Ask

It’s easy to lose hope and allow despair
To take over one’s soul
In a world where material success
is a measure of one’s worth
It takes no effort at all
To fall into a pit of expectations
Whether they be self-made
Dictated or inherited
Getting out is unthinkable
Or worse yet
Deemed impossible
So we go on deceiving ourselves
That we must meet all expectations
If we were to be of any value
And that if we could imagine it
Success will happen
And we flood our minds
With the illusion of human greatness
We leave ourselves to luck
And indulge ourselves
In the power of positive thinking
God, on the other hand
Is not even considered a possibility
What a pity
And what a shame it is to fail
what a disappointment
and what a loss it is
not to seek God
And how meaningless is such loss.
When all you had to do was ask.

AKA Thomas

The priest says that God did not consult him
If He could bring him to life; He just went ahead and gave him
the gift.
The gift.
More often these days
I fail to see life as a gift
When I have no money to pay
For this or that
When I sin and I don’t mean to
And I’m afraid of the consequences
And I cry because I did not ask for
the gift.
I was not consulted.
I don’t appreciate the gift.
If I never had the gift, I wouldn’t know
What I’d be missing in the first place.
Some days I do laugh because I find things to laugh about despite
the gift.
After I’ve laughed , the next minute
I am made to feel I shouldn’t have laughed
Because sorrow is much deeper
After laughter
But the priest says
Jesus died for me
And He didn’t have to consult me
If He could.
I don’t know
how He could care for me so much
When I keep doubting Him.

Perseverance

A friend at work asked me one day what my thoughts were on perseverance. He was to give a talk to a teenage boy during a walk. Here were rambling thoughts that went through my head. I felt like I had gone for a walk myself, with Jesus.

Life is a strand of trials. Money not enough. Kids unhappy. Family health issues. Threats of some kind. Guilt-infested conscience. Told-you-so attitude. What-have-you-done taunts. Work’s too much. People demanding. World asks too much of me and I give too much and get little to nothing back.Gossip about everyone, obviously including me. Too many … how do I say it the Catholic way… ‘unfriendly, cruel, spiteful’ people. Something holes. Gas holes. Unbending; merciless. There’s too much rejection. Being unlike others. Prejudice, racism. Confusion. Everything one does is a sin; everybody does it. One does not want to be odd. Doors are shut. So are windows. Failed here; unwanted there; left out here; ridiculed there.

Persevere, God says. Yeah? To give up seems easier. Perseverance is suffering. What am I doing this for? What’s in it for me? Do I have to do this? Yes, if I want to be stronger, better, cleansed, purified, heaven-ready. (I don’t know who answers me, but I hear a come back for every word I throw.) Offer it up…. God here you go. Put it in my bank of good deeds.

But how much of this can I endure? How much perseverance does GOD want from me?
Wait, let me guess…not seven times, but seventy times seven times? Persistence from beginning ‘til end?

So I must. Focus on the end product, the goal, the dream, the reward. What is it that I want to do, but I can’t do it because obstacles are so ridiculously in my way so that to give up seems like the intelligent choice. Like duh, I’m-not-cut-out-for-it---don’t-I-get-it kind of thing. Then I make myself think of the great inventors… who tried and tried to get the light bulb working, the telephone…. remember the deaf man who played great music… remember the runner without a leg.

So…ok I must persevere. Lesson is absorbed. But even a much greater lesson to teach myself is.…I must not persevere on my own. It is okay to persist, insist on attaining my goal, my dreams so long as I let God in on things… consult Him on everything. It shouldn’t be an I-can-do-this attitude but an I-can-do-this-with-God attitude. If it’s in His plans, WE can do it. With perseverance should come discernment. With discernment, prayer. With prayer, perseverance. Is this you telling me not to go with this or you telling me to try harder, to persevere? I am willing to keep trying if this is the path you want me on. Who cares if I’ve been rejected seventy times seven times? But I want to get off of this path if you’re telling me to get off.

