Pilgrims for the Journey

In November 2016, a group of travelors set off on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land.  In this group were 33 friends, acquaintances, fellow church members, some family members and a few strangers.  For many Christians this is the trip of a lifetime...traveling to where our Lord lived and walked.  We were reminded at the outset that there is a difference in traveling as a pilgrim and a tourist. I've spent the last few days reviewing the many photos I took while on this pilgrimage and reflecting on what is happening this Holy week in preparation for Easter.  When I set out on this journey, I knew very little about the places where Jesus walked.  Each time I have traveled abroad I've had a sense that the things I get to do and see are unique and that whatever I see or do I'm blessed to see as I have probably never before seen what I'm going to see and I may never get to see those things again in my lifetime. 

Just outside the site of Jesus' Baptismal in Jordan 

Prior to this trip I had never before traveled where I did not plan personally every detail.  I chose to make this pilgrimage with members of my parish family from St Patrick's in Kathleen, Georgia.  A few had traveled before to the Holy Land but not many.  Again I had no expectations other than a desire to travel with my husband and friends and better come to know Jesus. So what struck me first? The thought of Jesus and his followers living and walking in the vast desert.  He could have chosen anytime to arrive on this earth and any place.  Yet he chose to come when there were none of todays comforts cars, air conditioning or comfortable shoes.  I can't image walking in sandals in this desolation. 

 A few years after becoming a member of St Patrick's I went on a 3 day Cursillo weekend. This weekend facilitates a personal encounter with Christ.  It was a profound experience both personally and in the larger realm of friendship and Christian community.  Many of those on this pilgrimage had likewise experienced Cursillo. We were familiar with gathering together and sharing our faith experiences so at the end of many days we spoke of those experiences each day that touched our hearts.  In the bible Jesus travels with a group of friends and shares his life. As he journeyed toward his passion and death, he was in the company of his closest friends.  He shared his last meal on earth with them and they journeyed with him to Gesthemene where he agonized over the suffering that was to come. 

Simon do you Love me

Jerusalem was the last stop on our pilgrimage.  Over the course of our journey, we celebrated mass almost every day.  Each place we had mass we reflected on what had transpired at each place.  Our mass readings reflected the Transfiguration on Mount Tabor, the Beatitudes on the Sea of Galilee and the birth and death of Christ in Bethlehem and Calvary.  Here we not only read and reflected on the scriptures but we were there. Imagine singing Christmas carols near the field where the Shepherds were tending their sheep?  This trip brought me back to something that had truly given meaning to my faith life.  Our music director and friend gave her beautiful voice to each and every celebration.  My heart reconnected with the love of music that had been so central growing up both in my Catholic faith and through my mother's Methodist faith as well. 

As Holy Thursday draws closer my thoughts turn to Jesus last evening on earth with his friends yet alone in the Garden of Gesthemene. I did expect that this place would affect me profoundly.  It did and of course my fellow pilgrims as well.  We had a beautiful day for experiencing this beautiful place where our Lord spent his last hours prior to his arrest.  We can scarcely imagine what love he had for each of us that he would give his life for us. Oddly enough at this point in the pilgrimage I had developed some intestinal symptoms that would be with me on and off for the rest of the trip.  I remember sitting close to the ground and feeling some discomfort from inside.  This morning as I was listening to Matthew Kelly Best Lent Ever and listening to him speak of being a pilgrim and accepting whatever happens on the journey and being open to it.  I knew my symptoms paled in comparison to what our Lord experienced that evening shortly before he was deserted by his friends yet it was suffering on some level and I could remember that Jesus accepted the cup he had been given by his Father.  

 By the last full day of our pilgrimage I was worn out and tired of the stomach symptoms.  I almost decided to stay in the hotel.  I changed my mind however and drug myself on the bus for our last day.  Just as Mary had so long ago we traveled to the Hill country where our Blessed Mother Mary went to visit her cousin Elizabeth. Had I not soldiered on I would have missed a beautiful day where I would reflect on the joy of friendship and experience the last day in the Holy Land with all my fellow pilgrims and friends. As I write this post, I'm missing my friends.  Many are.  We are sheltering in place due to Covid 19. We are praying for one another and hoping to continue walking with each other on this pilgrimage of life. As Christians however we must be ready to surrender and say Lord not my will but yours. 

