TIME FOR REFLECTIONS

Let him die !

2012-01-31T01:12:00.000-08:00

Father Ignatius was a member of the Doctors and Patients Consultative Committee at the local Hospital.

The Chairman of the Meeting welcomed all present and said:

“Thank you for attending this Meeting which we have arranged to discuss a matter on which the Hospital Board has asked for our views. Over the past few months there have been a number of premature births in this hospital and, as you would imagine, it has proved a very difficult and emotive issue for both the medical staff and parents to deal with.

“Let me introduce Doctor Farmington who will address us for a few minutes on the subject in question.”

The doctor stood up and explained about instances when babies are born pre-maturely, some as early as twenty three weeks into pregnancy. He explained that despite medical advancements and efforts made to save the infant, in the majority of cases, those who survived, had severe physical and mental disabilities throughout life.

These disabilities, sometimes painful, resulted in the child leading a very difficult existence dependent on others and on constant medical attention, with no hope of ever being cured to lead a normal life.

The doctor also explained that often, the very intervention by medical staff to save the baby, created medical risks which would adversely affect the infant in later life; for example brain damage, infection and so on.

The dilemma facing the medical profession was whether it would be more humane to let such premature babies just pass away peacefully rather than condemn them to a difficult and often miserable life.

The doctor was followed by a Senior Social Worker who went on to add that in a large number of cases, where the baby was saved despite the severe disabilities, the strain on the family was such that marriages frequently ended in divorce causing further pain and heartache to everyone involved. Furthermore, in many cases any other children in the family suffered too because of the extra attention and resources afforded to the disabled child by the parents. Often one or both parents had to give up work to look after the disabled child putting further pressure on the families’ finances.

The debate went on as to the limited financial resources available by families and the State to assist in such cases.

One or two parents at the meeting maintained that disabled children are well-loved by their parents and are central to their families despite their disabilities. They talked about the sanctity of life and how they, as parents, had the right to decide on medical intervention and not the medics or anyone else.

“You’re very quiet Father,” said the Chairman of the Meeting, “Although I might guess on your views …”

A few people laughed.

“By guessing my views, you may well save me the agony of having to decide on this …” replied Father Ignatius.

The Meeting fell silent.

“I fully appreciate the difficult decisions that have to be made by all concerned in such cases as premature births …” continued the priest.

“It is true of course that where the medics intervene, using their great skills, the results more often than not are a disabled child unable to fend for himself throughout what could be a long life.

“As we’ve heard, this puts a great strain on all concerned and marriages often break-up as a result inflicting further pain on the whole family.

“Understandably, the parents in such cases want everything possible to be done to save the child, and they cling to faint hope that all will turn out well. This is Faith indeed, albeit in reality, as we’ve heard, in most cases it is misplaced Faith since the surviving child is permanently and severely disabled.

“Yet, we must remember, that in these traumatic few moments when a decision has to be made, the parents are acting without any medical knowledge or facts whatsoever, and they base their decisions to save the child on pure loving instincts.

“Faced on the one hand with definite medical and statistical evidence of the outcomes of intervention, and on the other hand on parental love, hope and faith … how are we as a society to decide on this terrible dilemma?

“Who are we, I ask, to play God and decide to condemn a human being to a life of misery for themselves and those around them?

“If a child is born pre-maturely, extremely so in some cases, is this not a sign that the mother's body has rejected it because there is something wrong with it? By intervening are we not interfering with the natural course of event?”

The doctor and the Social Worker smiled sensing the argument going in their favor. Father Ignatius stopped for a second or two as he often did to focus peoples’ attention.

“Let me invite you to consider something else,” he continued.

“There are instances where babies are born after their full pregnancy term, yet, they are born with severe difficulties; like a hole in the heart for example …

“What do the medics do then? Do they reject them as faulty and let them die?

“Or do they do their utmost to help these young lives who sometimes, they too, grow up with disabilities?

“So I ask myself, what is the difference between a child born pre-maturely and another born after its full term? Why should one benefit from the skills and expertise of the doctors and not the other?

“Our skills, whatever they are, are God-given. We’ve done nothing by ourselves to achieve what we achieve.

“A skilled doctor for instance owes his skills and aptitude to assimilate and use knowledge to a Higher Being. This applies to all of us.

“And as such we owe that Higher Being, God, a duty to use our skills, whatever they are, for the benefit of humanity.

“Rather than ask whether the doctors should intervene in the case of pre-mature babies, why don’t we ask God to intervene? Don’t we trust Him enough?

“My views, Mr Chairman, if you’ve guessed them correctly … are that the doctors should do their best with the skills and expertise at their disposal to help these young lives … and then leave it to God to intervene as to the quality and length of life which transpires as a result of their efforts.”

Modernism

2012-01-30T22:00:00.000-08:00

Welcome Annmarie Pipa

2012-01-30T21:54:00.001-08:00

Welcome Annmarie Pipa as a new follower of this Blog. We hope you visit us again soon and comment often.

God bless.

Theodore Luxton-Joyce Lovable Eccentric

2012-01-28T00:40:00.000-08:00

Theodore Luxton-Joyce is a lovable English eccentric from Scottish descent who lives in a world of his own. His every thought and action are motivated by genuine kindness and generosity, yet although he gives the impression that he doesn’t think things through properly, the reality is that he thinks them through all right but he does so somewhat late, with humorous consequences for those around him.

This book contains a selection of short stories about Theodore Luxton-Joyce, a man born at a time when the world was a different place altogether.

You can download this E Book FREE from HERE

Also available on AMAZON Kindle from HERE

You bet ...

2012-01-27T10:54:00.000-08:00

THEODORE’S DEATH FOCUS

2012-01-26T00:10:00.000-08:00

Father Ignatius was met at the door of Parish House by an ashen faced Mrs Davenport, the housekeeper, who said in a trembling voice.

“Father, I think Mr Luxton-Joyce is dead!”

“What do you mean … you think?” asked the priest.

“Well, Mr Luxton-Joyce’s butler rang about an hour ago and said that he had felt very faint and lost consciousness and has been taken to hospital. I haven’t heard any more since …”

Father Ignatius got back into his car and drove straight to the hospital.

He made his way to the main reception where he was well known as a regular visitor and asked which Ward his friend and church benefactor was in.

“Oh … he’s not in any Ward,” said the receptionist, “Mr Luxton-Joyce is in a private suite on the third floor, and he has brought with him a personal nurse to look after his needs. You’ll need to announce yourself to her …”

The priest hurried up to the third floor and was met by a stern faced nurse who wanted to know the purpose of the priest’s visit before letting him in. She insisted that, in her professional opinion, the eccentric millionaire was not to be disturbed by anybody and that the only visitor with him now is his wife.

The priest tried to explain in vain to the epitome of bureaucracy blocking his entrance to the private suite when God must have lost patience with her and intervened by making a distant phone ring.

“Wait here … and do not move!” she said harshly as she went to answer the phone.

Father Ignatius must have suffered another bout of deafness because he didn’t hear her properly and entered the large room to be met by a tearful Rose, Theodore’s wife.

He was lying in bed asleep with an oxygen mask on his face and tubes and bleeping equipment all around him.

“He’s resting at the moment …” Rose said as the priest sat down on a nearby chair. “He fainted last night after exercising on the treadmill and we phoned for an ambulance. The doctors have checked him out and they said it’s extreme exhaustion. He should take it easy in future …” she smiled feebly.

The priest smiled back and said a thankful silent prayer. He then brought out his Rosary and they started praying quietly. At the third decade Theodore stirred a little and opened his eyes. He tried unsuccessfully to remove the oxygen mask on his face.

“Take this off me …” he mumbled, “I’m not a dog to be muzzled like that …”

Rose carefully removed the oxygen mask and Theodore blinked once or twice and then seeing Father Ignatius he said, “Hello Padre … are you here as a friend or in an official capacity?”

“How are you feeling?” asked the priest gently.

“Oh … I’m fine … not dead yet! At least I don’t think so … although that nurse out there makes me wish I was … what?”

Father Ignatius smiled.

“I don’t know what the fuss is all about …” continued Theodore, “can’t a man faint a little without being rushed into hospital?”

“I understand you’ve been overdoing things,” replied Father Ignatius trying to reassure Rose as well as the stubborn eccentric.

“Nonsense … in business you can’t overdo things … For years I’ve worked hard to be successful and I’ve never slowed down or taken my eye off the ball … what?”

“At least don’t use that treadmill as often … and so vigorously …” pleaded Rose.

“I won’t switch it on …” he smiled with a wink, “and I’ll take it easy by walking on the treadmill width-wise side to side rather than along its whole length!”

Father Ignatius continued the Rosary prayer and after hearing the man’s Confession he gave him and Rose Communion.

They then discussed the fragility of life and how vulnerable we all are as we walk the tight rope balancing life from death.

In a rare serious moment Theodore admitted that in his pursuit of success, more often than not spurred by an up-bringing where failure was not an option, he had neglected the spiritual more important focus of his life.

“That’s really taking your eye off the ball … what? Padre!” he chortled.

“Keep your mind set on the things that are in Heaven, not on things here on earth!” replied Father Ignatius with a smile.

(Colossians 3).

Watch where you walk

2012-01-25T09:39:00.000-08:00

Miracles DO happen ...

2012-01-24T09:19:00.000-08:00

Father Ignatius spies goodness.

2012-01-23T00:14:00.000-08:00

Father Ignatius had an appointment at the Cathedral in the City and he happened to mention it to Theodore Luxton-Joyce, the rich benefactor and friend of the priest.

“Oh … I hate going to the City,” said Theodore frowning a little, “how do you plan going by train or are you driving there?”

“Like you, I hate the City, it’s far too busy and I don’t like driving,” replied the priest, “I hope to take the train!”

“If they run on time,” chortled Theodore, “the trains are always late these days … not like years ago when they always left on time and arrived at their destination on time.

“These days they never stick to the published time-table. The only way they’ll keep to their agreed schedule is if they replace the time-tables with calendars!” He laughed loudly at his own joke.

“Yes … I see what you mean. But for me, it’s better than driving.”

“I tell you what Padre …” interrupted Theodore enthusiastically, “when are you going? Next week you said?”

“Next Wednesday …”

“I’ve had a capital idea … what?” Theodore interrupted again, “my wife is away visiting her family next week. I have nothing to do. Why don’t I come with you to the City? We’ll go by car … my chauffeur knows the way well, so there’ll be no driving for either of us. I can go sight-seeing then meet you at the Cathedral when you’re ready!”

“I couldn’t possible ask this of you Theodore” replied Father Ignatius, “it’s very generous of you and …”

“Well it’s settled then …” the eccentric millionaire interrupted again, “I’ll pick you up at St Vincent’s on Wednesday morning.”

On the day in question the two of them were chauffeur driven in a luxurious car to the City and both went, as planned, their separate ways.

By late afternoon Theodore arrived at the Cathedral to collect Father Ignatius as arranged.

The church was empty so he sat on the pew next to the Sacristy door so that he could see Father Ignatius when he came out of his meeting.

The rich man looked around him at the splendor of this great Cathedral for a few moments, then he got up and lit a candle by the statue of St Anthony. No particular reason, it just happened to be the nearest statue to him. He then sat on the pew again and wondered if there is a Saint Theodore. “Theo means God in Greek! What?” he thought to himself.

He got a broken Rosary from his pocket and started praying. “Must mend this Rosary sometime,” he thought, “lucky all the beads are still here … just the chain is broken!”

His meandering thoughts were disturbed by a noise at the back of the church. He turned round and saw a man come in.

The tall thin stranger, dressed in a red shirt, blue jeans and a tatty overcoat came to the front and sat next to Theodore.

He knelt down and pretended to pray for a few seconds, then he sat down again and turning to Theodore he asked in a strong Scottish accent, “Is the vicar here, do you ken?”

“You mean the priest,” Theodore replied, “there must be more than one in there … I’m waiting for one of them as a matter of fact!”

“Aye … a priest will do,” said the Scotsman, “they come out of there one at a time do they? Just like waiting for a bus, is it?”

“Well … no. If you wait a while, someone is sure to come out.”

“Do you ken the priest can lend me some money?” asked the Scot tentatively.

“You’ll need a bank for that, old boy” chortled Theodore, “these priests are as poor as church mice … what? They’ll more likely ask you for money than give you any!”

The man scratched his head briefly and then continued, “I’m from Scotland, you see.”

“Yes … I gathered from your accent old boy! Grand place, so it is. I’m half Scot myself … the half which wears the kilt …” Theodore laughed loudly forgetting for a moment where he was.

“I came down here in England to look for work,” continued the man. “Things are pretty bad in Scotland so I thought down here might be better. I’ve been in a bed and breakfast for a week. And I found no work here either.

“I ran out of money and don’t have my fare back home!

“Do you think you can lend me some money to get home to my wife and wee bairns? I’ll pay you back …”

To the man’s surprise Theodore immediately pulled out his wallet and asked, “How much do you need old boy?”

“The coach fare is about £20 … it leaves this evening at eight.” replied the Scotsman.

Theodore took five £20 notes from his wallet and handed them to the astonished man.

“That’s … that’s far too much,” he mumbled in disbelief, “and they are notes from the Bank of Scotland too … not English ones …”

“Yes … I was in Edinburgh last week …” Theodore smiled.

“Let me have your address … I’ll pay you back … a bit at a time …”

“Think nothing of it,” replied Theodore, “buy something for your family!”

At this point Father Ignatius had just come out of the Sacristy and witnessed the whole event.

Theodore continued, “If you’re serious about moving down here with your family … give me a ring on this number … think about it with your wife!”

As the man disappeared out of the church hurriedly Father Ignatius asked Theodore “was that a vagrant begging for money?”

“I just gave him some spare change,” lied Theodore, “he’s from Scotland I understand … what?”

“The reason I asked,” said the priest, “is because this church has packets of food prepared for people who come here asking for help!”

About seven months later Theodore got a call from the grateful Scotsman. He still hadn’t found work in his country. So he and his family decided to move to Northern England and work on one of Theodore’s farms.

Why is the FISH a symbol of Christianity?

2012-01-21T04:07:00.000-08:00

Before I answer this question let me say that I've always wished to swim with dolphins. But I couldn't afford such a holiday so I went swimming with sardines instead.

Now sardines are not as clever as dolphins. Why else would they get into a tin and leave the key on the outside?

Every other canned fish you buy, tuna, salmon, pilchard and so on, you have to open with a can opener. But sardines ... they have a key on the outside. Why?

Unless of course you buy those tins with a ring pull. Again, on the outside ... so the sardines can't pull the ring and get out.

Anchovies thought they'd be clever by being so salty that no one would eat them. They were wrong. They've now become a delicacy much sought after and fished than before.

And now about the original question ...

The symbol of a fish was found on ancient Christian monuments and buildings. It represents Christ.

The Greek word for "fish" is ICHTHUS.

If we take the letters of that word they provide the first letters of other Greek words.

Iesous Christos Theou Uios Soter

Jesus Christ, Son of God, Saviour

So the symbol of the fish suggests all this to a Christian. It may well have been a secret sign used by early Christians to identify each other.

Listen carefully ...

2012-01-20T00:12:00.000-08:00

Welcome Amy

2012-01-19T23:17:00.001-08:00

Hello and welcome Amy as a new follower of this Blog. We hope you continue to visit us and leave a comment.

God bless.

Father Ignatius teaches Theodore

2012-01-18T00:41:00.000-08:00

It was Tuesday morning and Father Ignatius was surprised to see Theodore Luxton-Joyce’s car in the church’s car park. The rich millionaire had not called on the priest at the Parish House so the only place he could be would be in church; rather unusual for Theodore since he only went to church on Sundays.

Father Ignatius entered the empty church and found Theodore sitting upfront, by the statue of the Virgin Mary; on the very pew where the priest often sat to recite the Rosary.

At first the priest ignored the rich man for a while and stayed at the back of the church praying. Then, after twenty minutes or so he decided to approach him; it was after all rather unusual for Theodore to come to pray mid-week, so something must be troubling him indeed.

“Hello Padre …” mumbled Theodore un-characteriscally. He was usually so cheerful and full of joie de vivre, but not this time.

The priest smiled and sat beside him.

“Tell me old boy …” said Theodore after a while breaking the silence, “does God really listen to prayers? Or is it possible He is more busy with someone else’s problems and He has to prioritize. Like I often do in business?”

“Oh, He listens to all prayers, I’m sure of it,” replied the priest gently, “but sometimes He doesn’t answer straight away. He may say ‘No’ to our prayers, or ‘Not now … I have something better for you’. But He’ll answer your prayers for sure. In His time, and in His way.”

“I haven’t got time to wait. I need an answer now … what!” interrupted Theodore regaining his natural petulance once again.

Father Ignatius smiled and said, “It says in the Bible that to God one day is like a thousand years. He sees all. The past, present and the future. It could be that what you’re asking for is not good for you in the future. Just be patient for God’s answer.”

“I haven’t got time to wait … certainly not a thousand years old boy. I need an answer now …” Theodore continued, “A few months ago, my Company bought a piece of land North of town on a hill. We planned to grow various crops there … wheat, oats, barley, that sort of thing.

“At the top of the hill there’s a line of trees all along the border between our land and our neighbour. Hundreds of them all in a straight line like soldiers. Next to the trees there are bushes. A bit lower and shorter than the trees but standing beside them all along the border.

“All the time I thought the trees and bushes belonged to our neighbour, but my Estates Manager has discovered that they belong to me. He checked the deeds with the Land Registry; they belong to me all right. The Estates Manager also tells me that by cutting down the trees and bushes and replacing them with a wire fence we’d gain more land and increase our crops by about 7 %. That’s quite a big margin Padre, I tell you! So I told my people to cut down the trees and bushes. No sooner did they start that the neighbour complained.

“He said I’m disturbing the wildlife … birds and that sort of thing, living in the bushes. He took and injunction against me stopping me from pulling down the trees and bushes. He’s supported by the Council and some local preservationists. There’s to be a Court hearing soon. So I can’t afford to wait a thousand years for God to respond. Can’t you hurry Him up Padre?” concluded Theodore with a forced smile.

“The trees and bushes are yours!” said the priest calmly. Theodore nodded.
“If they’re mature trees then they must have been there for some years. Possibly a hundred years or so. Whoever owned the land before you must have either found them there, or planted them himself, assuming his family owned the land for generations.”

“You’re right Padre. The last owner had the land in his family for a number of years. His grandfather farmed there, then his father, and then him.”

“Why do you think they did not cut the trees?” asked the priest.

“Dunno … maybe they didn’t have my Estates Manager to advise them. An increase of 7% in crop yield is not to be laughed at … what?”

“I was raised on a farm.” said the priest, “a small holding. Nothing as big as yours! And I remember my father saying that bushes and trees break the cold northerly wind in winter. They shield the land and protect the crops. Especially crops like wheat which tend to bend down and break in high winds.

“Trees also protect the land from erosion when it rains heavily, especially on hilly grounds.

“Bushes provide homes and shelter for all kinds of birds; which often feed on insects which may attack crops. So the birds can act as an insect control to protect the crops.

“But then, I’m not a farmer … so what do I know? I’m a priest and you’re a businessman … and I too would be glad of an increase of 7% in my congregation.”

Theodore said nothing for a few seconds and then said pensively, “I remember reading something about farmers in old times planting trees and bushes to shelter crops from the wind. I’d forgotten all about it. But then, I’m no farmer Padre. I’m a businessman trying to make a good return on my investments. And my Estates Manager is a Business graduate from University; so what does he know? You’ve convinced me Padre … those trees were put there for a purpose.”

Theodore got up to leave with a broad smile on his face.

“It seems that God has answered your prayers after all,” Father Ignatius pointed out, “Maybe not the answer you wished to hear, but the right answer no doubt!”

“Quite true Padre … what?” Theodore beamed back, “and if you want my advice, one way to increase your congregation by 7% is to be more lenient with your penance at Confession.”

Tu vuo' far' l'Americano

2012-01-17T21:51:00.000-08:00

YOU'D BETTER BELIEVE IT

2012-01-17T02:50:00.000-08:00

Papal Mistakes

2012-01-15T01:22:00.000-08:00

Early one morning Father Ignatius received a phone call from Mother Superior. Sister Josephine had been called away to visit a very sick relative; would he take on her Catechism class of 7 and 8 year-olds.