Persevere. I remember the pagan woman who touched Jesus’ hem.. she was likened to a dog who must not ask for its master’s food. She said that even the dogs eat the crusts that fall from their master’s table. Jesus was touched by her faith. (I was touched by her humility.) Great is your faith, He said. But yes, not only had she great faith and humility….. she had great perseverance as well.…there was a crowd following Jesus, I remember, but she persisted. I probably would have said, ah, the line’s too long, I’ll come back later.

So I must persevere. Endure with hope, focus on the Lord. Life on earth is temporary. We are to endure the trials here until we get to heaven. I can do that. No, no. I can do that with God.

THE SECRET LIFE OF BEES

I just saw the movie called the SECRET LIFE OF BEES based on Sue Monk Kidd's book with the same title. I loved it. I read the book afterwards. I preferred the movie. I'm not saying don't bother with the book, but ....go see the movie. There weren't major differences, but what the movie omitted were good omissions, I thought. The acting was great, first of all. The book was not badly written either, but there were parts which I thought took things to the extreme that may discourage noncatholics or even confirm suspicions that catholics do worship Mary. The characters were lovable and they were so devoted to Mary, in both the book and the movie. I haven't read on the author yet, but hopefully she did not intend to portray Mary as a 'woman god'. Because that's not how Catholics see Mary. Those who are devoted to Mary will see Mary as Mary, the Mother of God, our loving mediatrix and would appreciate the movie for that. For we know her and what her role is in the Church: to bring us close to her Son. It is my hope that those who do not know her, after watching/reading the Secret Life of Bees, will seek her and then will know her. And for those who think know her and think she is competing with Jesus... well, may she intercede for them, as I know she would.

A Builder of Babel

I want to tell a story of wrong choices
against God’s warnings
If I didn’t know what I now know, I probably would
Make the same choices.
Remember the consequences, I’d tell myself. If I knew
my plans would never coincide with God’s
I would have stopped at the silence
And wouldn’t plead any further.
I’m tired of guessing.
I am tired of being tired.
and one would say
it is because I do not put God on my agenda.
One would say I speak of him. But so what does that do.
One says I have schemes but not a plot.
if they’re right
to make God laugh, tell him your plans.
then I am afraid I am his best stand up comic.
How does one know? How does one find out what’s in the plan.
I don’t want to waste my time.
if I don’t know yet at forty-seven,
Will I know at forty-eight?
Am I just going to watch people flourish while I become stale?
I want to get up there
without having to build the tower of Babel
which would stop production
the minute I start speaking.

RAKING

My right hand clasps the tip of the handle
As if holding a ladle, ready to stir the pot
My left rests about the middle of the stick
And I am ready to begin.
I drop the tines on unsuspecting leaves
Some escaping the vicious steel with the help of the wind.

I lift
And drop
And pull

The captured leaves shaking their way to the pile

I lift
And drop
And pull

Each stroke, a thought
The mortgage is three months over due
How do I explain it to Chase Manhattan?

lift
drop
pull

My list is tedious.
The unfinished poems
Undone hems and unsewn buttons.

The soil is drunk with manure.
And I get drunk with it.

The pile is now a mountain
I must pick up all the leaves
Leaving no trace
Making sure I do not crack them to pieces
difficult for a gap-toothed rake to pick up

The tree shakes off more leaves
As though expressing a desire for a communal burial for its dead.

I pause.
The six o'clock bells of Santa Monica call for the Angelus

behold the handmaid of the Lord

And then I run the rake across the lawn again
Going around the tree’s heaving roots
I sigh when all the leaves are gathered
All I have to do now
is to move the mountain into the bin.

All She Wanted Was a Dime

As I passed her by at Mission and third
I stuck my hand in my coat pocket
To silence my clanging coins
She was crouched next to her grocery cart
And held her filthy hand at me
I said no.
I have no dime to spare today.
She nodded and tucked her hand back
Into her many layers of clothing.
She looked away as though it pained her
To see in me
Herself
A lifetime ago.