquary, they are reaching out for the "robe" which once adorned a woman now in the presence of God. Just as His power went out from him, to heal the haemmoraging woman; He wills that it go out from the remains of the faithful, humble and trusting Therese.
Now an inert thing, her bodily remains are the garment she wore on earth, made sacred by His presence within her.
The reporters would do well to ask their question of that once dying little girl, who now, grey -haired, has known the truth of it for the past seventy years.
(image; moquettes for pilgrim statues (c)jlewis 2009)
While England looks for gods amongst the rubble of celebrity T.V. and the false gods of consumerism, public architechture, home and body makeovers - sex and drugs - the visit of St. Therese's relics remind the remnant of the faithful, that even now the little flower of faith in God has not been crushed, and can bloom once again in England.