He sat down at her desk and said, “Let’s start where Sister Josephine left off last week. What did she teach?”

A young boy put up his hand and said enthusiastically, “She said the Pope does not make any mistakes. He is unflappable!”

“No stupid …” interrupted a young girl, “Sister Josephine said the Pope is inflatable!”

“I remember it was inf something …” explained little Dennis to the priest, “in follicle I think …”

“I’m sure his Holiness would be pleased to learn that you consider him unflappable and inflatable!” said Father Ignatius gently, “I think Sister Josephine said that he is infallible.”

“It means he does not make any mistakes,” explained Dennis eagerly.

“Does it mean he can do all his sums right?” asked William.

“I don’t think so,” said Rose, “because algebra is very difficult. Everyone makes mistakes in algebra.”

“I hate algebra,” declared Derek, “and chemistry. Are you good at algebra Father?”

The priest tapped the ruler gently on the desk to get them to settle down.

“No Derek, I have never been good at algebra,” he confessed, “I found it a little difficult too.”

This had the desired effect of quietening them down.

“Now then,” he continued, “what did Sister Josephine mean when she said that the Pope is infallible?”

“He makes no mistakes,” said Sophie.

“Yes,” said Father Ignatius, “what I’m sure Sister Josephine explained is that the Pope, when speaking for the Church, and teaching about Christianity, he does so in a correct manner, which we should accept and obey.”

“Does this mean he is always right when answering Catechism questions?” asked Marcel.

“It means that he is guided by the Holy Spirit, who teaches him and tells him what to say. You know who the Holy Spirit is; do you?” Father Ignatius asked the youngsters.

“He is a pigeon,” declared Alfred, “because I have an image of Jesus in the water with John the Baptism and a pigeon. Dad said it is the Holy Spirit.”

“No …” replied Monica, “the Holy Spirit is fire which went on the Gospels heads when they were in the house, only it didn’t burn their hair. It made them speak many languages.”

“Yes … that’s true” confirmed Steve, “it made them speak in Arabaic.”

“No, it’s Aramaic …” corrected Dennis, “they spoke in all languages in the world except French!”

“Jesus spoke in English,” said Derek, “that’s why all the Bibles in the world are written in English!”

“No, He spoke in Latin. That’s why the priest says Dominus Vobiscum in Latin,” explained Harry who’d remained quiet up to now.

The priest tapped the ruler gently again on the desk to get them to stop talking. Obviously he had a lot of ground to cover to explain in simple terms to these enthusiastic youngsters the many mysteries of Christianity.

He told them how God at first spoke to us through the prophets, and then He sent Jesus to speak to us personally as a human being, although He is also God. It would have been difficult for people at the time to understand and fathom out the Holy Spirit, and the mystery of the Holy Trinity. So God allowed the Holy Spirit to appear in terms which people could perhaps understand, a dove, a voice from above, and indeed tongues of fire.

These mysteries are still difficult for some people to understand even today. That’s why we must pray often about them and ask God to help us believe, even if we don’t fully understand.

At this point the bell rang to signify the end of lesson.

As the children left Father Ignatius remembered that Sister Josephine was scheduled to take on his Catechism class this Friday.

“I wonder what booby traps she’ll lay for me with that lot?” he asked himself.

Welcome Stephanie

2012-01-15T01:19:00.000-08:00

Welcome Stephanie as a new follower of this Blog. We hope you visit us and comment often.

God bless.

Complaint.

2012-01-14T18:27:00.000-08:00

Unusual Pets

2012-01-14T01:21:00.000-08:00

Fruit Fly Lesson

2012-01-12T00:47:00.000-08:00

The fruit fly lives for just one day. Just 24 hours.

It wakes up in the morning, brushes its teeth, and by the end of the day it is brown bread … totally dead.

It’s hardly worth it buying a tube of toothpaste and using it just once!

So remember this next time you brush your teeth. Thank God for yet another day and enjoy what it brings!

Chance Encounter

2012-01-10T00:29:00.000-08:00

Father Ignatius visited Mrs Florenti, an elderly widow, in her cottage in the country. She was very distraught and confused. Her five year rental contract on the cottage was due for renewal and her landlord, a farmer, had increased the rent by more than 100%. There was no way she could pay the proposed rent and would have to move.

The kind priest checked the paperwork and it was all in order. The contract was due for renewal and there was nothing Father Ignatius could do apart from sympathize and say a silent prayer to God for help.

As he left the cottage a large farm vehicle drew up to the adjacent field and two people came out; Theodore Luxton-Joyce and another man.

“Hello Padre …” Theodore greeted the priest, “What are you doing here?”

“Just visiting a friend,” replied Father Ignatius.

“Jolly good … this is Gerald Thomson, my Estates Manager. We’re here to look at this piece of land … Care to join us?”

As they walked slowly up the hill adjoining the cottage Gerald Thomson excused himself and went up ahead and started taking measurements of the land with his theodolite.

“Good grazing land this … what!” said Theodore breaking the silence, “Luscious grass … and plenty of it. And the land is sheltered from high winds by those trees up there. It’s a great place to raise sheep!”

“Are you interested in this place?” asked the priest.

“Yes … Coston Enterprises, my Company, have put an offer on this land and we hope to buy most of this hill … all the way down to where we parked our cars, including the cottage with vacant possession!”

“Including the cottage?” asked the priest rather surprised.

“Yes … I’ll need that to house the farm labourer … or shepherd you might call him, who’ll look after the flock! Should you ever need a nice piece of lamb, be sure to let me know Padre … what?”

“Ehmm … thanks,” mumbled the priest as he continued, “Theodore, do you know who lives in that cottage?”

“No idea old boy …” replied the rich businessman picking up a handful of grass and smelling it, “they tell me you can identify good grass by smelling it … can’t understand it really, smells ordinary to me … here have a smell!”

The priest took the grass from Theodore’s hand and surreptitiously threw it away.

“You see Theodore,” hesitated Father Ignatius, “that cottage has been home for an elderly widow for many years. The owner of the house has just doubled her rent, no doubt to get her out. Did you know that?”

Theodore stopped and looked down the hill at the cottage. “No … of course not. I leave all the business stuff to the Estates Manager, Thomson over there … He told me he’d found a piece of land suitable for our purposes with a house to put the shepherd in … and we’ve come here to look at it!”

“I was visiting the old lady living in that house just as you arrived!” said Father Ignatius.

“That’s jolly decent of you Padre …” enthused Theodore, “you’ve a heart of gold. You came to help her move did you?”

Father Ignatius bit his lip as he silently despaired that Theodore was not getting the point.

“The thing is …” he said quietly, “she has nowhere to go … she’s lived here for years at moderate rent. There’s no where she can find a similar rent.”

“She can always come and live with us …” blurted Theodore, “well, not in our house of course. I doubt Rose, my wife, would like that … neither would I. The place is already too crowded with the butler, the kitchen staff, and the other employees … what!”

Father Ignatius said nothing trying to understand the sudden change of events.

“On the edge of our grounds, where I live, there’s a small house on the left, just by the entrance to the grounds … You must have seen it as you drive in?”

The priest nodded.

“My gardener lives there … he looks after the grounds. He wants to move out to live with his sister nearby. The place will be empty in a month or so. We can put the old lady there and I’ll have that cottage for my shepherd!”

Father Ignatius was about to say something when Theodore interrupted.

“And you can tell her I’ll charge her the same rent she’s paying for the cottage … even though the gardener’s house is bigger … what?

“And she’ll be next to other people rather than alone on this isolated hill. She can call on us or our staff should she need any help …

“You get her out of that cottage Father and you’ll be doing me a great favour! What’s her name?”

“Mrs Florenti …”

“Italian is she?” asked Theodore.

“No … Scottish actually. From Aberdeen. She married an Italian years ago.”

“That’s all the better” chortled Theodore remembering his ancestry, “you’ll be telling me she plays the bagpipes next!”

Theodore was more wily than he let on, thought the priest to himself.

As the two men walked down the hill again Father Ignatius thanked God silently for solving the old widow’s problem so quickly. Had he left her a moment sooner he would never have met Theodore, and he would never have known the reason for the doubling of the rent by the landlord, and Mrs Florenti would have ended up in an old peoples’ home.

Welcome John Q Public

2012-01-09T23:39:00.000-08:00

Welcome John Q Public as a new follower of this Blog. We hope you visit us and comment often.

God bless.

Stand up Stand up For Jesus

2012-01-08T06:07:00.000-08:00

As Christians, we all have a Mission given to us by Christ Himself. To go out and witness for Him and to spread His Word as best we can.

Some of us do this by being priests, deacons, nuns and monks. Others do it by preaching, writing and teaching. Or quite simply by the way we live our example for others to follow.

Quite a few of us choose to Blog. And what a wonderful free channel of communication we have with modern technology and Blogging. When we write what we write we never know who will read it and perhaps, through our writing, get to meet Christ for the first time in their lives.

It doesn't matter what we write. It could be about our families, or about food and recipes, photos we've taken or art we enjoy, music or humour, as long as every now and then a Christian message seeps through our writings and does some good somewhere.

I wonder how many Christian blogs there are out there in Blogland each doing some good individually and a lot of good collectively.

Once we start blogging for Jesus we should continue to do so, and never stop. A weekly post is all it needs to keep the message flowing through the Internet.

A message of love, peace, hope and joy. And not a message of superiority, "my way is best", and "do as I say"; as I've often witnessed when visiting Christian sites.

Our Blog should be one which Christ likes to read.

A shining beacon witnessing for Him; and not a cacophony of arguments and bile.

CATHOLIC HEAVEN !!!

2012-01-06T00:12:00.001-08:00

A man dies and goes to Heaven where he is face to face with St Peter.

The keeper of the Pearly Gates taps his computer keyboard a few times and asks: “What’s your religion?”

The man eagerly replies “Catholic”; knowing full well that this is the one and only true Church which Jesus founded all those years ago. Jesus was after all Catholic Himself.

St Peter looks up and says “Catholic hein? Not another one!”

“Is that bad?” asks the man worryingly.

“It’s that we have quite a few Catholics in here,” continues the Saint, “and we get more trouble from them than any other religion.”

“How so?” gulps the man in a panic.

“Well … they think they know it all for a start. They’re so judgmental too. And they argue so much … There’s a chap we’ve put in a room by himself and he still argues when he looks at a mirror. Something about Latin being the only true Catholic language …

“Do you know … some of them believe they’re the only ones here! We’ve put all the Catholics in one corner of Heaven and told everyone else to keep very quiet when they walk by there so as not to confound their belief.”

“Is that where I’ll go … if I’m accepted in Heaven?” asks the man with some hope in his voice.

“Well …” replies the Saint, “your credentials are in order. We can let you have access to the whole of Heaven where you can meet everyone else; as long as you don’t go around saying that Catholic is best!”

“Agreed … I promise!” says the man with a smile.

“Oh … and one more thing,” continues St Peter, “always carry a tin of sardines in your pocket. In case you come across another Catholic who insists on eating fish on Fridays!!!”

And the moral of this story is: Do we as Catholics set a good example for others to emulate?

Welcome The Vintage Hare.

2012-01-05T23:44:00.001-08:00

Hello and welcome The Vintage Hare as a new follower of this Blog. We hope you visit us and comment often.

God bless.

Welcome Danielle.

2012-01-05T23:43:00.001-08:00

Welcome Danielle as a new follower of this Blog. I hope you enjoy visiting us and that you do so often.

God bless.

Watching me. Watching you.

2012-01-04T14:42:00.000-08:00

"Preach the Gospel at all times and when necessary use words." Francis of Assisi

What did St Francis mean by this?

Here’s my take on it.

If you’re a parent there’s someone watching you. Your children. Watching and learning from you.

If you’re a teacher there’s someone watching you. Your class and your school. Listening to you.

If you’re a priest, vicar or pastor, your congregation is watching you.

If you’re a politician your country is watching you.

Whoever you are, a sportsman, TV or movie star, a famous personality, or a nobody like myself. There’s always someone watching you and ready to follow your example – be it good or be it bad.

We are all role models for someone else, whether we know it or not.

So let our life and our demeanour be such that Jesus would be proud of. And that’s one way to preach the Gospel – without words.

Joseph and Mary on FACEBOOK?

2012-01-02T15:45:00.000-08:00

Happy Noo Year

2011-12-31T05:45:00.000-08:00

HAPPY HOGMANAY

Prayer.

2011-12-28T00:20:00.000-08:00

Cliff Richard

Ring the bells for Christmas.

2011-12-24T01:52:00.000-08:00

May the Peace and Love of Christ be with you throughout the New Year

Merry Christmas

2011-12-21T10:25:00.000-08:00

Vic Moubarak wishes you all a Blessed Christmas to you and your families and thanks you for all your prayers. God bless.

Father Francis Maple

Theodore's Mince.

2011-12-17T03:01:00.000-08:00

It was just after Christmas day when Theodore Luxton-Joyce called on Father Ignatius at the Parish House to return a book he had borrowed. The priest was not at home so Mrs Davenport, the housekeeper, invited Theodore for a cup of tea and a slice or two of her best Dundee cake in the kitchen whilst she was preparing the day’s meal.

“I say this is a decent piece of cake … what?” exclaimed Theodore, “better than any I have ever tasted … did you make it yourself Mrs D?”

“Of course …” she said with a smile big enough to brighten up a cold and grey winter day.

“Then you’ll have to give the recipe to our cook,” replied Theodore helping himself to another slice of cake, “then perhaps we’d have a decent slice of cake more often … what?

“I’ve often said to my dear wife Rose, if you were not the housekeeper here I’d have you in charge of the kitchen up at the mansion in no time … But I suppose the poor Padre deserves a decent meal every now and then … and it’s a good thing you’re here to look after him!”

Mrs Davenport was now glowing with pride as she brought Theodore a plate full of her latest batch of mince pies which she had just made.

“I’ve made these too …” she said rather coyly.

“By Jove … you’re a marvel Mrs D … have you made the mince meat too?”

“But of course,” she replied very pleased with herself, “I use a secret recipe my grandmother gave our family. I mix together raisins, currants, sultanas, orange and lemon peel, honey, sugar and spices, a little salt, suet to hold it all together, and to give it a little crunchiness I add crushed walnuts, almonds, hazelnuts and pecans … and for extra taste I put a generous measure of whisky AND brandy! Not many people do that!”

At this very point Father Ignatius came into the kitchen.

“Ah … Mrs Davenport’s famous mince pies …” he exclaimed as he picked one from the plate. “Better than any you can buy at the finest establishments in London or anywhere else. Royalty doesn’t know what it’s missing, Theodore!

“Mrs Davenport makes her own mince meat, you know. A secret recipe she’ll reveal to no one … Even the Bishop remarked the other day on the excellence of these pies!

“Which reminds me … I have to visit the Bishop today. I’ll be going in about an hour or so … I have some paper work to deal with first. Could I take two jars of your mince meat for the Bishop Mrs Davenport?”

And with that, the priest picked another pie and went up to his office.

Mrs Davenport’s warm prideful glow turned into an ashen gray as if she was at death’s door, as she sat down on a nearby chair.

“What is the matter?” asked Theodore, “you suddenly look as if you’ve seen a ghost … what!”

“If only I had, Mr Joyce,” she lamented, “it’s worse than that. I’ve no jars of mince meat left. I made twenty five two days ago and some went in the pies whilst others were given away …”

“Calamity indeed …” exclaimed Theodore … “but all may not be lost … what? Is this the jar you use?” he asked picking up an open jar of mince meat.

“Yes … it’s an ordinary jar. Then I make my own labels with the words ‘Mrs Davenport’s Mince Meat’ and I stick them on the jars.”

“All is not lost indeed …” cried Theodore as he stood up suddenly knocking the chair over as he did so, “you make two more labels Mrs D … I’ll be back presently.”

Before she had time to ask him he’d rushed out of the kitchen as fast as he could and promptly ran as quickly as his old legs could manage, avoiding slipping in the thick snow, and went to the grocery shop across the road.

Moments later he returned to the kitchen with two of the best quality mince meat jars that money can buy.

“Not up to the standard of your recipe …” he declared, “I’ll soon have these labels off by soaking the jars in some water … then we can put your labels on!”

“But … but, that’s cheating …” she hesitated.

“Cheating … what? Of course not! Would you have the poor old Padre heartbroken as he drove gift-less to the Bishop? The wise men brought with them great gifts all those years ago … and our Padre will take to the Bishop something no less valuable. Not as good as your original, mind you! But he’ll never know!

“And the Bishop … well, he lives from day to day pining for a spoonful of your mince meat to spread on his hot tea cakes and muffins.

“So you’d be doing two men of the cloth a great favor … think of all the days off Purgatory that would buy you!”

Before Mrs Davenport could protest some more, Theodore’s enthusiasm had the old labels off the two bought jars of mince and Mrs D’s labels stuck on.

He was drying out the jars carefully of any smudges of glue when Father Ignatius came in the kitchen with briefcase in hand.

“Ah … you’ve got me your mince meat” he said placing the jars in his case carefully, “thank you Mrs Davenport … the Bishop will be delighted I’m sure … you’re a Saint!”

Theodore waited until he heard the priest drive off and then he beamed “Did you hear that Mrs D … the Bishop will be delighted … you’re a Saint!”

He chuckled to himself as he drove off to his mansion on the hill.

A few days later Father Ignatius took Theodore aside after Mass on Sunday.

“Have you anything to confess?” he asked him gently.

“Ehm … no Padre! I’m far too busy to sin … what!”

“Something about two jars of mince meat, perhaps?”

“Oh … she told you!”

“The poor lady was beside herself with guilt,” explained the priest, “she told me as soon as I returned from the Bishop’s.

“You implicated me in your deceit knowing full well she did not make those two jars!”

“Not the jars … what! I doubt Mrs D is any good at glass-making …” said Theodore feebly.

“You know full well what I mean.” continued Father Ignatius, “you leave me no choice but to absolve you of your well-meaning sin and for your penance I suggest you apologize to Mrs Davenport.”

“I’ll do better than that …” declared Theodore, “I’ll buy her a huge box of chocolates … women forgive you easier with chocolates … what!”

He jumped in his car as he left a smiling Father Ignatius waving him goodbye.

Theodore panics.

2011-12-15T01:26:00.000-08:00

Theodore Luxton-Joyce as eccentric as ever jumped into his car, despite the heavy Christmas snow making most roads impassable, and sped towards St Vincent Church.

Half an hour later he was in Father Ignatius’ office, having barged through Mrs Davenport, the housekeeper who opened the front door, mumbling about some emergency or other.

“Padre … we have a problem …” he exclaimed to the astounded priest sitting behind the desk, “I tried to phone you this morning but you were permanently engaged … I thought you were probably hearing some late Confessions from sinners who couldn’t make it to church because of the snow … anyway … here I am. Got in the car and came over as quick as I could!”

“Sit down … take a deep breath … What is the problem?” asked Father Ignatius fearing the worst.

“I was in the library this morning … You know, the room annexed to the dining room where we had the old folk’s Christmas Dinner last night?”

The priest nodded.

“Well … just by the section where we have the books of Sir Walter Scott. You must have read him Padre! Scottish novelist, playwright and poet … you know … Ivanhoe, Rob Roy, The Heart of Midlothian and so on …

“Anyway … just by those books I found this beautiful gold necklace on the floor … what?

“Looks pretty expensive to me … must belong to one of the old ladies you invited to our Christmas party … must have dropped it when they all went to the library for a spot of Darjeeling. The poor lady, whoever she is, must be beside herself having lost such a valuable piece … I’d say!”

Father Ignatius took the necklace from Theodore and said, “I’ll keep it in case someone phones and asks for it!”

“I’ll hear none of it …” interrupted Theodore, “the poor lady who lost it must be looking everywhere for it … under her bed … or behind the piano … or wherever old ladies hide their jewelry … We must get in touch with them all and ask them if they’ve lost this necklace!”

Father Ignatius looked up in disbelief. “There were about fifty old people there … most of them women … you’re not suggesting …”

Theodore was suggesting just that! And for the next hour or so they phoned most of the old ladies to find the owner of the necklace; with no success.

“Well that’s all of them … except these six who are not on the phone,” remarked the priest, “I’ll ask them when I next see them at Mass on Sunday!”