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

This post is one that I keep feeling called to write.  It's one that sums up so many feelings that come out each Christmas starting with the ritual of putting up the Christmas tree.  For me, Christmas is filled with memories particularly those as a child and in relation to my parents. It was some Christmases after my mother died that  hearing the Song, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,  took on new meaning.  I did a little research this year and learned that this song dates back to 1943 and was immortalized by Judy Garland in the movie meet me in St Louis. Both my mother and father loved music and having grown up in the age of this music it seems apropos that this music should speak to me and remind me of them both. 

Music as I discussed recently with a group of friends speaks deeply to us and touches us in so many ways.  When I hear certain songs or hymns especially those related to my faith, so many different emotions and memories awaken in my heart. For me Christmas especially would not be the same without music and carols.  Each one I hear transports me back to a time when I can remember fondly what it was like to be a child experiencing the wonder and awe of the Christmas season. As a child, both my parents introduced me to music and singing.  As young as 4 years of age, I sang in the church choir at Pasadena Community Church in St Petersburg, Florida.  There, all the choirs were directed by a gifted and passionate director named Fred Harrison. Each Christmas Eve I long to be able to revisit the beautiful Christmas Eve service that was so memorable and familiar to me. The routine was the same each year, first all the choirs processed in singing O Come All Ye Faithful.  Some of my favorite songs were O Holy Night, Do you Hear What I hear, The Little Drummer Boy and the youngest children singing Step Softly Little Donkey.  

Likewise certain scriptural verses were engraved upon my heart each year. We were taught the response to the Prophecy in Isaiah which proclaims, " For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder." And the response, "...and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace. " An elderly pastor from the church, Denver C Pickens, each year would step up to the podium and proclaim the gospel of John. "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." Those words were ones which my mother so looked forward to and loved to hear. Finally, at the conclusion of the service those in the choir would process into the aisles with glowing candles for the singing of Silent Night.  Our director Mr. Fred had lived in Germany and taught us about the origins of Silent Night and taught us to sing in German as it was originally written, Stille Nacht accompanied simply by a guitar as it was first sung. As a little child, throughout this process I learned to gaze expectantly upward toward a star which hung from the tallest point from the ceiling in the triangular building and wait for the star to be illuminated as it was each Christmas eve at that point in the service. It was here that Christmas came alive in my heart. 

Back to the song that inspired this post. In the years that followed my mothers death in 1990 and my fathers in 2005, I would often hear this song as we were decorating.  Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas is a sad song as it was in the context of the movie when it was sung by Judy Garland. When I hear the following lyrics, I am drawn back to memories of those whose presence I remember and miss each Christmas and sadness that they and those times are gone forever.... 

 "Here we are as in olden days. Happy golden days of yore Faithful friends who were near to us, will be dear to us once more. " As the song's reflective tone continues with "Someday soon we all will be together if the fates allow, until then will have to muddle through somehow, "  I am drawn into the thoughts of how precious our time is here on this earth especially with those who are dear to us. This admonishes me to look at the present and to value the here and now.  Even when we are surrounded by sadness or the circumstances of an imperfect world, we are called to seize the moment as we know that neither next season nor even the days ahead are guaranteed to any of us. 

Each year this  time I find myself fighting the blues.  Sometimes, I so wish I could freeze time or just rewind back to happy times with those I miss.  Often the holidays seem fraught with demands or challenges that just seem contrary to the spirit of peace and happiness that  I want to experience each  season.   I know in my heart that I should be focused on the spirituality of Christ and Christmas and at some point my heart stops wrestling and  goes to that place of simple peace. 

When does this happen? This year as in those most recently past it is when I sit on Christmas eve with the rest of the congregation at St Patricks surrounded by familiar faces and my family.  At this point all the buying, wrapping, card sending, and food shopping is generally complete.  I  look at the wonder in the eyes of the children who  participate in the Christmas pageant and see the gospel come to life in the hearts of everyone present.   I  sing the same carols that I sang as a child and remember fondly those who are gone and I am able to be joyful that they are gathered  close to me. As I gaze upon the manger scene, I  marvel and imagine the poverty and humility that God chose to enter into our world.  I remind myself that by our standards the circumstances of his birth were far less than ideal...on the road far from family, no home none of the comforts any of us who have given birth would expect.  Yet somehow this was how God came to our world.  He came in a time of oppression under the Roman empire and few were witnesses to his birth.  It was not until 33 years later when he died and through the resurrection that the world even began to understand the spiritual significance of this birth and who God wants to be for each of us just because he loves us. 

At the conclusion of mass, I  leave with a sense of peace one that I have struggled especially to find this year especially as  in many years past. Looking back in the week since Christmas, I  wonder how I could have let myself lose the focus and joy of the simple truths of Christmas.  I'll resolve to do better next year and perhaps I can and I will. And once more during Christmas Day while  listening to Christmas music and the beautiful voice of Judy Garland I was reminded... 

"Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Let your heart be light
Next year all our troubles will be out of sight

Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Make the yule tide gay

Next year all our troubles will be miles away

Will trouble on this earth ever be gone?  Probably not but the hope of Christmas is that God has something in store for each of us beyond the simple reality or circumstances of our lives here.  Our hope is to remain looking expectantly with childlike wonder toward his light and to let that hope and that promise transform our here and now so that we can , "Have a Merry Little Christmas Now. "  Help us each to trust in the hope that we can be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with him forever in the next. 

Well Done Faithful Servant

November is the month in many churches when we remember those who have died. Yesterday, November 11, 2014 was Veterans Day. Several months ago I began a post in honor of my Aunt Emily Lou who passed away on July 27, 2014  at the age of 93. I had meant to post it then but wanted to add a few more photos.  I hope my reflections will adequately honor and memorialize an amazing lady

 Emily Louise MacLachlan  was my dad's big sister and my admiration for her began through his eyes. She was the second oldest in a family of 4 that was born and raised in the small town of Lancaster, Ohio. Very early her spirit  led her beyond this small town as she attended and graduated with honors from Trinity University in Washington DC back in the 1940's when few women attended let alone graduated from college.  During World War II, she served her country in the US Navy, (WAVES) an acronym which stands for Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergeny Service, and attained the rank of Lieutenant Junior Grade.  Unlike today, women were not an accepted presence in the military so her service and rank placed her in an elite group for her time. 

After World War II, she continued to  break the typical female stereotypes by embarking on a career first with the US State Department in Washington DC and from there transitioning to a position in the US Embassy in China.  She was among the last to leave Shanghai  when Mao Zedong came to power at which time she was transferred to Iran.  It was there that she met her husband, Robert MacLachlan, know to me as Uncle Mac, who was a native of Scotland. The couple was married in Tehran.  Uncle Mac was with British Petroleum and his career eventually took the young couple back to the United States where they lived for a time in New Jersey.  My first cousin Rob, my aunt and uncles first child, was born back in Lancaster but as before this was not to be a permanent home.  Two other children followed Mary Anne (still Mitzi to most of us in the family) and Emily and at some point my Uncle went to work for Mobil Oil meaning the family would relocate to England and France.  

I was born in 1964 and my first memories of my aunt were from cards, letters and gifts that we received while she was living abroad.  One year we received some exquisitely embroidered Christmas ornaments that I believe came from China.  Another year it was a book about horses that she sent to me because I was obsessed with horses as a young girl.  In 1969, the family relocated to Westport, Connecticut which would remain her home for the rest of her life.  I was just about 5 then so it was sometime after that I remember starting to regularly talk with her when she and my dad would talk on the phone.  Despite her being back in the States, it was some time before I remember meeting her in person because since my dad was self employed we did not take many trips out of Florida and her family seemed to travel to more exotic locations than Florida. 

I believe it was the summer of 1977 when we had a family reunion in Lancaster where we had not been since I was a toddler.  I have so many fond memories of that trip with my father.  It was the first time that I got to experience being a part of a bigger family.  Raised as an only child, I was delighted to meet so many first cousins and it was my first memory of meeting my dad's brothers and sisters. Memories from that trip were of going out to Aunt Ritzy's (dad's other sister) farm and riding on jeeps laughing with everyone through the rolling hills that Lancaster was known for, hiking to the top of Mount Pleasant and summer feasts which included the locally grown and delicious corn and tomatoes.   

Although we continued to talk on the phone regularly and exchange cards, it was not until August 1986 when I was married and my Aunt Emmy Lou and Uncle Mac came to Florida for my wedding that I was able to see her again.  My aunt was always impeccably dressed and elegant and my wedding was no exception.  My Uncle Mac was a witty and charming man and having them present for this special day was so memorable for me as I know it was for my father.  That same year, my husband and I moved to New England where I would attend law school and my husband and I would live and work for the next 4 years. That meant we were in driving distance to Connecticut.  It was during this time that I really got the chance to experience the essence of who my Aunt and Uncle were as we visited there a number of times. 

Upon my first visit to Westport, I was struck by the simple beauty and love that they had for their home at 6 Pequot Trail.  They loved entertaining and cooking and for us who were newly married and living on a tight budget these visits were  a real treat complete with gourmet meals and good wine or champagne. I'll never forget the personal interest that they both took in both my life and my husband Bill's life inquiring about his early days with Frito Lay and taking a special interest in my studies at law school.  I first learned upon reading my aunt's obituary that she had been accepted to law school before deciding to work for the state department and  I remember as well that my Uncle Mac also had a keen interest in law as he was very involved with the local planning and zoning commission in Westport. 