But Theodore’s concern would have none of it.

“I have the car out there …” he said, “why don’t we visit them right now? I also have a bottle of brandy in the car to keep us warm … always prepared what?”

Father Ignatius said a silent prayer in his mind seeking forgiveness for what he thought about Theodore right now. Then as a self-imposed penance he decided to accompany the eccentric millionaire on what would no doubt turn out to be a wild goose chase.

And a waste of time it certainly was. At every house Theodore insisted on accepting the invitation for tea and biscuits, or mince pies, or home made cake or whatever other delicacy the old ladies had prepared for Christmas. And at every house he regaled them all with stories about Sir Walter Scott and other Scottish writers and famous people, not forgetting to mention time and again his Highlands lineage and the fact that he could play Chopin’s piano concerto on the bagpipes!

“Where does he put all this tea?” thought the weary priest to himself, “and he hasn’t been to the toilet once!”

Eventually they returned to Father Ignatius’ office at the Parish House both very cold, dejected and exhausted.

“You don’t think we can have a drop of tea to keep us warm?” asked Theodore to Mrs Davenport as she came in to collect the empty cups from this morning.

Father Ignatius held the gold necklace in his hand and admired it pensively.

“You don’t think it belongs to one of the nuns who came to the party?” asked Theodore rather stupidly, “do nuns wear necklaces under their habits Padre?”

The priest smiled and shook his head. “It’s a beautiful necklace with a lovely little rose here in the middle …” he said, “You don’t suppose it belongs to your wife … Rose?”

“Dash it all …” cried out Theodore standing up from his seat, “I forgot all about Rose!

“That little flower on the necklace should have reminded me …

“I bought that necklace six months ago for Rose’s birthday in January … I hid it in Sir Walter Scott’s book Rob Roy, which I was reading at the time … I thought no one would find it there … no one ever reads the books in that library … what? The necklace must have fallen out yesterday when someone picked up the books.

“I’d forgotten all about it … and for the past three weeks I’ve been wondering what to buy Rose for her birthday next month … I got her a bracelet … I know that for sure … the thing is I don’t know where I’ve hidden it …old boy!”

Father Ignatius sought forgiveness from the Lord once again for what was going through his mind.

He gave the necklace back to Theodore and followed his enthusiastic rush to the car and waived him goodbye as he sped back to his mansion on the hill.

Theodore’s Boxing Day.

2011-12-13T00:12:00.000-08:00

It had been a busy year for Theodore Luxton-Joyce the eccentric millionaire businessman and he hadn’t been in touch with Father Ignatius for some time. So it was a surprise for the priest when the phone rang early on Boxing Day, the day just after Christmas, and he heard the familiar voice.

“Is that yourself Padre?” asked Theodore.

“Yes … it is. Merry Christmas Theodore to you and Rose …”

“Yes quite … jolly good …” interrupted Theodore, “I was somewhat concerned at getting that other French priest on the phone. You know the one … you’ve had him visiting lately …”

“Yes … Father Gaston. He has gone back to Paris”.

“Jolly good I say … what? Never liked the French … Father Gaston being an exception of course … he was rather quiet and said very little … just as I like the French to be … what?”

Father Ignatius smiled and said nothing whilst Theodore continued totally unaware of what he was saying.

“Right … now that I’ve got you on the phone rather than that French fellow, I need you urgently to help me out! Terrible spot of bother … old boy … terrible I say!”

The priest frowned fearing the worst. “What’s happened?” he asked.

“Well … Rose and I had arranged a quiet after Christmas get-together for this evening and we’d invited the Mortimers … you know them? He’s a businessman working from the US most of the time. No … Of course you don’t know the Mortimers. Have you ever been to America Padre? I’m sure the Vatican has opened a few Branches over there …

“Anyway … back to the Mortimers. They’re over here right now for a few days … visiting family … that sort of thing … Rose and I thought we’d invite them for a spot of dinner this evening … Disaster old boy! Disaster I tell you!”

Father Ignatius smiled again.

“Well, as it happens …” continued Theodore never stopping to pause for breath, “the Mortimers can’t make it tonight. Jolly bad show don’t you think? We’ve got most of the food prepared and all … well Mrs Frosdick the cook and her staff have everything prepared anyway … And the Mortimers can’t make it for dinner. They’re stuck up North because of the terrible snow storms we’ve been having over Christmas. Totally snowed in and cut off from civilization and a drop of whisky I shouldn’t wonder!

“So I thought of inviting the Hendersons … now I’m sure you know them Padre. They live about a mile or so from us, just up the hill. I thought I’d introduced them to you some time ago. Not Catholics you know … but decent people all the same. Better than many Catholics I know, I should say! Anyway … dash it all … they’ve decided to spend Boxing Day with the in-laws. Now what kind of nonsense is that? I tell you … Who’d wish to spend Boxing Day with the in-laws? It’s just like being in Purgatory I imagine … what?”

Father Ignatius smiled once more at Theodore’s continuous rant and wondered what all this was leading to … and then it came.

“Well Padre … as neither of them can make it tonight, I thought of you. Would you care to join us for a quiet spot of dinner this evening? We’re having a goose and Brussels sprouts you know … traditional fare for this time of year sprouts … and I’ll be playing the latest musical instrument I’ve mastered … the harmonica … much less stressful than the bagpipes. I can now play Chopin’s piano concerto on the harmonica as well as the pipes!”

The priest was amused at being the third choice as guest at the millionaire’s luxurious mansion in the country, but he knew that Theodore meant no malice by it.

“It’s so nice of you to think of me …” he said quietly, “but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline too. The problem is that this evening St Vincent’s Church hosts the annual Christmas Dinner and get-together for the old folks of the Parish. We bring them to the Church Center and Father Donald and I and a few of the nuns from the Convent prepare a Christmas meal …”

“Bring them along too …” interrupted Theodore with no hesitation, “we’ll make a party of it … we’ve plenty of room over here …”

Father Ignatius knew that there was little point resisting Theodore’s generosity and enthusiasm; so plans were hurriedly changed to reschedule the venue of the Parish Christmas Dinner to the mansion on the hill.

And so it was that about fifty people including the nuns from the Convent went to the millionaire’s house to enjoy Theodore’s and his wife’s genuine kindness. They all gathered in the grand dining room which had been festively decorated at short notice where they enjoyed the best food and drinks sumptuously prepared by the catering staff.

Theodore dressed up like Father Christmas to give each guest a gift and then he entertained them with a sing-along which featured him playing his repertoire of the classics re-arranged for the harmonica!

Chocolate Christmas.

2011-12-11T09:06:00.000-08:00

In our town there’s a specialist chocolatier. The shop window is always full of the most exquisite and delicious looking chocolates of all sorts and sizes. If Heaven were made of chocolate then this shop would surely be it.

The chocolates are hand-made by the shop owner and his wife and three employees on the premises behind the shop. I remember once visiting their little workshop with a friend of mine, the shop-owner’s niece, and it was a marvelous experience seeing them make all these chocolates with so much care and passion.

Every so often they make different seasonal chocolates like rabbits and chocolate eggs at Easter, special selections on Mothers’ Day, or Christmas specialties.

One Christmas Eve we were in town late, just before going to Midnight Mass, and I decided to visit the shop to get something nice. I left the rest of the family to do some window-shopping and went there alone as a special surprise.

I’d intended to buy a chocolate Father Christmas just as they had in the picture in the shop window. Sadly all Fathers Christmas had been sold. Reindeers too! As well as Christmas tress or any Christmas decorations made of chocolate. In fact it is fair to say that the shop had sold out of any chocolate model relating to Christmas.

The shop assistant looked at me forlornly and suggested a selection from their wild animals’ series would make a good present. “They’ll look good in the Nativity scene beside the Christmas tree …” she said hopefully.

“Hardly …” I said somewhat dejected, “no one would believe that the three Wise Men came from the East on a turtle! It would have taken them ages to arrive. Or that shepherds watched their giraffes at night when the Angel appeared with Good News!”

“They are beautiful though …” she continued encouragingly.

“Yes … they are. But it’s not the same … a chocolate crocodile near the crib would frighten all the sheep away …”

I hesitated for a while. The animal models looked good enough to eat … in fact any chocolate is good enough to eat as far as I’m concerned, regardless of its shape. But this was not for me. This was a present and ideally I would have wanted a Father Christmas, or an Angel … a Christmas tree … it’s the festive shape of the chocolate that matters on this particular occasion. And a rhinoceros or a kangaroo is just not the right shape; even though it might taste just as good when you eat it.

After a lot of soul searching I decided to buy the giraffe. It was big and with such a long neck it meant there was even more chocolate for everyone to share.

“Could you gift wrap it please?” I asked.

As the shop assistant was wrapping my purchase I heard a little girl beside me say: “I want the giraffe … just like in the picture over there!”

“I’m sorry … the last giraffe has just been sold” replied the shop assistant to the girl’s mother.

I looked at their sad faces and knew how they felt.

Now … the right thing to do in such cases is to take my purchase and get out of the shop quickly before my conscience has had a chance to wake up.

But I’m stupid that way and somewhat slow … in my slowness I asked the assistant to sell the giraffe to the girl’s mother instead.

“We have some left-overs from our Halloween series” said the assistant to me after the other customers had gone, “I can let you have two for the price of one!”

That Christmas our Nativity scene was visited by Frankenstein’s monster and a zombie. And the sheep were not frightened at all.

Tasted good too!

Forest picnic.

2011-12-08T04:59:00.000-08:00

Last summer our young priest thought it a good idea to take some youngsters, aged between 16 and 20 from under-privileged families, for a day out in the forest at the edge of town. The idea was to go out on Saturday, have a picnic lunch and return early evening about 5 o’clock in time for evening Mass.

Somehow, he managed to convince me and a few other adults to go with him and help with supervision and also to provide transport there and back.

We arrived at the forest at about 9 in the morning and we parked our cars on the edge of the forest. Everyone was excited and well prepared. They all carried haversacks filled with all sorts of picnic foods and drinks, and cameras, binoculars and all kind of other things that are considered necessary for a day out in the forest. They were all dressed appropriately of course. Shorts were the order of the day and big thick boots and hats. Even the young priest did away with his white collar and wore a multi-colored open necked shirt and a large hat.

I wore an old pair of khaki short trousers I use when gardening and I brought with me my large cowboy-type hat; the one with the large feather. I had an open necked shirt, so no need for the turquoise bow tie with pink flowers!

I brought with me some sandwiches and small drink in a plastic bag, and most important of all six large bars of chocolate. You need chocolates when out for a long walk; it helps keep your sugar levels well under control if you get tired. Six bars should be enough so I can share them around with the rest of the group.

To save me carrying the chocolates in the bag I put them in the back pockets of my khaki shorts. Three bars in each back pocket. They fitted perfectly.

They all moved eagerly ahead into the forest with the priest leading the way and a few adults interspersed every now and then. I chose to be the last one in the long queue of people, which would give me an opportunity to stop and take a rest every now and

then. I’m not into long walks, especially in the forest.

On and on they walked and they sang as they walked. “Sing Halleluiah to the Lord … Our God reigns … Seek ye first the Kingdom of God …” and several other hymns led by the priest at the front and echoed by the rest all the way back to me.

Pleasant it was. But tiring too! Where exactly were we heading? Searching for Dr Livingston or the treasures of the Inca?

It was getting hot … very hot under a punishing sun which you don’t often get around here. Even the feather in my hat was the worst for wear.

After what seemed miles of walking I felt a trickle down my legs. I stopped and to my horror discovered that the six bars of chocolates had melted soaking my short trousers and dripping away leaving a tell-tale track of brown behind me.

I felt my face go red as panic set in.

What am I to do? I pulled out the empty wrappers of chocolates from my pockets, for that is all that was left … empty wrappers. Each bar was 600 grams; so that’s more than three kilos of chocolates melted down my pants and on my legs with embarrassing visual results that would be almost impossible to explain away.

I tried to wipe as much as possible with my handkerchief which soon became soaked anyway and of no use. I hid the handkerchief under some leaves and forest debris. No point in putting it back in my pocket is there?

I scraped as much of the chocolate off my legs but they still looked embarrassingly brown, as indeed was the back of my trousers.

I could see the rest of the gang well away in the distance. I must catch up with them if I’m not to get lost.

I took off my jacket and wrapped it round my waist by the sleeves just like trendy people do when they pretend they are hot. Well … I was hot all right … with embarrassment, panic and fear of getting lost.

I hurried and caught up with the rest of the team just as they were settling down in the woods for a picnic lunch.

I whistled nonchalantly as I arrived and sat on a log some distance away so as not to over-power them with the sweet aroma of melted chocolate.

The young priest said “Grace” and they all started eating their picnics.

Now, why is it when things go wrong for me they continue to go wrong?

As I sat there considering how best to hide my situation for the rest of the day I heard an ominous buzz around me. I’d inadvertently sat on a wasps nest in a hollow in the tree trunk I was on.

Now … they have the whole forest in which to nest … why choose this particular tree trunk?

Pretty soon I was up on my feet and dancing in a panic, tapping on my buttocks and legs as I did so.

Wasps up your short trousers are no fun I tell you.

Everyone stopped eating and turned to me wondering what I was up to. Then they realized and a few adults came to my rescue shooing away the wasps with their hats and napkins.

Once the wasps had gone a pleasant young lady helper offered me her chair and the young priest got me a drink of white wine from his haversack to calm my nerves.

The young lady saw me shivering and said I was in shock. I should take the jacket off my waist and wear it to keep warm.

Well … I could hardly do that? Could I?

The sight of my chocolate stained brown trousers would have sent her into shock as well!

I sat there calmly for the rest of the day and when it was time to go home one of the men helpers offered to drive my car back as I was not in a state to drive … so they said. Although they did not know the real reason why!

Needless to say, I did not join them to Saturday evening Mass but drove straight home for a quick shower and change of clothing.

I hate chocolates. I hate picnics. And I hate forests. Wasps too!

Why did Jesus have to come to earth?

2011-12-06T00:41:00.001-08:00

Another week, another Friday. Father Ignatius set out from St Vincent Church to St Joseph Catholic School to take on the Catechism class with the 15 years old.

It was always a challenge facing those youngsters, especially since he allowed a few minutes at the end of class for free discussion. They could ask anything they wanted and he promised to give them an honest answer – even if he didn’t have an answer, he promised them to say so.

A young pupil put up her hand and asked:

“Why did Jesus have to come to earth? Why didn’t God continue to speak through the prophets like Moses and all the others? And send His Commandments and messages that way? Did Jesus really have to come and die for us to be forgiven? Couldn't God just forgive us?”

“That’s an intelligent question Catherine,” replied the priest, “in fact it’s more than one question; all intelligent at that!”

The young pupil smiled proudly.

“I am not God,” said Father Ignatius, “and I cannot possibly explain what went through His mind when He sent us Jesus; or His motivation for Christ’s Virgin birth, sinless life, death and Resurrection. I know and believe that God decided to send us His Son Jesus to die for us. Yes, He could have just forgiven us, as you say. Being God, He could have done what He wishes, and still can. But I believe that He sent us Jesus, His Son ... and when Jesus was raised to Heaven He sent us the Holy Spirit, who is still with us today ... ”

He stopped for a while to clean his glasses which gained him some thinking time; then putting them back on he continued:

“Let me tell you a story I heard years ago …”

The whole class was now focused on his every word. He knew how to captivate their attention and he firmly believed that honesty, combined with his modern-day parables, would make them remember what he had to say and hopefully mold them into a lifetime founded on the Word of God.

“Once upon a time there was a farmer living in Canada where, as you know, the winters can be very cold and miserable.

“One such cold winter evening in the midst of a very violent snow storm, the farmer was in his home keeping warm by the fireside when he heard banging on the side of his house.

“What could it possibly be? He thought as he heard the continuous thump, thump, thump coming from outside?

“He ignored it at first, but as his dog was getting a little fractious by the sound the farmer put on his heavy overcoat and woolly hat and went outside to investigate.

“He struggled in the blinding snow and nearly slipped once or twice.

“As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness he discovered that a flock of wild geese had lost their way in the snow storm and landed in the field near his house.

“There were literally hundreds of them. Disorientated, cold and wandering everywhere.

“They were landing heavily like an airplane with failed engines, and many of them crashed against the side of the barn.

“The farmer realized that left out in the cold they would soon perish without any shelter.

“So he opened the doors of one of his barns and hoped that they would go in for the night.

“But no ... they remained out in the cold cackling and walking around in circles rather than seek shelter in the barn.

“He tried to shoo them in by walking behind them with his arms spread out ... but to no avail ... the geese ran everywhere except into the barn.

“He tried to persuade his sheepdog to herd them into the barn. But the dog had better ideas in mind. He raised his back leg to answer a call of nature then ran back into the house.”

The class of students laughed in unison.

“The farmer thought to himself ‘If only I could talk to these birds in their own language and explain to them that the barn will shelter them from the snow ... It’s their only way to salvation from this freezing cold …’

“Then an idea struck him.

“He opened another barn and let out his own geese in the yard. The yard was now full of his flock as well as these Canadian wild geese. All cackling away in the freezing snow.

“After a minute or so he shooed his own geese into the open barns again and to his relief the wild geese followed them to safety.”

The priest stopped to allow the story to sink into their young minds.

“You see … I think God had the same problem with us humans on earth.

“For years He spoke to us through the prophets as Catherine said when she asked her question. But did we listen … of course not. We continued in our sinful way.

“So God sent His only Son to us, as a human, so that we may see Him, hear Him and hopefully listen to Him speaking to us in our own language.

“Some of us have accepted Jesus as the Son of God and have heeded the Word of God, as spoken through Christ our Lord.

“But years later, even now, there are many who are not listening still.

“And that’s what we must remember at Christmas time. It isn’t just about the baby Jesus being born in a stable. It is more important than that. It is about the reality that God Himself visited us here on earth all those years ago.”

I Confess.

2011-12-02T04:27:00.000-08:00

Divine Detour

2011-11-30T01:41:00.000-08:00

It was Christmas Eve, early evening, and it was already dark. It was freezing cold with blinding snow still falling and winds making driving conditions perilous to say the least. Weather warnings on the radio advised people to stay at home.

Yet Father Ignatius was on the road. Driving back slowly towards St Vincent Church determined to be there to celebrate Midnight Mass.

He had been away the previous few days and had planned to return home early on Christmas Eve; but the bad weather held him back. Missing Midnight Mass was out of the question for the determined priest, and as he set off on his journey home the skies were dark and the roads were clear; until suddenly he was caught in a snow storm and had no alternative but to proceed onwards towards his Parish church.

The shortest way home was through treacherous country roads, which he knew well, yet never drove on in such conditions. As he turned a sharp bend on the road he noticed just in time a fallen tree blocking his way. He managed to brake in time and avoided hitting it or sliding out of control into a ditch.

He had no option but to reverse carefully and take another way home.

A few miles further on, just before entering a village he saw a car crashed against a tree. He stopped to help.

He’ll never forget the sight that greeted him.

There in the driving seat was a man covered in blood. He was breathing heavily and still conscious.

“Can you move?” asked the priest, fumbling for something to say.

The man shook his head, then slowly mumbled “my leg … trapped …”

“I’ll go for help …” said Father Ignatius.

“No … my wife … she’s gone to the village …”

The priest decided to wait with the injured man until help arrived. He got a blanket from his car and covered him to keep him warm. He tried as best he could to place another blanket on the man’s chest to stop any bleeding from a wound which, although not clearly visible in the dark, was obvious by the bleeding.

It was still snowing and Father Ignatius was freezing. Yet he stood outside the crashed car leaning through the broken driver’s window, trying his best to comfort the driver.

In between heavy sometimes gasping breaths, the man noticed Father Ignatius white collar and asked, “Are you a church minister?”

“I’m a priest,” said Father Ignatius.

“I’ve never had time for people like you …” said the man, “I suppose I’ve never been able to believe … I tried mind you … but just couldn’t believe in God … Jesus …”

Father Ignatius said nothing but prayed silently.

“Do you think it’s too late … you know … can I believe now … or at least try …”

“It is never too late to put your trust in God. Just accept Him in your heart, right now, as best you can. Tell Him you believe in Him.”

The man breathed deeply once or twice. “Yes … I do want to believe, if He’ll help me do it …”

“Can I baptize you?” asked the priest daringly.

“Ah … it hurts more now … yes … do as you say … tell your God I’m sorry … tell Him to forgive me for any wrong I've done Him by not believing ...”

Father Ignatius quickly prayed with the man consciously sitting there and baptized him.

As he made the sign of the Cross on the man’s forehead he heard him say “Is that it? … that was painless …” as he forced a smile.

Father Ignatius held his hand and waited for a further twenty minutes or so, praying all the time, and speaking with him until an ambulance and a police car arrived almost simultaneously. He remained conscious throughout, breathing ever so heavily and obviously in great pain.

Father Ignatius eventually drove to the village and phoned a worried Father Donald from a small shop which was still open. He stayed there for an hour or so by the fire to warm up a little and, determined as ever, decided to continue on his way home.

He made it for Midnight Mass all right, but he was too tired and almost frost bitten to celebrate Mass. He sat at the front pew, by Our Lady’s statue, praying for the crash victim.

He learnt a few days later, from the man’s wife, that he never made it to the hospital. He died in the ambulance on the way there. It was then that Father Ignatius remembered that had it not been for the fallen tree blocking his way, he would have got home much earlier and avoided the accident altogether. Obviously, God wanted him to go to the man’s aid.

A tragic Christmas in human terms, perhaps. But a joyous one in Heaven, welcoming a new soul.

Driving to work

2011-11-28T15:33:00.000-08:00

Shoes

2011-11-28T15:31:00.000-08:00

A Christmas Tale.

2011-11-27T09:37:00.000-08:00

It was a very cold week in early December. Some parishioners asked Father Ignatius if it was all right to build a Christmas crib in the car park as well as the one usually set up in church by the Altar.

The intention was to build a small wooden hut made of old wood they could pick up cheaply from the local saw mill; and then decorate it, and use the Nativity scene statues which they discovered in the store room deep in the basement under the church whilst they were cleaning it in summer.

Father Ignatius agreed, “as long as you don’t ask me to lift those heavy statues from the basement … they’re quite heavy you know. So be careful!” he said.

A few youngsters helped by the leaders of the Youth Club got together and built the wooden hut. At first it looked quite bare and unwelcoming, a little like the original manger in Bethlehem I suppose. But eventually, with loving tender care, mostly by the women involved whilst the men gave instructions or went to the pub for a drink, it looked really magnificent.

The statues were then brought up, with great difficulty, from the basement and placed in position. A local electrician volunteered his services and placed hidden lights at strategic places to make the crib glow warmly at night.

As it snowed and got bitterly cold, even for Northern England, the little wooden hut glowing in the church’s car park made a beautiful heart-warming sight for all passers-by and gave them a little hope for the New Year ahead.

Just beside St Vincent church, by the car park gate, there’s a little narrow lane leading deep into fields at the back of the church. From the street you cannot see the fields. There’s the church’s car park entrance, then the narrow lane entrance, then the entrance to the Convent nearby.

This long lane leads to a small field used by a local farmer to store his farm machinery. He leaves his tractors there, as well as several harvesting equipment and ploughs in a large shed. The field is well enclosed by a high fence and, for extra security; the farmer keeps a dog loose in the field with a small opening in the shed for it to shelter in his doghouse when it is cold and raining.

The dog is not always there; only on rare occasions when the farmer needs additional security on the site.

One morning, a few days before Christmas, the farmer called on Father Ignatius.

“You haven’t seen my dog by any chance Father?” he asked, “it’s a large shepherd dog. I keep him in the yard behind you every now and then, in his dog house in the shed.

“The area is well fenced-off so he shouldn’t have got away. But maybe he found a hole in the fence somewhere and ran off!”

The priest hadn’t seen the dog, but it could be possible that he found a way through the fence and got into the church’s gardens and car park. So he put on his coat and went out with the farmer to search the church’s back gardens first.

It had snowed all night and the snow was very thick and even everywhere since no one had been out to walk on it.

“I hope he’s OK …” said the farmer despondently, “it was very cold last night … well below zero Father. He should have stayed in his dog-house for any chance of warmth. I keep an electric fire on the wall nearby to heat the place … he would have been as warm as toast in the shed. It’s like a sauna in there even in winter!”

“Well … he’s not in the back gardens,” said the priest, “we’d better look in the church car park. Although if he went there he would have escaped in the street by now …”

The two men searched the car park and, eventually, there in the crib, sleeping in the manger just beside the statue of baby Jesus was the large shepherd dog.

As soon as he heard the men approaching he jumped in delight welcoming his master.

“At least he had the sense to find some warmth in the lap of Jesus,” said Father Ignatius, “pity some people do not have as much sense!”

Come on.

2011-11-26T02:49:00.000-08:00

It was a warm sunny day and Father Ignatius was alone in the Parish House. He got out in the gardens at the back of the house and sat by the little shrine to Our Lady set amongst rose bushes some way from the main building.

He took his Rosary from his pocket and started praying. A few minutes later he heard a bird singing in a tree nearby. It wasn’t so much the usual singing one hears, nor the panic cries of a mother when a cat or other predator approaches the nest … this was more like a calling type of singing. It was as if the bird was beckoning someone to do something.

Father Ignatius got up from his chair and walked into the shadows to better see what caused this bird behavior.

There on a tree nearby was a nest. He could see it clearly now, even though it was well camouflaged amongst the branches and leaves. And in the nest there were three birds … quite well-grown by the looks of their size and the fact they were covered in feathers.

The mother bird kept flying towards the nest singing wildly and then moving away from branch to branch … then it got down to the ground … and up to the nest again … singing all the time.

The three little ones looked over the edge of the nest but stayed put.

The priest realized what was going on. The mother was teaching her little ones to leave the nest and fly.

There she was hopping from one branch to another singing away: no doubt encouraging her young to take flight. You could almost hear her speak: “Come on my dears … don’t be afraid … jump!”

They hesitated. Looked around, looked down at the ground which seems miles away, and then politely said to each other: “You first.” “No, no, after you …” “Ladies first, I always say.”

And none of them had the courage to take off, whilst the mother is cheering heartily: “Come on, you know you can do it!”

Eventually one of the little ones gingerly jumped out of the nest, his wings flapping madly, and somehow landed safely to the ground. In time he was followed by his siblings and yet another generation took flight and left the nest.

The priest smiled as he saw all four birds hop from bush to bush, and eventually up the tree branches again, and then fly away confidently.

He sat down again at the feet of the statue and reflected on what he had just witnessed.

“Our first steps with the Lord are no different to these birds I suppose” he thought to himself.

“We question, we analyze, we debate and then … perhaps … in time, we come to believe.

“Eventually, we make that first step in Faith. Believing, without having all the answers. Without knowing everything about the aero-dynamics of flight, or the effects of gravity as we leave the perceived safety of our nest.

“God does not ask us to know everything about Him, how He thinks, how He works, and how He manages the universe.

“All He asks is that we trust Him and believe, without question and without hesitation.

“His Holy Spirit will then lead us through our journey to the Father.”

I blog Jesus

2011-11-26T02:42:00.000-08:00

I am very grateful to NOREEN for nominating me for this award and for saying such good things about me. I am greatly humbled. Thank you NOREEN.

Please visit NOREEN by clicking on her name or clicking HERE.

In Hospital.

2011-11-24T12:51:00.000-08:00

Noses!

2011-11-24T12:40:00.000-08:00

I am really HOT !!!

2011-11-23T01:23:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine is quite an inventor. He is always in his little hut at the bottom of the garden making different gadgets and things “to make life better”. Or so he claims. I must admit that some of his inventions are somewhat innovative although I can’t see them catching on and becoming best sellers. For example he has put a little red LED light at the back of his cap which lights up when he goes out walking at night so that vehicles can see him. Practical? Yes … Fashionable … I don’t think so!

The other day he asked me to test his latest invention.

He has somehow managed to weave a very thin wire backwards and forwards inside the lining of a jacket which he bought from a shop. He then connected the wires to a battery the size of a small book which he placed in the inside pocket of the jacket. By flicking a switch the wires warm up gently and keep you warm on cold winter days.

Now I’m sure that I read about similar devices somewhere or other; but my friend assures me that his system is different … I couldn’t understand a word of what he said in techno language, so I nodded politely and smiled.

He took my nodding as acquiescence to testing the “Warma-Coat”; as he calls it.

I put the jacket on one cold and breezy morning and walked to the local shops to buy my newspapers and some chocolates. I just can’t read the papers without chocolates. Somehow they make me concentrate better. But I digress.

On my way to the shops the electric system in my jacket must have short-circuited because I got a slight twinge in my right shoulder which made me wince a little.

I ignored it and carried on walking when it happened again, only a little stronger.

Fortunately, it stopped for a while whilst I was shopping, but when I came to the check-out to pay for my goods … it happened again but much stronger this time. I recoiled a little and grimaced somewhat at the electric shock.

“Are you winking at me?” asked the beautiful young female cashier.

“No … I’m not.” I replied embarrassingly as I winked at her once more.

“There … you did it again” she said, “what’s the matter with you?”

I was about to reply when a further electric shock made me smile involuntarily and wink at her twice.

“You’re being suggestive … you are!” she cried in a loud voice, “I’ll call the manager!”

Seconds later the manager appeared out of nowhere with a security man. She must have pressed some hidden panic button, I suppose.

“What’s the matter?” he asked her.

“Mr Thornicroft … this customer is making suggestive innuendos by winking at me!” she complained.

“Is this true sir?” he asked, “we take exception to improper behavior by our customers towards our employees!”

“I assure you that I did not do or imply anything improper” I replied as I winked at him twice.

“Sir … you are quite out of order” he said sternly as he saw me wink, “I’ll have to ask you to leave these premises or we will call the police!”

As I tried to explain my innocence he noticed a plume of smoke rising from my right shoulder.

“Sir … have you been smoking? It is a criminal offence to smoke in public places and I may have to detain you until the police arrives” interrupted Mr Thornicroft as he motioned to the security guard to do his business.

A crowd soon gathered by the check-out as other shoppers became interested in my dilemma. Why can’t people just mind their own business and continue shopping?

“I assure you I don’t smoke …” I protested as the security guard attempted to put his hand on my right shoulder then thought it better not to.

“I don’t smoke … but my shoulder clearly does!” I said trying to make light of the situation.

And that’s exactly what happened next. The right shoulder did light up in green flames and acrid black smoke.

The manager quickly picked up a two-liter bottle of beer and emptied it on my head whilst the security guard got hold of a foam emitting fire extinguisher and covered me in foam from head to toe.

I can announce that beer and foam don’t mix. Some got into my mouth with dire results.

As I was led out of the store coughing and spluttering I heard a customer explain to another “Instant combustion … it happens a lot you know. It’s more common than you think!”

I cleaned the foam as best I could and walked back home never to return to that shop again … and never to trust an inventive friend.

Father Ignatius visits the cellar

2011-11-21T05:11:00.000-08:00

The basement under the church had been emptied of the junk which had accumulated over the years. Some young volunteers had painted the walls and ceiling of the three reclaimed rooms and corridor, and an electrician had connected the whole downstairs to the mains electricity.

The intention was to turn two rooms into meeting rooms and the third into a small kitchenette allowing people to make a cup of tea and prepare refreshments.

Father Ignatius ventured downstairs to check on progress.

Tom was alone busily tiling the floor. He had chosen pink and white tiles to match the colour of the rest of the room.

"Things are improving down here …” commented Father Ignatius as he stood by the doorway.

“They sure are …” replied Tom turning down the volume of his radio a little.

“Are these tiles already fixed?” asked the priest.

“Yes … some are already cemented in and they’re drying out nicely … these others over there I’ve yet to cement … why do you ask?”

“Well … pardon me for saying so Tom,” hesitated Father Ignatius, “those tiles over in that area by the wall are not very even … some are a few millimeters higher than the others … enough that you would notice them from here where I’m standing … and they seem to have been placed haphazardly, rather than full square side by side … eh … forgive me Tom, perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned it …”

“Oh don’t worry Father … no one will see them … I’ll be putting the kitchen cabinet here over them … so no one will know about my careless work …” chuckled Tom.

“Jesus will …” replied Father Ignatius quietly.

“Why … is He a works inspector now is He?” chuckled Tom again.

“Tom I’m very grateful to you for volunteering to do this work … this basement would not have been transformed so beautifully if it wasn’t for all you volunteers working together, clearing the old stuff that was here, painting the rooms and corridor and doing all this work … maybe I shouldn’t have said anything … please forgive me …”

“Oh don’t go away Father …” replied Tom as he got up from the floor to stretch his aching back, “if they’re that important to you I’ll fix those tiles again …”

“It’s not that Tom … I was just thinking … many people go through life enduring their job from day to day and treating it as a means to earn a living – and no more. I know you’re doing this for free … and I’m grateful to you and the other workers … but you know what I mean …

“And as time goes by, so does the pride people have in their work. They just do it as a job, and inevitably their standard of performance deteriorates.

“I feel that somehow this is an insult to God …”

“Hein?” mumbled Tom.

“Hear me out Tom … Whatever job we have to do in life, whether it is an influential position of power, a lawyer, doctor or a skilled worker using our hands to do something, like a factory worker for instance … surely our duty is to do the work properly … to the best of our ability. To give the task in hand all the attention and skill that we possess.

“As Jesus was growing up He worked with His father Joseph as a carpenter. Can you imagine Jesus making a table with a wobbly leg?”

Tom shook his head.

“Then why should we?” asked Father Ignatius, “Whatever task we have been given to do – let’s make sure it is not wobbly.”

Tom smiled silently.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do” continued Father Ignatius, “I’ll leave now and I will not return until you have permanently fixed the kitchen cabinet over that area there.

Only you will know whether those tiles have been fixed properly or not … only you will know whether the hidden tiles under the cabinet are uneven and haphazardly laid down … or not!”

“Jesus too will know …” said Tom jokingly as the priest walked up the stairs out of the basement.

“That’s true … but I promise not to ask Him!” chortled Father Ignatius.

Christ the King

2011-11-20T06:33:00.000-08:00

A PRESENT FOR YOU

2011-11-17T02:00:00.000-08:00

Here's an early Christmas present for you and your friends.

LIFE - It makes ME Laugh!

This is my latest book and it is available for you to download FREE from HERE

It is also available on AMAZON Kindle USA HERE

And in the UK HERE

Thank you and God bless.

One casket or two?

2011-11-15T15:43:00.000-08:00

Why is it that the phone always rings at home at the most inappropriate time when I’m doing something else more important?

And why is it that it always rings for someone else and I end up answering it and either taking messages or calling the person for whom the call is intended.

Yes … we do have an answering machine, but we only use it when we’re out. When we’re in I’m the alternative human answering machine!

That said; the worst calls of all are from a variety of sales people trying to sell you something or other. A new credit card, an insurance policy, new double glazing to keep the house warm, and every other imaginable service or product which I most definitely don’t want, has been offered to me on the phone by people I don’t know, nor wish to know. And they have the impertinence to address me by my first name too, as if we’re long standing pals.

“Hello Victor!” one said, “are you well today?”

“No, not really …” I replied, having guessed it was yet another sales person, “I’ve just swallowed a fly.”

Well, that certainly stopped her in her tracks. She sympathized and then proceeded to expound on the benefits of her Company’s products.

The most bizarre phone call however took place last week and it went something like this.

“Good morning Victor! (First name terms straight away). I am Gilbert D Funct and I represent Pets In Peace, a new service provider just established in your town, and our aim is to share and ease your pain when your beloved pet departs this vale of tears.”

“Hein?” said I.

“PIP … that’s our initials, will be there to provide you with a casket in which to place the remains of your dear departed pet. We have caskets in all sizes for goldfish, budgies, hamsters, rabbits, cats, dogs and any other animal or insect which may share your home as a member of your family. All caskets are made to the highest standard of professional workmanship in mahogany, oak, elm, cedar wood and pine. And they are lined in satin or silk in a variety of colors such as white, black, and velvet being the most popular.”

“I see …” I said, and before I could tell him I’m not interested Gilbert D Funct went on.

“Furthermore, Victor, as part of our service we would conduct a solemn ceremony of whatever religious belief you desire, and then we would bury the casket containing the remains of your family pet on your property so you can visit him whenever you wish …”

“I live in an apartment!” I interrupted. “Will you bury the pet under the carpet?”

That certainly stopped him.

“Oh …” he said, “do you not have access to a piece of ground?”

“We have a few herb pots in the kitchen … you know … fresh mint, parsley, thyme, rosemary and such like. But the pots are too small to bury a casket in …”

“Yes quite …” he hesitated. So I took the initiative and went on.

“We had planned to flush the goldfish down the toilet … you know … naval burial and all that. Are your caskets water soluble?”

“Er … no … I don’t believe so …” mumbled Gilbert, obviously unaware of my sarcasm.

“And then there’s the cat …” I continued, having gained the upper-hand in this sales pitch, “he’d be too big to flush down the toilet … I’ve often wondered how we’d dispose of him after he’s used up his nine lives …”

“Are you familiar with cremation?” asked Gilbert gaining an advantage point.

“My wife is expert at that … judging from her many Sunday roasts! Perhaps she could do the same to the cat!”

At this point, as luck would have it, she came in the house from one of her shopping trips.

“This is for you …” I said handing her the phone, “someone researching roast recipes for a cookery book he’s writing …” and I quickly rushed to the pub.

Of church mice and church men.

2011-11-13T01:08:00.000-08:00

I visited an old church in the countryside the other evening.

There was this historian giving a talk entitled “The influence of the Church in England from Chaucer to Henry the Eighth and Beyond”.

Given a choice between listening to that lecture and watching an important football match on TV I would choose the lecture every time. You know me, always willing to oblige and to please … Why is it that old fashioned marriage vows included the words “to love and obey”? Was there not a clause about football games in those vows? There should have been!

Anyway, the old historian did not disappoint. He lived up to my every expectation and went on and on giving us every minute detail about this most fascinating subject. He reminded me of one of the priests who visited our church recently; Father Ontoo Long!

He too went on ad infinitum reading his sermon from notes he must have typed on an old type-writer and stopping at every punctuation mark to add boredom to everlasting tedium.

I wondered as I sat there on those hard wooden pews which very soon numb the lower parts of your body … I wondered, if this historian stood side by side with Father Ontoo Long and they talked in unison would they put us to sleep in stereo?

My boredom was soon to be relieved by an unexpected distraction.

I noticed a few feet away just by the radiator standing against the wall a mouse crawling slowly towards me. He’d probably been disturbed by the historian’s monotonous voice, I thought.

The mouse stopped suddenly then ran back towards the wall. No one noticed him except me.

He then walked ever so slowly close to the wall towards the left of the radiator. Then he stopped again. Moments later he was joined by another mouse following a few feet behind. He too stopped and then the first mouse turned round facing the second mouse. They faced each other for a few seconds then the second mouse ran back towards the radiator followed by the first!

I bet those mice are married, I thought. Probably having an argument I shouldn’t wonder. Something like this:

Mr Mouse: Oh … why do we have to go to church every Sunday? That priest is so boring!

Mrs Mouse: We don’t go to church to see the priest. We go to meet God and to pray.

Mr Mouse: But God is everywhere. Why can’t we meet Him at home? I bet He’d love to watch the football match on TV!

At that point a sharp elbow dug deeply into my side and a harsh voice whispered “Stop snoring!”

Oh well … back to Chaucer and Henry the Eighth I suppose. Did they have church mice then?

Future foretold.

2011-11-10T16:16:00.000-08:00

The fair was in town once again with all its amusement stalls and tents pitched in the park opposite St Vincent Church. The lights were shining bright on the big wheel, the round-about and other rides, whilst the music blared for miles around.

Father Ignatius was in the church’s car park when he overheard some youngsters talking loudly:

“I’ve had my fortune told by Mystic Matilda. She looked into the glass ball and it turned all full of smoke inside.”

“What did she tell you? You’re a loser and will always be a loser …”

And somehow, just these words, a snip of an overheard conversation became the basis of Father Ignatius’ sermon on Sunday.

He approached the lectern and asked: “Did anybody here go to the fair last night?”

A few nods and yeses greeted his unusual question.

“I hear there was a fortune teller there. Did anyone go to check their fortune?”

Not many volunteers this time.

“Interesting thing telling peoples’ future … it’s all nonsense of course; but then you all know that, don’t you?” asked the priest with a smile.

“Let’s suppose for a minute that it is not nonsense at all. Let’s suppose that the fortune-teller in the park opposite can really tell your future.

“Let’s suppose Mystic Matilda, for that is her name I believe, can really foretell your future and it is really accurate every time. Every little detail of it. And unfortunately for you she predicts a bad future.

“She says that you’ll lose your job within six months. You’ll suffer a terrible painful illness. You’ll have an accident … I’m sure you know what I mean ….

“And you’re certain the fortune-teller is always accurate and these things will happen. There’s no escaping your fate. How do you feel about that?”

Total silence greeted his piercing question; so Father Ignatius pointed to the children sitting up front, “How about you … you look very intelligent to me. Can anyone tell me how you would feel if you knew your future will be bad?”

A young girl raised her hand and said, “I’d feel terrible and very frightened.”

“Yes Louise … you’re right. You’d feel terrible and very frightened indeed. You’d be terrified and most likely want to change your future at all costs.

“Now let me tell you about someone who knew His future well in advance. Probably from the age of twelve; just the same age as you sitting here up front. When He was found by His parents in the temple in Jerusalem.

“He knew then what was going to happen to Him all His life. He knew He would be betrayed by His own follower. He would be arrested. Beaten, spat upon, mocked and tortured. A crown of thorns put on His head. Made to carry His own Cross and then die a most horrible painful death Crucified between two thieves.

“He knew all that throughout His life. Being human He must have shared the same human emotions we have. He would have been very frightened and terrified just like young Louise said.

“Being human He most probably had nightmares about His whole future. How often I wonder as a young teenager did He wake up in the night having seen His future in His dreams. Can you imagine how terrible this must have been? Knowing what would happen to you and there’s no escape?

“Daily His future must have been on his mind. Just seeing the terrible suffering that He had to face must have been in itself a daily torture for Him. All that evil that is to come His way at our hands!

“But did He give up? Did He try to run away from it? Did He try to change His future?

“When He prayed in the garden before His arrest the devil did tempt Him. Jesus did ask God His Father to make it all go away … but then accepted His terrible terrible fate just for us.

“He was both God and man, and as man He suffered all that pain and that horrible death on the Cross, just for us.”

Father Ignatius stopped for a few seconds, then continued.

“And now I want to address you mothers … how would you feel if you knew for certain what would happen to your children? Your loved ones. And you were told for certain that the future would be terrible for them.

“Can you imagine for a moment how Mary felt throughout her life?

“She knew from the moment she presented the baby Jesus in the temple when Simeon told her sorrow, like a sharp sword, will break your own heart. She knew then what would happen to her Son.

“Can you imagine that? Raising a little child, hugging Him, loving Him and caring for Him. Teaching Him to take His first faltering steps, teaching Him to talk, feeding Him and looking after Him every day like a devoted loving mother does.

“And knowing every moment she does these loving things what is to happen to her precious child. Knowing every detail that is to happen to Him. How did she cope with her own Cross to carry throughout her life?

“Not only did she carry this terrible pain in her heart throughout her life, but she lived to witness it as well. For she was there, at the foot of the Cross, when her Son breathed His last breath. She held His dead body in her arms. My heart breaks just thinking about it ….

The priest stopped for a while and silently thanked our Lady for accepting her ordeal on our behalf.

“Now what are we to learn from all this?” asked Father Ignatius in a soothing voice.

“Our future is uncertain; we may be concerned, frightened even, about what is to happen to us and to our children. The financial situation in this town is in a very bad state with many losing their jobs. Prospects are none too good, and it is understandable if we sometimes feel a little apprehensive and doubtful.

“Let us learn from Jesus and Mary and take courage. God was always with them and at no time did He abandon them. Nor will He abandon us.

“When we’re feeling anxious and worried let us turn to Mary and ask her help. Let’s implore her to come to our aid. She has lived through terrible times and she’ll know exactly how we feel. And I’m certain she’ll console us and help us to go on; just like she did all those years ago.

“Let’s honour her right now by reciting the Hail Mary …”

Elegy on a carpet

2011-11-08T00:12:00.000-08:00

I’ll admit I’m not the best man at do-it-yourself type work at home. Be it woodworking, painting, plumbing or electrical work. I always seem to get it wrong and more often than not I hurt myself.

For example when I hammered hard on my finger, missing the nail altogether, as I did this morning, my first instinct was not to say calmly and in a quiet voice “Jolly gosh, this was a tad uncomfortable for me!!!”

I threw the hammer in the air in pain followed by a string of un-repeatables unworthy of your tender ears, or eyes … dear readers.

The hammer struck the beautiful crystal vase of flowers which we’d treasured for years as a special present from the in-laws. The vase shattered into a million pieces pouring water everywhere which caused an electrical short circuit which blew the TV into a loud bang and sparks.

And my finger still hurt.

Instead of sympathy I got earache!!!

“That was a wedding present from …”

“I know … I know …” I thought silently, “… I never liked the thing anyway, but I’d better say nothing and pretend I’m more hurt than I really am”.

No use. The deceased vase got more sympathy than me.

Better get on with my work. After all, laying a carpet in a room is easy. Take out all the furniture. Well … most of the furniture anyway, why bother with the coffee table, the TV and the … Anyway … Let’s measure from here to there, and from there to over here. Match the measurements to the carpet. Lay the carpet. No … wait … fix that loose floorboard. Hammer the nail in … miss it altogether … hit your finger hard and we’re back to where we started.

An hour or so later I managed to lay the carpet in the room … well, kind of. There were areas where the carpet was somehow bigger than the room. Don’t know why. Maybe the carpet stretched as it was laid down and grew bigger and curled up a little up the wall. Never mind … it’ll be hidden when I put the furniture there and no one will notice.

And in some places the carpet did not quite reach the wall. It was a few inches short. Perhaps it shrunk a little over here whilst it stretched over there. What if I move more furniture over here to hide it?

Now wait a minute. What’s this bump here in the middle of the room? It looks like a small mound a few inches high. It doesn’t move much and it feels as if there’s something under the carpet.

I can’t take the whole carpet off and start again. Dash it all. Where’s that hammer? I’ll bash that mound hard and flatten what’s under there … ah … that should do it!!!

As I finished flattening the carpet with the hammer I heard a young voice from the kitchen ask “Mom … have you seen my hamster? He’s not in his cage!”

“Dear Lord …” What do I do now? Put those flowers from the broken vase where the mound was and say a prayer?

Better say nothing … perhaps they’ll think the hamster went out for a walk. It’s a nice day out there and Dodo will enjoy the sunshine.

Appropriate name … I thought. This particular hamster is now as extinct as his namesake. I hope he doesn’t stink under there as he decomposes away!!!

I shudder away the dark thoughts as I move the furniture back into the room nonchalantly as if nothing happened. If I confess I’ll open up a new can of worms and tears will flow for ever more and I’ll never be forgiven by anyone for eternity for what I have done.

It is sometimes kinder and much more loving to ease away the pain of others by not telling them what they don’t need to know. Better to believe that Dodo has gone for a walk and met a Miss Dodo and they’re living happily ever after in the fields behind our house.

Just as I finished putting the furniture back I heard that young voice say “Mom … I found Dodo. He was under the bed.”

Now then … has anyone seen my brand new cell-phone? I can’t find it anywhere!

The Gift.

2011-11-06T06:29:00.000-08:00

Father Ignatius was helping a few volunteers clearing out a storeroom deep in the basement of the church. It was dark and somewhat humid down there as well as dusty amongst the cobwebs that accumulated over the years.

The intention was to redecorate the basement, connect it to the mains electricity supply, and use the area reclaimed from years of neglect to more profitable use than just storage space for unwanted bits and pieces.

The helpers had brought with them extension cables and lit up the place a little. Slowly they took out old bits of furniture, wooden boxes full of books and other knick-knacks, church ornaments, statues and whatever else had been deposited there by previous generations.

Father Ignatius and an antique dealer friend started cataloguing the items as they were recovered from the bowels of the church in order to decide whether they were of any value and worth keeping, or whether they would be sold or got rid off.

“Rather musty in here,” commented one of the volunteers carrying a large vase.

“Creepy too … if you ask me,” complained another, “I wouldn’t be surprised if this place is haunted. Is there not an old crypt at the end of this corridor?”

“Boooo … hooo !!!!” moaned another helper eerily covering his head with an old blanket.

“Grow up George …” cried out Sonia.

“Are you having fun down there?” enquired Father Ignatius from the top of the stairs as he catalogued yet another candlestick.

“Hey Father … look what I’ve found down here,” replied Sonia coming up the stairs followed by the other helpers who needed a short break.

She carefully carried a large framed picture with the glass still intact. The wooden frame needed a little cleaning but otherwise it looked in reasonable condition. The helpers wiped the dirt from the frame and glass to reveal a brightly coloured painting of a dove flying high with rays of light or fire descending on a heart.

“Wow … this is beautiful,” said George.

“Isn’t it just …” said Sonia.

“It’s the Holy Spirit …” exclaimed Father Ignatius, “I wonder how long this has been down there.”

“Why is He depicted as a dove?” asked one of the volunteers, “and fire too … The Holy Spirit is a bit of an enigma I think.”

“I understand what you mean …” reflected Father Ignatius, “the Holy Spirit can seem an enigma to some …

“He appeared as a dove at Christ’s baptism, and as tongues of fire at Pentecost when He descended on the apostles.

“I suppose many people still misunderstand who the Holy Spirit is.

“We are taught about God the Father, Jesus the Son, and the Holy Spirit …. He doesn’t seem to have a title or a description.

“It was St Hilary of Poitiers, a Bishop in the 3rd Century AD, who first described the Holy Spirit as ‘the gift’.

“He is the gift given to us by God after Jesus ascended into Heaven. He is the very Spirit of God Himself. His very soul come back to us on earth to dwell within us and to help us in our Christian life.

“That’s why He is sometimes referred to as the Helper, the Counselor, God’s own Being living within us.”

“God living within us …” repeated George.

“Yes …” said Father Ignatius, “can you imagine that? God. Living within us. Guiding us. Helping us. Teaching us. Advising us when to speak and when to remain silent. What to say and what to do.

“Isn’t that wonderful? Or is it too difficult to imagine or believe?

“Isn’t it a tragedy that these days many people are too willing to believe that the devil can possess an individual unwillingly and reap havoc in their lives; which of course is true.

“Yet … they find it difficult to understand that the Holy Spirit of God is willing to abide within us and lead us to an eternal better life in Heaven. And He only does so when we ask Him, when we invite Him in our hearts …

“All we have to do is believe … and ask Him.”

They reflected silently for a few seconds when eventually Sonia said “I think we should hang this picture prominently in church.”

“I agree …” replied Father Ignatius, “and it will give me an opportunity to talk about the Holy Spirit in my sermon this Sunday.”

Neighbor Jeremy.

2011-11-03T05:15:00.000-07:00

Solemn occasions are meant to be just that … solemn.

Well, at least that is the intention, although at times events conspire to turn things differently.

As happened at Neighbor Jeremy’s funeral.

Jeremy was generally a good neighbor. I liked him well. Always polite, wishing me “Good morning” when we met on our way to work or “Good evening” should we happen to see each other on our way home.

He kept himself to himself and never parked in front of my driveway blocking me from going in or out whenever I wished; unlike some other neighbors of mine! But the least said about them the better. After all, we’re meant to love all our neighbors; are we not?

Every so often Jeremy would borrow some of my garden tools, or other bits and pieces he required, but he always returned them cleaned and in pristine condition.

Anyway, like all funerals, Jeremy’s was certainly a solemn occasion.

Relatives and friends and neighbors gathered in church and then followed him to the graveside. There were tears aplenty as we all remembered him and in our own way knew that we would miss him.

Although I’m no relative of Jeremy, at the graveside I was one of those who stood near the gaping hole as he was lowered down; purely because I had taken with me in my car one of his relatives who had no transport of her own. This elderly lady stood next to me on my left; and on my right was another neighbor, a young lady, who also had no transport and had come with me.

I noticed whilst the priest was saying his final prayers that the young lady on my right was somewhat tearful and had nothing to wipe her eyes with. Being the gentleman whom I am, I put my hand in my right side pocket and pulled out, fortunately for me, a brand new handkerchief which I handed to her.

As I did so … dash it all … my car key had got into one of the folds of the handkerchief and fell to the ground, on the grass, without making a sound, and then … dash it all once again … it rolled into the open grave just as the coffin was being lowered.

No one noticed except the young lady on my right. She took my handkerchief and asked: “What was that?”

“My car key …” I mumbled quietly.

She burst out laughing and then stifled her laughter with the handkerchief, pretending to be emotionally distraught and unable to control herself. Her outer appearance to one and all was one of utter despair and total grief; yet I knew from the shaking of her shoulders that she had great difficulty controlling the hilarity engendered by my predicament.

One or two mourners raised their eyebrows and wondered why this young lady was portraying more grief at his demise than Jeremy’s own wife standing nearby. But let’s not feed suspicious minds when my own is doing backward somersaults trying to figure out what to do next.

Almost instinctively, I placed my arm round the young lady’s shoulders and ushered her away from the graveside. As I did so, I accidentally bumped into the frail old lady on my left and almost knocked her into the grave with Jeremy. Luckily, she fell backwards away from the hole.

The young lady and I walked away from the crowd and stood a distance away by some trees. She continued laughing out of control but mercifully not loud enough to raise any suspicions.

What could I do in this situation? I could hardly let Jeremy borrow my car when I knew sure well that he had no intention of returning it?

If I did nothing, how could I possibly get home, and what would I say to the frail old lady expecting a lift back in my car?

I noticed the grave-diggers sitting some distance away ready to complete their work once everyone had gone.

I left the young lady still laughing away by the trees and walked towards the grave-diggers to explain the situation.

When all the solemnities were over and done, I arranged for someone else to give the two ladies a lift home; and explained that I had some urgent business to deal with at work.

The grave-diggers brought Jeremy back up and retrieved my key; and for once, Jeremy did not get to borrow anything of mine!

P.S.

One should always have dignity in death.

I attended a clown’s funeral once and he was lying there peacefully in his open coffin with a red nose and a big smile painted on his face. They couldn’t put the lid on because of his big feet!

Christ's temptations.

2011-11-01T03:06:00.000-07:00

Why was Jesus human? Why was He tempted by the devil?

When Jesus came to earth He came as a human to share humanity with us so that we can accept Him and learn from Him. He was born a human baby, vulnerable, and tiny as all babies are. He grew up a human and shared every emotion we share as human beings.

His very humanity is a very important factor in understanding Jesus; the Son of God.

Let's consider a different scenario of this Son of God coming to visit us here on earth.

Imagine for a minute if He had arrived as a God (which He was/is). Imagine if He suddenly appeared out of nowhere in a flash of lightning and thunder. Imagine if He came on earth like a superman or such other fictional hero. With obvious powers like flying, super strength, X ray vision and so on like we see in the movies.

How do you think we humans would have reacted?

The people of the time would have been in total awe of Him and would have obeyed and followed Him out of fear or wonderment.

Hardly free choice - is it?

So God decided that His Son would come to us as a human. He humbled Himself as a baby born in poverty in a stable. Grew up with the poor and the down and outs - not as a king.

As a human He felt every emotion that we feel. Sadness at the death of Lazarus, pity for the ill and poor ... etc.

As a human He also experienced temptations.

In the desert satan tempted Him: If you are God's Son jump from this temple, turn these stones into bread. Why don't you worship me?

How often does satan tempt us too?

Are there not times when, perhaps like a bright light in our head, we suddenly stop and ask ourselves: "Is this all real? Is there really a God out there? Jesus? Life after death? Can all this be true and do I really believe it?"

I hope these temptations don’t cross our minds too often. Because satan is always there; ready to put these and other thoughts in our minds to lead us astray.

The closer we come to God the harder the devil works to lead us away from Him. No point in tempting those who do not believe is there? Satan is too clever to waste his time on them. Instead he lurks in the shadowy corners of our minds ready to pounce at our moments of weakness. When we're ill perhaps, tired, overworked, confused, sorrowful, doubtful and lacking hope. That's when satan moves in and furtively plants the seeds of doubts and confusion in our minds.

And that’s why Christ had to be tried and tested by satan. In order to share our experiences, but, most important, to be an example to us all on how to fight back these temptations.

Through prayer.

Every time He was tempted Jesus prayed to His Father.

He was tempted again before He was arrested. He asked: "Can all this pass me by?"

Then, in prayer, He obeyed His Father and said: "Not my will, but Yours."

What an example for us all to emulate.

Not my will, but Yours.

I believe.

2011-10-30T02:39:00.000-07:00

Father Francis Maple

Aunt Gertrude Again

2011-10-27T07:19:00.000-07:00

Aunt Gertrude came over from Australia to stay with us for a couple of months. This is about one dog-year I suppose which may sound a lot, although two months with Aunt Gertrude may sound a lot in any creature’s years.

Don’t misunderstand me. It’s not that we don’t like Aunt Gertrude. It’s just that she has so many quirks and habits that we have to get used to. For a start she likes to sit in front of the TV and watch all the Australian soaps for hours on end and then tell us what has happened next. Because she has already seen them in her native land and wishes to make sure we don’t miss a minute of the endless storylines. The fact that we never watch such programs has not diminished her enthusiasm for inflicting them on us.

She also has a habit of saying every so often, “Help … I’m trapped within my own skin!” referring to the fact that she wishes she was a teenager once again and able to do all the things she did when young; like chasing after kangaroos, or koalas or whatever people do in Australia.

The first time she said it, it was somewhat amusing. But after umpteen times the novelty wears off somewhat.

These little quirks aside she’s a kind old lady I suppose and we enjoyed having her for the last two months and showing her around our part of the world.

The day of her departure back to Australia soon came and unfortunately it coincided with us having to be away from home for most of the morning. We prepared her breakfast, said our fond goodbyes, and asked her to pull the front door behind her as she leaves and it will self-lock automatically. She said she’d call a taxi to take her to the airport and that she would phone us from there just before flying away.

Later that afternoon we got home and the place was as quiet as a morgue. The TV was off and no more the Australian accent of endless soaps was to be heard. We sat in silence enjoying a nice cup of tea and ginger biscuits. My favorites!

Then I heard from a distance “Help …”

I scratched my ear with my little finger and re-tuned my hearing to listen carefully. Could it be that the echoes of “Help … I’m trapped within my own skin” are still reverberating within the deep recesses of my Australian accustomed mind?

“Did you hear anything?” I asked, but I was assured that I was imagining things.

“Help …” repeated the voice from afar, but once again, not followed by “I’m trapped within my own skin”.

This time others heard it too. It came from above …. No, not Heaven … but from the floor above!

Up we went to the spare bedroom and there we found Aunt Gertrude under the bed. All we could see was her legs protruding from under the bed and her feeble voice asking us to get her out.

We tried to pull her gently but she was well and truly stuck. Her clothes had somehow got caught in the springs or whatever it is under beds that makes people become stuck. Maybe her rotund figure was too much for the space available under there!

I lifted the bed with all the strength I could muster whilst the rest of the family gently reversed her back from under it until she was free.

Apparently her false teeth had somehow fallen under the bed on the far side by the wall. As there was no room for her to retrieve them from the side by the wall, she got down flat on the other side of the bed and crawled under it and became stuck for the last hour or so.

Obviously she had missed her flight back home.

We retrieved the teeth and put them in their rightful place. Gave her a cup of tea and a piece of cake and made several phone calls to various airlines.

We managed to find her another flight home in ten days’ time which in dog years is … Oh I can’t be bothered to work it out.

Interview with Victor Moubarak.

2011-10-25T03:06:00.000-07:00

Interviewer: Tell me about yourself.

Vic: There’s very little to tell. I’m an ordinary person … born many years ago in hospital in Maternity Ward A and B.

Int: A and B?

Vic: I was a big baby!

Int: What do you remember of your childhood?

Vic: When I was born I cried a lot, and everyone around me was happy and laughing. I suspect when I get to die those around me would be sad yet I’d be the one happy and laughing … because I’d get to meet Jesus!

Int: And what would you say to Him?

Vic: Wow … that’s a difficult question. I think for once I’d be lost for words … I’d probably have a heart attack at meeting Jesus face to face. Can you have a heart attack if you’re dead?

I suppose if I remember I’d say thank you … if I remember. I’m like those nine lepers … I’d probably forget to say thank you. But that’s what we should say … thank you.

Int: Have you always been a Christian?

Vic: I was brought up a Catholic, and have always been so. I’ve often wondered what if my parents were a different denomination … or a different religion even … or no religion at all! Would I have become a Christian, or a Catholic even? I don’t know … Would I have found Jesus … or would He have found me?

Int: What led you to write your book “Visions”?

Vic: I’ve often wondered what Christians truly believe … Many go to church regularly … but in reality, what do they believe? Do they go just out of habit or do they go because God is there in person through the Eucharist? Do they visit the building or God?

And then I asked myself, what if Jesus appeared to some children here and now. Just like the visions at Lourdes, Fatima and other places many years ago. What if it happened now … how would Christians react? How would other people react?

The book “Visions” puts these questions in a modern context. And I hope it challenges readers to provide their own answers.

Int: Is it selling well?

Vic: I’ve bought a copy!

Int: What message would you like readers to take from the book?

Vic: Primarily, I wish them to re focus on their beliefs and to re affirm to themselves and to God what they truly believe. If one reader does just that, then the book would have been worth it.

Int: Thank you for your time.

Vic: Pleasure. God bless.

Our Father.

2011-10-25T02:51:00.001-07:00

ALETEIA

2011-10-25T02:48:00.000-07:00

Check out this new Catholic website. Click HERE.

Mary, Image and Mother of the Church.

2011-10-24T17:54:00.000-07:00

[Most Catholics and many priests are unaware of the existence of the two volume Collection of Masses of the Blessed Virgin Mary consisting of a sacramentary -- a book of antiphons, prayers and the Mass-- and a lectionary -- the readings used during Mass. There are 46 different Masses with their own prayers and a preface for the eucharistic prayer that can be used on a weekday or Saturday mornings under certain conditions. The Marian sacramentary is a must for anyone with a deep love for Mary and the liturgy of the Church. Here is the preface for the Mass: Mary, Image and Mother of the Church, I.]

Father, all-powerful and ever-living God,
we do well always and everywhere to give you thanks;
we especially praise you and proclaim your glory
as we honor the Blessed Virgin Mary.

She received your Word in purity of her heart
and, conceiving in her virgin womb,
gave birth to our Savior
and so nurtured the Church at it’s very beginning.

She accepted God’s parting gift of love
as she stood beneath the Cross
and so became the mother of all those
who were brought to life
through the death of her only Son.

She joined her prayers with those of the apostles,
as together they awaited the coming of your Spirit,
and so became the perfect pattern of the Church at prayer.

Raised to the glory of heaven,
she cares for the pilgrim Church with a mother’s love,
following it’s progress homeward
until the day of the Lord dawns in splendor.

Now, with all the angels and saints,
we proclaim your glory
and join in their unending hymn of praise.

Collection of Masses of the Blessed Virgin Mary: Volume I Sacramentary. New York: Catholic Book Publishing, Co., 1992, p. 130.

Re-printed with kind permission from Father Paul Wharton whose Blog is HERE.

Welcome Liz Vogel-Smith

2011-10-24T17:40:00.000-07:00

Welcome Liz Vogel-Smith as a new follower of this blog. We hope to see you visiting and commenting often.

God bless.

UBI CARITAS

2011-10-22T09:00:00.000-07:00

The fox and moon.

2011-10-18T22:27:00.000-07:00

It was a lovely summer’s day as I sat on the park bench enjoying the take-away meal I just bought from my favorite burger bar.

I’d just finished my large portion of French fries and I put the empty packet on the bench to dispose of it later. To stop it blowing away I put my cell-phone and keys in the empty fries container to weigh it down, and proceeded to enjoy my burger and cheese bun.

As quick as a flash, a fox came out of the bushes, no doubt attracted by the smell of food, grabbed the empty fries container in its mouth and ran away.

I ran after it frantically and it eventually dropped my cell-phone, but unfortunately it hid in the bushes before I could retrieve my keys. I searched everywhere to no avail. The bushes in that area were quite thick and almost impenetrable.

I walked back to my car intent on phoning for help when I found a park ranger standing next to my vehicle writing in her notepad.

I immediately recognized the lady in question.

I’d seen her several times in church talking in the car park after Mass with friends but I never spoke with her.

She’s a short woman in her late forties well built all over and rotund as can be. She must have a great sense of humor apparently since she’s always laughing loudly outside church with a contagious laugh which makes you want to join in the fun even though you’re not part of the conversation.

Today of course it was different. Dressed in her tight ranger’s uniform she was as severe as befits a person in authority.

“You have parked beyond the stipulated time,” she said sternly, “and I must issue you with a fine to be paid within a week!”

I tried to explain what had just happened and why I was late driving away from the parking space.

“You’re from our church …” she declared, “I recognize your face. Show me where it happened.”

We walked back to the bushes and I showed her where the fox had run away.

“We have had sightings of a vixen and a young family around here,” she said, “the mother is probably trying to feed her cubs!”

She handed me her jacket and continued, “I’ll go in there to look for your keys … I wouldn’t want you to disturb them if they’re in there!”

She got down on her hands and knees and like a dog she slowly and carefully made her way forward into the thick bushes until all I could see was the sole of her shoes.

Eventually she said “I got them …” and started reversing back slowly, on all fours, just as she got in.

Suddenly, there was a loud ripping sound and her very tight trousers tore from top to bottom at the back revealing what’s on your imagination.

I stood there frozen holding her jacket.

To my amazement and total confusion she suddenly burst out in uncontrollable fits of laughter. She stayed there on all fours for a few seconds laughing herself out of breath.

She then continued reversing ever so slowly, presumably to avoid disturbing any foxes which would no doubt be as confused as myself; and then standing up and still giggling she said, “You can stop ogling me and help cover up my modesty!”

She wrapped her jacket round her waist to cover her rear and said, “I must have given you quite an eye-full there. How are you going to explain that to Father Frederic in Confession?”

Before I had time to reply, she continued, “You’ll have to drive me home to get changed.”

I did drive her home and we became great friends with her and her husband.

Ahhh ... An AWARD for me.

2011-10-17T23:59:00.000-07:00

MARY has awarded me an Award. A Stylish blogger Award no less.

This means that I have finally been recognised as Stylish. No longer will people look at me in disdain when I walk down the street in my pin-stripped suit, emerald green bow tie with pink spots, and fancy hat with a feather in it.

And if they look at me in their condescending voice I'll tell them: "This is Style my friends. And recognised Style at that!"

And perhaps now people will understand how fashionable it is to wear socks of different colors. And maybe they'll copy me and do the same.

But with such an Award, for which I am greatly grateful to my friend MARY comes great responsibility. I understand that I have to tell you seven things about myself in my acceptance speech ... so here goes:

First of all, I am Stylish ... but you all knew that anyway.

I like the odd drop or two of whisky, pints of Guinness and chocolate. That's four things you know already.

I love the sound of bagpipes and drums, especially when we're out on the Highlands of Scotland trying to catch haggis. The pipes and drums playing loudly scare the haggis out of the bushes and we run after them trying to catch them by hand. It is great fun unless you happen to step or fall into the many deposits left by deer and sheep and, of course, the haggis. Not nice at all, especially if you're wearing a kilt and the wind blows from the South!

When in France years ago I had lunch at one of those out-door open-air restaurants where they put the tables on the sidewalk for you to eat and see the passing traffic and enjoy the fresh air of car exhausts. Anyway, whilst enjoying my meal it started to rain ... not much rain, just a light constant drizzle. I remember it took me ages to finish my soup. Biggest meal I ever had ... and that was only the first course.

I also remember that quite recently I surprised everyone at table in a restaurant when I ordered the whole meal in French. It was a Greek restaurant!

The poor waiter did not understand a word.

The other day I bought a new kind of super glue so you can glue anything to anything, wood to metal, stones to bricks ... whatever and you'll no longer need to use nails. It said on the tin that it is the strongest glue in the world. I had difficulties getting the lid off because it was glued hard to the tin. So I cut a small hole on the top; put my paint brush in very carefully and took some glue to stick something to the wall. Now the brush is stuck hard to the wall and I can't take it off. I think I'll use the brush instead of a nail to hang a picture from. Quite Stylish I think.

Anyway, that's enough about me. Now I have to nominate seven people to receive the Award.

Now, who will it be? Her? Or her? Or perhaps him? And how about them? They Blog together as a Team. Or even him?

I'm quite undecisive. That's another thing about me. I used to take ages to make up my mind ... now I'm not so sure!

Oh ... decisions, decisions.

OK ... here goes: This Award is awarded to all my friends in Blogging World whom I visit often and comment on their posts.

Thank you and may God bless you all.

The Italian Experience.

2011-10-14T11:55:00.000-07:00

Father Ignatius spent the early years of his priesthood in Rome, so he was quite fluent in Italian, although he had no opportunity to use his linguistic skills in St Vincent Parish. Until last week that is.

One of his parishioners, a wealthy businessman, invited him to a new Italian restaurant for lunch and to discuss the proposal to refurbish the church hall and Parish house.

It was a nice little restaurant beautifully decorated in Italian style resembling a typical fisherman’s cottage you’d find in Naples. Although the menu was mostly fish, you could still order a nice pizza or your favourite spaghetti or ravioli.

“We’ve refurbished and decorated this place” said the proud businessman as they sat at a table near the window.

“It’s beautiful” said Father Ignatius, “I hope you won’t decorate the church hall in the same style though …”

And so the conversation progressed throughout a lovely meal with the sound of Italian music playing softly in the background through hidden speakers. The priest recognized Domenico Modugno singing Volare and Mario Lanza’s version of Torna Sorriento. It took him back to happy times spent in Rome and Turin.

But that was not the only Italian that reached his ears that day. He noticed that from time to time the efficient waiters spoke to each other in their native language and commented on the customers sitting at table. Sometimes their comments were quite complimentary and pleasant, whereas at times they were quite rude and certainly inappropriate in his presence … if only they knew!

At one point he heard them speak about him.

“That man at table six is a priest,” said a waiter to another, “how can he afford to eat here? I thought priests were meant to be poor …”

“Don’t you recognize who’s with him?” replied the second waiter, “he’s the contractor who decorated this place. I bet he’s paying … you’ll see …”

“Just as well …” said the first waiter, “the priest looks poorer than a church mouse. I bet he hasn’t a penny on him …”

Father Ignatius smiled at himself and said nothing; except continue his conversation with his host.

When the meal was over, and just as they were leaving, Father Ignatius turned to the two waiters and said in Italian, “Grazie molto. Arrivederci.”

Three simple words, uttered in perfect accent, which spoke volumes to those they were addressed to. You should have seen their faces!

In the country.

2011-10-13T00:30:00.000-07:00

So there I was, driving round the countryside in one of those big cars which farmers sometime use, and which you see in the movies when they film on safaris or driving through jungles and deserts. You know the kind of car I mean – it drives very well off-road in the most difficult of terrain.

Right now however the car was confused, because I was lost and didn’t know where to go.

After a while driving round in circles I stopped to ask direction from an elderly man on a bicycle.

He must have been about sixty years old or so, and spoke in a very pronounced rural accent. He wore red elastic trouser-braces (trouser suspenders) intended to keep his trousers up; but I noticed that he’d taken them off his shoulders and they were hanging loose by his side, still attached to his trousers of course. It was their bright red color which made me notice his braces hanging loose and, as if to be doubly sure, he also wore a belt round his waist too.

After tuning my ears carefully to his strange pronunciations I thanked him for his directions and set off once again.

As I drove away slowly I saw him in my rear view mirror following me on his bicycle.

I continued driving and a few minutes later I noticed that he was still following me. I thought it strange that such an elderly man could cycle at that pace.

As the narrow country road got a little wider I accelerated a bit more and to my amazement the old man was still keeping up with me, cycling only a few feet behind me.

I was now on a main road and doing 45 miles an hour or so; and to my disbelief I saw in my rear view mirror the old man cycling fast behind me and moving frantically from left to right as if trying to decide on which side he was to overtake me.

Is this a joke? I thought. How could such an old man cycle so fast? And he’s trying to overtake me too!

I could see his little legs pedaling round faster and faster as the bicycle bounced with every crevice and un-evenness it met on the road.

This man was sure determined to overtake me.

So I stopped the car to allow him to do so.

Sure enough, he came fast behind me and overtook me at speed. He cycled some hundred yards ahead of me then he turned round and sped fast towards my stationary car.

He came close past my car and continued cycling behind me still at break-neck speed.

I saw him stop in my mirror, turn round and come back cycling towards me again. He overtook my car once again and cycled some fifty yards ahead, and then returned one more time.

He passed my car and cycled some twenty yards behind me and then returned again at speed.

After this going backwards and forwards a few times he stopped abruptly just by my car window.

When I opened the car window he said: “My braces got caught on your rear bumper!”

Carnivore.

2011-10-10T01:12:00.000-07:00

I sat in the car whilst parked on our drive and I turned the ignition on. The engine started running … tat … ratatat … tat … ratatat … It didn’t sound quite right. It wasn’t that smooth running sound you normally get from an engine when all is well. The ratatat bit was new and sounded somewhat off key. Like Luciano Pavarotti singing with one shoe off … you know what I mean. Hobbling with your voice!

“One of the sparkling plugs must be loose!” I said confidently to my wife sitting beside me. I really didn’t know what it meant … I had read it somewhere and I thought it would make me sound intelligent and knowledgeable. It’s good to build up your confidence in the eyes of your spouse … after all, she know you more than most!

“Should we call the Emergency Repair Services?” she said reflecting her confidence in my mechanical abilities.

“Not at all … it’s a simple matter … I’ll soon have it sorted,” I replied getting out of the car and leaving the engine running.

I lifted the bonnet (car hood) up like a professional would. Quickly and smoothly!

Now I should explain that this is an old car … and it has a little metal rod on the side which you have to pull out vertically and hook it under the car hood so that it holds it up. In modern cars the car hood opens up smoothly and stays open by some clever pneumatic device. But my car is old … so old that the Instruction Manual is written in Latin. You have to lift the car hood by hand … then pull out the metal rod … hook it under the hood in a special place and it keeps the hood up whilst you work in the engine. If you’re a wimp that is … If you’re macho like me you just lift the hood up and hold it firmly with your left hand whilst working with your free hand in the engine.

So there I was holding the hood up in my left hand and looking down at the vibrating engine going tat … ratatat … tat … ratatat … There were wires everywhere but no labels or signs telling you which bit of the engine does what. I mean … what does a sparkling plug look like? Is it a light that sparkles on and off?

With my right hand I just pushed and prodded all the cables and wires confidently.

And that’s when I got the most horrific electric shock you could imagine. It went straight up my right arm through my chest and up my left arm holding the hood. It was like those cartoon videos you see when a character touches a live wire and sparkles on and off.

In my agony I let go of the hood which fell with great weight and a single thud on my head knocking me down into the engine.

I could not decide for a moment which hurt the most … the electric shock I’d just received or the clunk of heavy metal at the back of my head.

Neither of these pains soon mattered because the little fan that goes round and round inside the car engine compartment caught my tie and dragged me in further choking me all the time.

The whole scenario looked like a car eating its driver as the hood bounced up and down as I struggled to free myself from the fan’s throttling grasp. I was slowly being eaten up by my own car as my legs were flying in all directions.

At that particular moment my cat decided to come walking by beside me and I must have accidentally kicked it.

Instead of running away … the cat decided to attack my legs by scratching hard at them and shouting “Vengeance is mine!!!”

This attracted our lazy dog who usually lies on the mat in front of the TV watching the Dog Channel.

Not this time … there was something more entertaining going on outside! So out he came and decided to jump on me biting me several times …

Luckily my wife switched off the ignition and the engine reluctantly released its grasp on my tie. I was still stuck head down though as I could not loosen the tie enough to slip my head out.

The tie was eventually cut with a sharp knife and I decided to phone the Emergency Repair Services after all.

I told them the tie must have been left in the engine by some careless mechanic at the workshop where I took the car for a maintenance service. That’s probably what caused the odd sound in the engine.

They agreed that this was a distinct possibility although they wondered why I had the remains of a similar coloured tie round my neck.

Are you invited to Jesus' wedding?

2011-10-09T07:34:00.000-07:00

Today's Gospel is from Matthew Chapter 22:1-14.

Jesus tells a parable about a king preparing a wedding feast for his son. He invites many guests who do not turn up, so eventually, he invites all the people his servants can find in the streets until the wedding hall is full of guests.

In this story, the King is God. And His Son getting married is Jesus; marrying His Church here on earth - this means everyone, you and I included.

We are all invited to God's Kingdom, but many don't answer the call.

At the end of this parable there's an intriguing bit. The king enters the hall and sees a man not wearing wedding clothes. He is angry with him and gets him tied up and thrown out into the street.

Now this seems rather harsh treatment for someone not wearing the right clothes. Until we stop and understand Jewish tradition.

Jesus was talking to the Jews who understood very well that there are special clothes to wear at weddings. Almost every family had such special clothes in case they were invited to a wedding; even the poor would either have such clothes or borrow some. No one would dare go to a wedding without special clothes.

But the man in the parable just did not bother; he showed disrespect to the king and his son; and was thus thrown out.

But how about us? What are our special clothes for our entry into God's Kingdom in Heaven?

Our wedding clothes are our good deeds here on earth. Whatever we do for anyone in need, however small, constitutes our wedding clothes.

It is just not enough to spend a lifetime on our knees praying, or going to church if our deeds are far from what is expected of us as followers of Christ.

Jesus said, "Not everyone who calls me Lord will enter the Kingdom of God, but only those who do what my Father wants them to do". Matthew 7:21.

In other words ... action not words.

Guess who's in Heaven.

2011-10-07T00:20:00.000-07:00

Johnny said to Father Ignatius, “Father, I had a funny dream the other day!”

“I could do with a good laugh,” replied the priest,” “tell me about it.”

“Father, I dreamt I was in Heaven and Graham, my worst enemy, was there too!”

“What’s so funny about that?” asked the priest.

“Father, you don’t understand,” continued Johnny, “Graham is an evil conniving cheat who’d sell his own mother if he could make a fast buck! He’s the last person I’d expect to see in Heaven.”

“Well, let’s assume this is not a dream,” continued Father Ignatius as the two men walked round the church grounds, “Let’s say it’s for real.

“You died and went to Heaven, and there, sitting on a cloud playing the harp is your old nemesis, Graham.

“What do you feel about it?”

“As I said,” protested Johnny, “the man is evil. I’d probably warn St Peter in case Graham cheats him out of his catch of fish!”

Father Ignatius smiled. “Would you think that God made a mistake in letting him in?” he asked.

Johnny hesitated and did not answer.

“Do you remember the parable about the rich man who had a vineyard?” asked the priest. “The rich man hired some people early in the day to work in the field. Then again he hired more people a bit later on. And again in the afternoon, and also one hour before the end of the working day.

“The rich man in this parable represents God and the vineyard is Heaven. God is the only one who decides who is to enter Heaven.

“We have no say in the matter. Although we often pretend to know more than we actually do. You’d be surprised how many people there are ready to serve God in an advisory capacity.

“The different times of the day represent when certain people get to know God and to follow His word.

“Some people do so early in their lives and get to love Him and obey Him throughout their lives. Others get to know God later in their lives; and some only get to know God at the end of their lives just before dying.

“Of course, the temptation is there to ask why should I be good all my life when I can suddenly say sorry and accept God at the end. But there is no guarantee that this will happen is there? And God knows whether a final acceptance and repentance is genuine or not. Or just an insurance policy cashed in at the last minute to avoid the other place.”

“Does it matter?” interrupted Johnny, “Does it matter if the final repentance is genuine and the individual is truly sorry for what he has done, or whether it is a final act of despair to avoid going to hell?”

“Good point,” replied the priest wisely, “but one best left for God to decide since He owns the vineyard and we have no say in the matter.

“The fact remains, that when you see Graham in Heaven you should rejoice that at some stage in his life he found God and was deemed worthy by the Almighty to enter Paradise.

“As for you, who has been called to work in the vineyard early in your life, your job here on earth is to be an example to others so that they may see in you something worth following, worth knowing and worth loving. As a good Christian, you should be the recruitment officer for God and lead others to Him”.

May the road rise up to meet you.

2011-10-05T02:51:00.000-07:00

Wherever you go.

2011-10-02T00:25:00.000-07:00

Recorded for posteriority !!!

2011-09-28T03:22:00.000-07:00

You know … if you drive non-stop for 23 hours and 55 minutes you’ll be 5 minutes from Tulsa!

Anyway … as I was about to tell you before I interrupted myself, what an eventful day today has been.

I started the morning by visiting my doctor.

The poor man was not well and I thought it’s kind to visit the sick.

As soon as I entered the doctor’s surgery he asked me to lie down on the couch. I asked him why and he said: “I want to vacuum clean just where you’re standing!”

Then he looked at me and asked “Do you get severe headaches in the morning, followed by stomach pains and trembling of the knees?”

I replied “No … why?”

“Because I’ve been getting these symptoms for a week and I wondered if you knew what they were!

“Anyhow … what are you here for?” he continued.

I showed him my arm and said “I’ve hurt myself in three places …”

He replied, “Stop visiting these places!”

“And another thing doctor,” I went on, “when I drink tea I get this very sharp pain in my eye.”

“Take the spoon out of the cup before drinking!”

As I got off the couch the doctor asked me, “Tell me, do you have a horse?”

“No I don’t!”

“Pity,” he said, “I have some horse pills I got from a vet … you wouldn’t like to try them do you? You’ll soon be off at a gallop!

When I returned home I found the postman in my front garden.

“Is this letter yours,” he asked, “the surname’s obliterated.”

“My surname is Moubarak” I replied.

He gave me the letter. It was from a lawyer. I had been left two valuable items in Aunt Matilda’s last will and testament.

I took the items to an antiques dealer and he confirmed them as a genuine Stradivarius and a Rembrandt.

Unfortunately, Rembrandt was bad at making violins and Stradivarius was a terrible painter!

Till ...

2011-09-26T03:02:00.000-07:00

Welcome Learning to Fly

2011-09-26T02:54:00.000-07:00

Hi,

What a wonderful Blog name. Welcome Learning to Fly as a new follower of this Blog. We hope that you fly over here often and leave a comment too.

God bless you.

Aunt Gertrude

2011-09-23T02:44:00.000-07:00

For days on end the house was full of excitement because “Aunt Gertrude is coming! Aunt Gertrude is coming!”

I can’t understand all the fuss myself; since no one has met Aunt Gertrude and the last time I saw her was millions of years ago in the Jurassic era I believe.

Sure, the old fossil does keep in touch, once a year, when she sends a re-cycled Christmas card which someone else has sent her. Yes, I mean it … a re-cycled Christmas card! She sticks a piece of paper on the card where previous well-wishers have written and then she writes her Yuletide Greetings. We often peel off the paper carefully and guess who originally sent her the card!

She has always been very tightfisted as I remember. So miserly that she looks at you from on top of her spectacles so as not to wear out the lenses!

Anyway … this distant relative, (she lives in Australia), whom no one has ever met except me has decided to visit us. Apparently her husband, a successful business man, had planned a business trip to the UK before he died suddenly, and she did not want to waste the airline ticket!

As soon as he was underground she was over ground and flying.

And I was tasked to go and meet her in the airport. I took the day off work and left early to get there on time. I waited endlessly in the reception area and eventually my eyes set upon the much awaited relative from down under.

She walked very slowly and carried a small case in her hand. I offered to carry it for her and she refused holding it tightly to her chest. We waited for the rest of her luggage which I loaded onto a trolley and then into my car.

No sooner had we left the airport that she started complaining. “Why do you drive so slow?” she asked, “where I come from we walk faster than that!”

I smiled politely, looked at her from the rear view mirror and said: “There’s a speed restriction area up front. Road works I believe!”

“Why do they have to fix the roads at inconvenient times and near a busy airport? Why can’t they fix them elsewhere?”

I must admit I had no good answer to this one. Why indeed do they fix the roads near the airport and not the ones in a desert somewhere, in the middle of a jungle or up a mountain? How inconsiderate of these road mending people!

“Do you live far?” was her next question.

“It’s about an hour away, I’m afraid!” I replied hesitantly.

“You should consider moving nearer the airport.” she retorted quickly, “it would be more considerate when you have visitors from abroad.”

Once again, she was right of course. We should all leave our place of employment locally, and where the schools are close to hand, and move near the busy airport on the off-chance that our distant relative, (not distant enough right now), might one day in a lifetime get hold of a spare airline ticket and choose to use it rather than attempt to get a reduced refund.

I remained silent and then started to panic as I saw the traffic build up right ahead. There had been an accident and we soon came to a stop on the highway.

“Are we there yet?” she asked.

“No!”

“Why have we stopped then?”

“There’s been an accident. The police is re-directing us another way.”

“Not many accidents in Australia.” she claimed, “My husband drove for fifty years and never had an accident. Except once! When he reversed on Aristotle, the cat! Didn’t like him anyway … the cat. Didn’t like my husband much either …”

I said nothing and left the highway slowly as directed by the police.

A few minutes later my cell-phone rang. I stopped the car to answer it.

“Where are you? Why have you not picked up Aunt Gertrude from the airport?”

It took a few seconds for my slow brain to realize what I had done. I’d picked the wrong aunt from the airport!

How was I to know? She wore spectacles. She walked slowly. She looked old … she WAS old! She looked Australian, she spoke in an Australian accent and came off an Australian plane!

Was I to check her identity in her passport double-locked in her hand bag held tightly against her chest?

Why is it always my fault when everything goes wrong?

That evening I opened my Bible and read: “Do not be afraid, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by your name; you are mine.” Isaiah 43: 1-5.

I bet He knows the right Aunt Gertrude better than me!

An E-Mail from God!

2011-09-22T01:15:00.000-07:00

One day God was looking down at Earth and saw all of the rascally behaviour that was going on. So He called one of His angels and sent the angel to Earth for a time.

When he returned, he told God, 'Yes, it is bad on Earth; 95% are misbehaving and only 5% are not.

God thought for a moment and said, 'Maybe I had better send down a second angel to get another opinion.'

So God called another angel and sent him to Earth for a time. When the angel returned he went to God and said, 'Yes, it's true. The Earth is in decline; 95% are misbehaving, but 5% are being good.'

God was not pleased. So He decided to e-mail the 5% that were good, because He wanted to encourage them, and give them a little something to help them keep going.

Do you know what the e-mail said?

Okay, I was just wondering, because I didn't get one either!!!

The Real Presence.

2011-09-19T00:21:00.000-07:00

Catechism lessons with the 15 years-old at the local Catholic school were often a challenge to Father Ignatius. The youngsters were unremitting with their questions and they certainly pulled no punches. Today was no exception.

“Is it true that the Host and Wine at Communion are actually the Body and Blood of Jesus?” asked one of the pupils.

“Why would Jesus want us to eat Him?” asked another.

“That’s cannibalism” retorted a third. And so the questions went on.

Father Ignatius waited until they had stopped and then said calmly:

“Our Faith is full of mysteries. That’s why they call it Faith. If everything was explained to us by God, with every little detail made known, and every fact analysed by scientists, learned people and so on; then it wouldn’t be Faith would it?

“For reasons best known to Himself God has chosen to keep certain things hidden from us. And just as well I think, considering how we managed to mess up the world so far.”

“But is the Host the Body of Christ?” interrupted an impatient youngster.

The priest smiled and continued: “Catholics are invited, by the Church, to believe that the Host is indeed the Body of Christ, and the wine is His Blood.

“Many people have difficulties in believing this; and I can understand why.

“They can’t see what Christ meant at the Last Supper when He uttered those words we know so well. Was it symbolism? Was it fact?”

“What do you think Father?”

The priest habitually cleaned his spectacles as a natural pause and to allow the class to settle. He now knew he had their attention. All eagerly awaiting his reply to the challenging question.

“Let me tell you something first before I answer you” he said.

“Many years ago, about seven hundred years after the Birth of Jesus, there was a Basilian monk who lived in Italy in the Church of St Legontian. He doubted, like many others, the Presence of Christ in the Eucharist.

“One day, as he was celebrating the Holy Mass at the moment of Consecration the Host turned into live flesh, and the wine was changed into live blood.”

“Gosh …" gasped a young girl.

“This flesh and blood have been preserved, totally intact until today.”

“What? How is this possible?” asked one of the boys.

“That’s true … the flesh is the same dimension as the large Host used in Church, it is light brown in colour. The Blood has coagulated and is slightly brownish yellow.

“Various scientific tests have been undertaken over the years on the flesh and blood and it was discovered that the flesh is real human flesh and the blood is real human blood. The flesh is essentially a human heart.

“The flesh and blood are the same blood-type, AB. That’s the same blood type uncovered in the Holy Shroud of Turin.”

“Wow …” said one of the children.

“The preservation of the flesh and blood still in their natural state for all these years, over twelve centuries, is an extraordinary phenomenon.” declared the priest.

“After all this time?”

“Yes,” said Father Ignatius, “after all this time the flesh and blood still exist in their natural state. Why don’t you do some research in the library in time for next week’s lesson.

“Here are some clues on what to look for. Search for Eucharistic Miracle, Lanciano, Italy, 8th century AD, The Real Presence.

“I think that’s enough clues to keep you going for now.”

Suicidal Me

2011-09-16T00:37:00.000-07:00

I work in an old Victorian house three floors high. My office is in the attic.

It was hot and I had left the window open when I heard the noise of fluttering wings and saw a few feathers floating by.

I looked out and saw a pigeon hanging upside down on the edge of the roof. It had somehow gathered some twine on one of its legs and as it flew here and there with the string attached, it eventually got caught on the rainwater gutters of our building. So here it was hanging upside down by its leg on the edge of our building fluttering madly to free itself.

What do I do? Ignore it and let it die a slow death? Hit it on the head with my cricket bat which I bring to work on match days and put it out of its misery? Or phone the Animal Protection people and let them deal with it?

The more I thought about it the more the poor creature fluttered away desperately to set itself free.

In sheer desperation I did a desperate thing.

I opened the window wider and stepped out on the ledge. It’s wide enough for me to walk on slowly if I lean gently against the tilting roof. It seems solid enough despite the age of the building. And if I’m careful … very careful … I can ease myself slowly near the bird and then, if I bend down a little, I can untangle the string from the gutters.

Great plan! Badly thought out and executed.

As I neared the bird it fluttered even more widely than before and somehow freed itself from the string as it flew away without a word of thanks.

It was then that things got worse. I could not move back towards the window.

No … No … It was not panic … or fear of heights … or anything like that.

It was much worse. My trousers got caught in some loose nails on the roof. It was where you have those loops through which you thread your belt … I think.

Anyway … I was caught … or nailed to the roof by the seat of my pants. I couldn’t move backwards or forwards.

Dash it all … why do people gather in the street at a moment’s notice? Have they got nothing better to do?

I hear my boss talking to me gently through the open window?

“Come back in … I’m sure we can discuss matters like grown ups. Perhaps you need a few days holiday?”

Why do people jump to conclusions whenever someone stands on a ledge? Why can’t they believe my story about the pigeon? Where is that stupid bird? Why is he not here confirming my story?

Miss Frome, the beautiful young Company nurse leans well forwards out of the window and soothingly tries to calm me down. Her décolleté revealing top confuses my troubled mind even more than it is.

Do I look away modestly and lead her to believe I’m not listening? Or do I look her in the eyes … if I can … and explain my predicament.

“Look at me …” she says calmly, “we all care for you … this is a caring employer as you know … despite all the job losses of late …”

I turn back at her but don't know where to look ... I can’t speak as I stand there open-mouthed.

“Ehmmm …” but my voice fails me as no sound comes out.

She continues to calm me down by reciting platitudes about how good our employer is until eventually the fire brigade arrive and release me from the nails which held me captive by the pants.

I don’t know what’s more embarrassing. The story about the pigeon or leaving half my trousers back on the roof!

Had I fallen to my death leaving my trousers behind how would I have answered St Peter when he asked “And where are your slacks young man?”

Feast of Our Lady of Sorrows

2011-09-15T12:14:00.000-07:00

Mademoiselle Veronique Tombal

2011-09-14T01:26:00.000-07:00

We had a visitor from France at work this week. A top executive named Mademoiselle Veronique Tombal came over to negotiate a big contract with our Company. We were all on our best behaviour hoping to impress her about the quality and cost of our products.

It wasn’t until our meeting was over when my boss made an announcement without having cleared it with me first.

“I hope you’ll enjoy your stay overnight at the hotel we’ve booked for you Mademoiselle Tombal,” he said with a smile, “Victor will meet you at seven this evening for dinner, and then he’ll take you to the theatre to see a performance of our beloved William Shakespeare!”

“What?” I thought to myself silently, “I have other plans for this evening …”

Mademoiselle Tombal said she looked forwards to a pleasant evening and left with one of our executives to be chauffeur driven to the luxurious hotel we had booked for her.

My boss apologized profusely as honestly as he could possibly lie and explained that he had planned to take her out himself but because of urgent family business he’d be for ever grateful if I did it instead.

“And you speak French so well,” he said flattering me, “she’ll be so impressed by it!”

I didn’t believe him but had no option but to accept his unwelcome decision.

I made sure I was impeccably dressed and my shoes very well polished when I picked her up at the hotel and took her to a first class restaurant. We made polite conversation about this and that and I prayed that this evening would soon be over.

After our meal we were chauffeur driven to the theatre for a performance of Hamlet by some of our top British actors.

My boss, who certainly has style, had booked us balcony seats all to ourselves. There we were, Veronique and I in our own balcony, when two men came in pushing a trolley with a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket, two glasses, and a large box of the best chocolate truffles you could imagine.

“My boss is certainly keen to win this contract …” I thought to myself, “he hasn’t missed a trick so far … luxurious hotel, chauffeur driven car, grand restaurant, a balcony at the theatre and now this … I’d better be on my best behaviour … I wouldn’t want to be the reason why this contract is lost!”

Before the performance started I tried to make small conversation about Shakespeare and Hamlet in particular, trying hard to remember what I’d been taught at school all those years ago. But it soon became apparent that Veronique was very well educated in English literature having spent some years at a top British University in her youth.

“Something else which my boss had omitted to tell me …” I thought to myself cursing him in the process.

Thankfully, the performance started giving me the opportunity to remain silent and praying that the evening would soon be over without me making any more silly mistakes. Once this play is finished, I’d accompany her to the hotel and hey presto … I’m free to go home to my family!

As the play progressed I noticed she held a handkerchief to her eyes several times.

“Was she getting emotional?” I thought, “Hamlet is not exactly a comedy, but I saw no reason for tears … Maybe she remembers her time at University in England … an old friend perhaps had come to mind … some handsome young man she once loved maybe … and now she wonders what could have been …”

I didn’t know what to do. I looked ahead pretending not to notice her and every so often I looked sideways at her without moving my head. I think she was crying all right. She kept raising her handkerchief to her eyes every now and then.

If I said nothing she’d think I was an un-caring so and so … and if that’s the way I deal with a person who is clearly upset then our Company certainly doesn’t deserve this big contract. And if we were to lose the contract my boss would blame me and most possibly fire me for ruining it all for him.

On the other hand, if I tried to console her and say something she’d probably resent it and be embarrassed by the whole affair and blame me for making it obvious that she’s distressed. And we’d lose the contract and my boss would fire me anyway.

Perhaps if I offered her another chocolate truffle? No … that might remind her of her boy-friend who used to take her to the theatre and buy her chocolates and …

My mind was doing somersaults and I did not know what to do for the best.

Maybe I should pretend to cry too, wipe my eyes every now and then … that would show her that I am a sensitive man well moved by this magnificent performance of Hamlet. But then, people expect business men to be tough … and we’d lose the contract and …

On the other hand, she might think that it’s nice for a man to show his feelings … in touch with one’s feminine side and all that …

To cry or not to cry? That is the question which repeated in my mind.

It was then that she said, “Would you assist me please? I seem to have lost one of my contact lenses. It just fell to the ground.

“I have another pair in my handbag. They are in a little tube. Would you mind getting them for me please?” And she handed me her handbag.

I opened her bag gingerly on my knees and put my hand in to try and find a little plastic tube containing her spare contact lenses.

Why do women have to carry the whole world and his uncle inside their bags? Why do they need all this stuff?

The first thing I picked out was a tube of lipstick … I put it back in. Then a small bottle with some cleaning fluid for lenses, a tube of cool mints sweets, a small box with needles and thread, a packet of French cigarettes … and several other items too … !!!

“The container is in a side pocket on the left” she said.

I looked left and right and left again but it was far too dark to see anything in her handbag. I pushed my head almost right into the handbag resting on my knees but I could not find her contact lenses.

Then I found a cigarette lighter and I thought “Aha … let there be light!”

I lit the lighter … held it in my hand and carefully put it in the handbag … I put my face right into the handbag and peered down in the darkness therein to see if I could find the contact lenses.

And that’s when it happened.

As the man on the stage was saying loudly “To be or not to be” I set my hair on fire.

I dropped the handbag and its contents on the floor … tried frantically to put the fire out without drawing the attention of the whole audience to a separate comedic performance in our balcony … whilst Mademoiselle Veronique emptied the bottle of champagne on my head, followed by the bucket of ice, and then proceeded to hit me several times with her theatre program to ensure the fire in my hair was well and truly out!

I was soaking wet with champagne and freezing water and quite a few of my curls had perished in the forest fire which took place on my cranium.

Eventually the fire was out and we found her spare contact lenses.

She thought the whole performance was hilarious … and I don’t mean Hamlet!

We did win the contract but I had great difficulty explaining my singed hair to my wife and family … and my boss is pleased that I’d go to any lengths to gain a contract for him.

Running to Church

2011-09-12T00:11:00.000-07:00

Father Ignatius was often encouraged at the level of participation in church activities by the parishioners at St Vincent. There was a daily babies and toddlers group for mothers and their young ones, a youth club for those aged twelve to sixteen met weekly in the hall, as well as the cub scouts, girl guides and other groups for the young ones in his congregation. Even the not so young met in the Senior Citizens Group and the Seniors Bridge Club. The Choir always attracted new members, Sunday Catechism classes were well attended and no end of boys volunteered as Altar servers during Mass.

He had worked hard over the years encouraging the many groups to be set up and run on a voluntary basis and attracting active participation. He prayed that it would remain always so.

Early one morning he was at his desk when he saw out of the window four young boys come running from the park opposite towards the church. He got up and made his way to church in time for morning Mass.

As he entered the Sacristy he heard the four boys shouting and arguing with each other.

“You’re a cheat …” screamed one of them, “I came first …”

“What is going on here?” asked Father Ignatius in his calm yet masterly voice.

“Henry is a cheat Father!” said a youngster, “we raced from the park and I came first. Peter was second. Joe and Henry came last.”

“No I didn’t …” shouted Henry. “I was first in the Sacristy …”

“All right … calm down now,” said Father Ignatius, “I saw you running from the park. It’s dangerous crossing the road like that. In future I want you to stop and use the proper crossing by the traffic lights. Is that understood?”

“Yes …” they said in unison.

“Now, what was all this running about?”

“We agreed that the first two to get to church will be the Altar servers today.”

The priest was silently impressed. To think that these eight year olds were rushing to church to serve at Mass. They were certainly a credit to their parents. To wake up early every day and compete to serve at the Altar denotes seeds planted in good fertile ground. There’s hope for the future.

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do …” said Father Ignatius, “any two of you who can recite the Lord’s Prayer will serve with me at Mass today ...”

“Easy …” interrupted Mark.

“In Latin …” continued the priest.

“That’s also easy …” said Peter, “Pater Noster …”

And to his pleasure and surprise all four recited the Lord’s Prayer in Latin word perfect. He tried them with the Hail Mary also in Latin and they performed admirably.

“All right … all right … you win” declared Father Ignatius, “I have decided that from now on we will have four Altar servers at daily Mass. Now go and get ready!”

As he left the Sacristy Father Ignatius heard one of the boys say: “When I’m a priest I will have one hundred Altar servers at Mass each day.”

Father Ignatius smiled and prayed to God that indeed it may be so.

Welcome Akwaso

2011-09-12T00:06:00.000-07:00

Greetings and welcome Akwaso as a new follower of this Blog. We hope to see you here and commenting often.

God bless.

Welcome Dana Chabino

2011-09-12T00:04:00.000-07:00

Hello and welcome Dana Chabino as a new follower of this Blog. We hope you visit us and comment often.

God bless.

Make me a channel of your Peace.

2011-09-07T00:03:00.000-07:00

FATHER FRANCIS MAPLE

Memories of Matilda.

2011-09-02T02:58:00.000-07:00

I came across an old photo the other day which reminded me of Auntie Matilda.

There I was a young boy wearing a multi-colored pullover. You know the type? Several horizontal lines each a different color – red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet and then red again and so on. I looked like a proper walking rainbow.

It was a jersey which Auntie Matilda had knitted for my birthday and hideous as it was I had to wear it all day because she was visiting us for the day.

Thinking back, the main thing I remember about Auntie Matilda was her constant knitting. She always had a pair of knitting needles in hand and a bag full of different colored balls of wool as she talked and knitted, and ate and knitted, and drank tea and knitted and did everything else imaginable as she knitted. If knitting was an Olympic Sport she’d win medals for England for her knitting.

Every birthday, Christmas, Easter, Baptism, First Communion, Confirmation or other family event was rewarded by Auntie Matilda knitting us something or other. Pullovers, scarves, hats, caps, gloves, mittens, socks, she’d knitted them all in every color imaginable and in every kind of stitch that it is possible to knit in. She’d even knitted little cozies to keep the teapot warm, and to keep the soft-boiled eggs warm before serving them, and to keep the plates warm before serving a meal and also, would you believe, to keep the thermos flask warm when you’re out on a picnic.

She then diversified into more adventurous items such as knitting a cover for the tables, the chairs, the TV and every other piece of furniture imaginable. We had bed-spreads made of knitting, tapestries on the wall made of knitting, toilet seat covers made of knitting and to cap it all she had a large bag made of knitting to hold her knitting wool and needles.

I guess that if you unravelled all the things she had knitted for us as a family the wool would stretch to Pluto and back several times over.

I remember as a child I’d asked my parents for a fire engine for Christmas. You guessed it … she told them not to buy me one and she knitted me a bright red fire engine!

What’s the use of that? I couldn’t run it on the floor and make fire engine noises as kids do!

As she grew older Auntie Matilda continued knitting. There was no stopping her.

I was once given two Ballet tickets by my boss.

Now let me confess straight-away that I hate ballet. I don’t see the point of a stage full of people walking on tip-toe. Why can’t they hire taller dancers and be done with it?

And I equally dislike the Opera too. It’s so unreal. It’s the only place where someone gets stabbed, or has a sword run through him or takes poison and continues to sing for at least ten minutes. And the other actors, instead of helping him out and calling an ambulance they sing even louder too. What’s all that about?

Anyway … I did not want to go to the Ballet but was coerced to take Auntie Matilda with me because she loved it so. And after all, she was my Aunt and not anyone else’s … she was from my side of the family so I had to take her.

We sat there at the balcony and as soon as the lights went out and the performance started, out came the knitting needles and the balls of wool. I swear she was knitting in tune with the music!

After the performance was over, my boss, who had influence in such circles, invited us to a private party back-stage to meet the cast, choreographers, musicians and so on.

Auntie Matilda was overheard discussing in a loud voice with the producer the benefits of having knitted tutus for the ballerinas. She also suggested knitted trousers for the male dancers!

“It’ll help keep them warm when you’re touring Scotland in winter,” she said “and it’ll also cover the revealing men’s bits … you ken!”

I put my old photo away and said a silent prayer for Auntie Matilda now long departed.

Remember friends, when you’re in Heaven, should you see Jesus walking around with a multi-colored scarf and bonnet you’ll know that Auntie Matilda got to Him first!

Hello and welcome Heather.

2011-09-02T02:48:00.000-07:00

Welcome Heather as a new follower of this Blog. It's great to have you join us here. I hope you visit us often and comment too from time to time.

God bless you.

Stabbed Angel

2011-08-31T06:24:00.000-07:00

Being a priest is not really a sedentary job where you work just one day a week and you have plenty of time for leisure and watching TV. Far from it. Sometimes you come face to face with real danger as Father Ignatius can testify.

It was a wet autumn evening with leaves covering the ground, and when they start rotting away and become slimy and slippery; a cold autumn evening with a freezing wind that blows right through you; the kind of evening when you’d much rather be at home by the fireside with a hot cup of chocolate in your hands. Yes ... not the sort of evening to be out and about.

You guessed it ... the phone rang and Father Ignatius was called out as a matter of urgency.

One of his elderly parishioners was very ill and not expected to see the night through. Father Ignatius jumped in his car and drove to one of the less salubrious parts of town where Mrs Bartholomew lived alone with a cat as a pet. As he arrived at her house in a darkly lit street the doctor was just leaving; and a kind neighbour had agreed to stay with her until Mrs Bartholomew’s son and daughter-in-law arrived from another town not so far away.

Father Ignatius stayed with the elderly lady to comfort her and to pray with her until her family arrived at about half-past eleven at night.

As he left the house he said yet another silent prayer for her and made his way, in the drizzling rain, towards his car. He was just a few feet away from the vehicle when suddenly, out of the dark, a young man jumped out from an alleyway brandishing a big knife.

The priest was startled and was fortunate enough to recover his balance on the slippery ground by leaning back on his car.

The young man, hardly visible in the semi-darkness, pointed the knife at Father Ignatius and said, “your wallet mister … and be quick about it …”

The priest could see the long blade shining in the little light that was available from a nearby shop window. Before he could say or do anything the young man lunged forward with the knife aimed at the priest’s chest. Father Ignatius moved sideways as a reflex and felt the knife slide down his side. Somehow, it got caught in his coat pocket pulling forward the youth who slipped badly hitting his head against the car door as he fell to the ground.

The youngster screamed in agony as the blade cut into him.

Father Ignatius stooped down to help him. He had the presence of mind to throw the knife a distance away and told the lad to stay still whilst he fetched some help from the “24/7” shop.

Moments later both an ambulance and the police were on the scene and the youth was taken away.

The following day Father Ignatius called at the police station as advised by the officers. He learnt that the youngster, only 15 years old, was un-employed, and living rough. This was hardly unusual in this desolate town where commerce and industry had long given up hope and departed.

He was asked to make a statement and to help press charges against his would-be assailant, but Father Ignatius had other things in mind. He knew the chief-of-police and somehow managed to get the youngster put in his care without pressing charges for the attempted mugging. It was after all a first-time offence and the police had no previous records of the lad. Three weeks later the priest found him a job with a local farmer.

But the story does not end there.

On the night of the attack Father Ignatius returned home very late into the night. Father Donald and Mrs Davenport the housekeeper were up and worried out of their minds. They did not know where the priest had been.

After getting cleaned up and nursing a nice cup of chocolate in his hands he re-told them that night’s events. Father Donald insisted that in future he’d be the one to go out late at night if necessary. In his early thirties, and half of Ignatius’ age, he thought he should be the one out there, leaving “the old man” at home.

Father Ignatius smiled and said nothing. Then after a pause he confided:

“Tonight, I’ve learnt two things I never realised before. When the situation first started and I thought I was about to die, I discovered that, in reality, I was not afraid of death. We all claim as Christians not to be afraid of death; and when it nearly happened to me, I found out I really wasn't scared at all. I seemed ready for it, but I was more concerned as to whether it would be painful.

“Secondly, I think my Guardian Angel helped me tonight. When the knife came at me at speed, I saw a white shape come between me and the young boy. It was all over in a flash. One second I saw the shape and the next the boy was on the ground in agonizing pain. I'm certain that knife was stopped into going in my chest.”

Unfortunately, in a town where nothing much of interest happens, the story of the attack found its way in the newspapers.

For days afterwards, every time Father Ignatius went to St Andrew’s Catholic School the young boys made karate movements with their hands when they saw him, and called him Father Kung-Fu.

Welcome Anna Wishall

2011-08-31T06:15:00.000-07:00

Greetings Anna and welcome as a new follower of this Blog. We hope you enjoy visiting us often and commenting from time to time.

God bless.

Undress In Haste

2011-08-28T01:21:00.000-07:00

I needed some new clothes for work so I visited this large Department Store in town and started looking around. Pretty soon I found the perfect pair of trousers in varying colors. What would suit me best do you think? Dark blue? Black? Gray?

I took all three and proceeded to one of those cubicles where you can try your clothes on before you buy them.

The man in charge led me to a cubicle and asked me to press a little button if I needed any help.

I got in and tried the first pair of trousers … too tight. The second pair was too long in the legs. And the third was too tight and too short.

Why can’t they make trousers that fit exactly as the size it says on the label? Admittedly the three pairs of trousers were made by different manufacturers but the labels clearly said the same size on all three. And that is my size. The size I measured myself at home and the size of my current trousers which fit me perfectly well.

I proceeded to take off the last pair of trousers and pressed the little button as instructed.

Immediately, almost instantaneously, the male attendant turned up and I explained the situation to him. He took the items away and promised to get me bigger sizes.

I turned round to get dressed and … disaster!

The silly man had taken away the trousers I was wearing when I came into the shop as well as the other three.

So there I was. Trouser-less in a cubicle, and also minus my wallet and car keys which were in my trouser pockets.

I pressed the little button frantically again. Nothing happened. I pressed and pressed and still nothing happened.

Eventually the man returned empty handed.

“I’m sorry Sir; we don’t have any other sizes!”

I explained what had happened and he went away trying to retrieve my own trousers which he had put away with the other trousers to be sold in the store.

I waited for what must have been an eternity. Trapped in a store with no trousers to my name.

Eventually a female voice was heard to say, “Try these and we’ll see if they’re OK!” and a hand came in through the thick curtain and handed me two dresses. One pink and one light blue!

Almost instinctively, I don’t know why, I took the dresses and for a few seconds stared at them. It then occurred to me to look out of the cubicle and call the female attendant back.

Too late! She too had vanished in the store never to be seen again.

“Dear God … what do I do now?” I muttered under my breath.

Well, I suppose the Good Lord must have been listening because there, standing beside the socks rack, was our Parish priest.

In desperation, I tried to attract his attention without making a scene.

“Pssst … Pssst …” I uttered nervously as if calling a cat.

At this point I should tell you that Father Frederic is somewhat old and hard of hearing. He didn’t move one inch and continued looking at different pairs of socks.

“Psst … Psst …” I went again. No response.

“Father Frederic!!!” I said quietly yet forcefully enough that he might hear.

He stopped what he was doing. Looked around and saw no one calling him. Then he looked up to Heaven and made the Sign of the Cross.

“Over here … Father!” I said more forcefully.

He saw me hiding behind the curtain of my cubicle and approached me tentatively.

“I thought the Good Lord was calling me!” he exclaimed.

“No … it was me,” I replied still holding the two dresses, “I’m in an embarrassing situation Father!”

“Oh dear …” said my priest, “it is embarrassing. I didn’t know you liked to wear women’s clothes!”

“Hein? I DON’T!!!”

“No need to be shy about it my son. You really must resist the temptation … and you must come to Confession too.”

“Father … you don’t understand … These are not my clothes!”

“No of course not,” he interrupted, “they’re women’s clothes and you can rest assured that your secret is safe with me. It’s as if you told me about it in Confession. Come to think of it, this curtain is lovely and thick … we need to change the curtains in our confessionals!”

“Father let me explain … I need a pair of trousers!” I said as calmly yet as firmly as possible.

“What? You came here without trousers? You didn’t wear a dress in public did you? That’s rather foolhardy you know. What if a parishioner saw you … you’d bring the whole congregation into disrepute you know!”

At that point I think Saint Anthony must have stepped in and come to my rescue; even though I’d forgotten to pray to him.

The male attendant returned with my original pair of trousers, and my wallet, and car keys.

A week later at Confession Father Frederic whispered to me through the brand new confessional curtains “Are you sure you have nothing else to confess? Something pink and something blue … and worn by pretty ladies!”

Meme for Mary

2011-08-27T14:08:00.000-07:00

By special request from Mary - here is a Meme.

Please tell every one about it!!!

Time for Reflections - On the radio.

2011-08-24T00:29:00.000-07:00

I was discussing with Mary in the comments box the fact that I have a number of old tapes from radio programs I used to present many many years ago. One of the programs was called "Time for Reflections". It was a Christian program lasting half-an-hour, (sometimes more if I had a guest on the show or a special event), and it aired on a Sunday afternoon. The show consisted of Christian music, Bible readings and me talking about something or other. Very little planning took place!

This Blog was named "Time for Reflections" in memory of that program.

Anyway, some time ago I re-visited those old tapes. Sadly, tapes tend to deteriorate with age, like most of us I presume, ... ehm ... what I mean is ... our looks change a bit ... although we remain just as lovable I'm sure ... (Phew ... just about got away with this faux pas I hope!).

As I was saying, tapes deteriorate with time, so I tried as best I could to re-master some of them and record them on CD.

Here's a short clip from an old "Time for Reflections" program ... takes me down memory lane with a tear in my eye!

Collections

2011-08-22T01:14:00.000-07:00

Amazing the things we gather and collect over the years. Take the music and video field for instance. How many DVDs and music CDs do we have at home? Have we listened to all of them more than once? How many times can we see the same DVD feature movie; or the Series of that famous TV show we like?

Time was when all these movies were on VHS tapes; and our music collection was either cassette tapes or old vinyl. Then the system changed; and we had to change too.

Now it’s DVDs and CDs soon to be replaced by Blu-Ray, MP3s and a variety of other formats no doubt.

And there’s also all those photos we took with our modern cameras. In the old days it was a film which had to be developed and printed on paper. It cost money – so we were careful how many photos we took. Now it’s digital and we can click away to our heart’s content and put all these photos on CDs and build a large collection which we see once and then forget about it.

I wonder, will there be time in Heaven to sit back and see all those DVD movies we never have time to watch? Or our favourite TV shows which ran for several Series? Or all those photos we took of all the holidays and events we went to? And listen to all our music collections we amassed over the years?

And will they have a machine in Heaven which runs all formats regardless whether your memories are saved on Betamax, VHS or the latest digital system?

And how about our lovely shoe collection? One pair for each occasion? Or our lovely handbags … dresses … hats … ties … sets of golf clubs … watches … and numerous other things we buy and collect over a lifetime?

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in Heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." Matthew 6: 19-21.

The elephant story.

2011-08-18T17:23:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time there was an explorer in the jungle doing what explorers normally do … exploring. I believe he was writing a book about something or other … various toppings for pizza I think, and he was out in the jungle searching for inspiration … anyway … it doesn’t really matter what he was there for. The fact of the matter is that this explorer was out in the jungle and he came face to face with an elephant.

Well … not quite face to face … he, being a short man and the elephant being as big as an … elephant!

Oh … I forgot to tell you. This short explorer had previously been a doctor. Being so short he became a knee specialist since this is as far as he could reach.

So … to cut a long story short he became and explorer and here he was face to … body … with an elephant.

The elephant was lying on its side with its trunk in the air and flapping its ears … well, he was flapping one ear really, because the other one was under his head as he lay there on his side.

The short explorer also noticed that the poor creature was bleeding from its front paw … or foot I suppose. Do elephants have paws? It’s not a foot either is it? Not like a human foot. Anyway … let’s get on with the story. This is taking longer than I thought!

The short explorer got nearer to the elephant and noticed a big thorn stuck there at the bottom of the elephant’s foot.

“Aha” … he thought, “I remember reading a story about a man who found a thorn in an animal’s paw … it was a lion I think. Then the man took the thorn out and the lion and he became friends. They met again many years later and the lion recognized him and befriended him all over again!”

Cheered by this happy story the man approached the elephant ever so slowly and using a pair of pliers which he happened to have on him …

All right … don’t ask me why a short explorer in the jungle happened to have a pair of pliers on him. Maybe he had been a dentist and this was a tool he had to extract teeth … after he gave up being a knee specialist.

To continue … using the pliers he extracted the thorn from the elephant’s foot.

The elephant was so relieved! He stood up at once and let out a big trumpet sound to say thank you and ran away happily in the jungle.

Many years later the same short explorer was visiting a zoo whilst on holiday and would you believe it … there in the elephant’s enclosure was a majestically big elephant.

The explorer looked up at the elephant. He was still short that’s why he looked up. And the elephant looked down at the man.

Their eyes met each other … not literally, just a figure of speech to say they looked at each other.

The elephant moved slowly forward and put his trunk through the big metal bars of the enclosure and ever so gently with his trunk he caressed the explorer’s head. The short man smiled. A tear ran down the elephant’s eyes as he continued caressing the explorer.

Then suddenly the elephant wrapped its trunk round the explorer’s neck and started to strangle him tightly until he was blue in the face. Luckily the zoo-keepers managed to free the explorer before he was killed.

Why did the elephant behave this way? You may ask.

The answer is simple.

It was not the same elephant!

And the moral of the story is: Not everyone who says he’s a Christian is necessarily so.

Not everyone who calls me 'Lord, Lord' will enter the Kingdom of Heaven, but only those who do what my Father in Heaven wants them to do. Matthew 7:21

Colleen @ Inadequate Disciple

2011-08-18T17:17:00.000-07:00

Welcome Colleen as a new follower of this Blog. We hope you visit us again soon and comment often.

God bless.

A hell of a question.

2011-08-16T02:20:00.000-07:00

There are times when children ask us questions which make us stop and think. Our answer needs to be well thought out and considered before our mouth is engaged into action.

Father Ignatius was at the local Catholic School for his usual Catechism class. This is what happened when a ten years old girl asked him her question.

“Father … is it OK to pray for those people in hell?”

The priest took off his spectacles and cleaned them of imaginary dust in order to gain some thinking time.

“Why do you ask?” he said gently.

“Well …” she hesitated, “we pray for the souls in purgatory so that God forgives them and they go to Heaven.

“Why don’t we pray for those in hell? They were bad when they were alive but now they are dead they are in hell for ever. I feel sorry for them!”

“It’s good of you to feel sorry for them,” replied the priest, “it shows a charitable spirit … it shows you’re very kind and considerate.

“But we must remember this. No one goes to hell by mistake.

“As you say, these people were bad when they lived and they had plenty of opportunities to be good and to do what God asks. They had many chances to repent and ask God to forgive them and to do good. But they disobeyed, time and again, and they turned their back on God.

“God is merciful and He forgives … but He is just too. Those who are in hell have sent themselves there by their behavior.”

Another child raised his hand and asked a question.

“But Father … Sister Josephine when she was here yesterday, she said that Jesus told us to love our enemies. He said to God to forgive them when they put Him on the Cross.

“The people in hell are the enemy of God. Why does God not forgive them? Does He not love them?”

Father Ignatius prayed silently for inspiration before answering.

“Of course He loves them” he replied after a short pause, “God loves everybody because they are His creations. I suspect He even loves those in hell and He is very sad that they are there.

“But there are times in life when people put themselves out of God’s loving nature.

“Let me explain it another way.

“Suppose your parents bought you a puppy for your birthday. You love that puppy very much and you play with him every day. But as he grows up he becomes a little threatening and he growls at everyone. One day he bites your hand. And he continues with this bad behavior to the point where you can’t come near him in case he bites you again.

“For your own safety, and that of others, your parents decide to take the dog away and put him in a Dog Rescue Shelter where he’s looked after by other people.

“It’s the same with us. God loves us all when we’re born and we’re babies. But as we grow up, some people turn against Him and become bad. No matter how often these people are told to do good they never ask God to forgive them and they continue to do bad things all their life.

“When these bad people die they go to hell because of what they have done … God still loves them. Just as you love your dog in the Dog Shelter!

“In fact I believe God grieves for those in hell. He’d rather the place was empty and we were all with Him in Heaven. But some people put themselves in hell by their bad behavior.”

“So do we pray for those in hell or not?” asked the original questioner.

“There is nothing wrong with praying,” Father Ignatius replied, “God will listen to your prayers, as He does all prayers, and will respond in an appropriate and just way. When you pray, say to God how sorry you are that there are people in hell, and ask Him to help you be good all your life.

“Every one of us, young and old, like me, must always pray that we do not give God reason to grieve by behaving badly and ending in hell.”