Over the years while we lived in New England I remember and treasured each of the visits with my husband and the few times when my dad visited me and we traveled down to Westport to vist his sister that he still  and always had totally adored.  I remember my aunt and uncle  proudly showing off their garden which they spent many hours working together in and was a stunning focal point from their home especially during the summer. I remember her telling us and showing us pictures of their travels especially those from safari in Africa which truly must have been amazing. Despite the many places she had lived and travelled her love for Westport was evident as she toured us around her town showing us where the actors lived, driving us along Long Island Sound, taking us to the unique stores Hayday and Stew Leonards where we marvelled at all the gourmet food offerings and even stopping at a pet store for gourmet dog biscuits for the dogs they had Susie and Shep. Driving with Aunt Emmy Lou was part of the adventure as  at 70 plus she zipped along the roads in her Toyota Celica all the while telling you that she did not do interstates. And on Sundays when we visited,  we went to mass as she like the rest of my father's family were devout Catholics.  


When we moved from New England in 1990, it would be a few years before I would see my aunt again.  In 1994, we all travelled back to Lancaster in December for Uncle Alby (my dad's older  brother) and Aunt Marie's 50th Wedding Anniversary celebration.  By then, I had two children of my own whom I proudly showed off to my family.  The name Emily was a beloved family name being the name of my Grandma, Aunt Emmy Lou, her daughter Emily and now 2 in the next generation my cousin Pat's daughter and my own daughter.  Though my grandma had long since passed away, we made a point of snapping a picture to capture the four Emilys.  After the wedding anniversary, I  returned to Lancaster two more times with my father for the weddings of two of my cousins and on each of these occasions it was another family reunion with all the cousins and most of the aunts and uncles.

Since we had run out of occasions for Lancaster get togethers the years passed. In 1995, my uncle Alby passed away, he was 76.  In 1998 my own father's health began declining.  In 2003, my uncle Mac passed away after battling cancer.  My father's health continued to decline and he ultimately required nursing home care for about 3 or 4 years.  Always particularly found of her younger brother, I periodically called my aunt and kept her apprised on his health.  On February 11, 2005, my own father passed away at the age of 76.  I remember calling Aunt Emmy Lou and telling her a day or so prior that he was under hospice care and her words concerning his impending death, " Oh honey, it would be a blessing." Of course at some point for those who age without hope of improvement in their health, it is.  It was at that point when talking with her that my own tears flowed as I knew that the time had come to let him go. My aunt was herself 84 at the time of my father's death and experiencing some health issues so she was unable to travel to Lancaster, Ohio in the winter for his funeral. I know that she prayed and had masses said for him and I knew how very much she loved him  and he her. 

I continued to keep in touch with my aunt aware that the years were passing but living over 1000 miles away and raising a young family meant we were not free to just pick up and visit.   Then in 2012, my cousin Joni (Uncle Alby's daughter) got breast cancer.  Joni was the cousin with whom I kept in most contact so throughout her treatment, I made it a point to call her frequently.  Joni's health improved and we made plans to meet for a few days in New York City in late 2012. Part of our plan in addition to seeing the Big Apple included the opportunity to take the train to Westport Connecticut for a day to see our aunt whom we well knew was not getting any younger. Turns out that the weekend of our visit was the occasion for the visit of Superstorm Sandy so we were forced to flee the city or risk being trapped for days. I well remember telling my husband that I wasn't leaving without seeing my aunt so we took the train out to Wesport and rented a car with plans for driving west to escape the storm. We arrived in time for lunch and as she was always so gracious she took Mitzi, Joni and me to lunch. From there, we again toured Westport this time driving to the coast and seeing the preparations for the storm  and the churning surf.  This time my cousin Mitzi was driving so I sat in the back with my aunt.  There was of course a lot of anxiety about this storm and as we drove and talked my aunt fell asleep leaning against my shoulder.  I knew that as she was 91 and in declining health that I would probably never see her alive again so as I look back less than 2 years later I am so very grateful for this visit and those memories. 

It was a number of days after the storm passed and I had been safe back home in Georgia before the power was restored to the house in Westport.  Not long after that, my aunt underwent surgery for cancer treatment.  One year later as,  much to my surprise, I completed my own battle with breast cancer and radiation.  My aunt also underwent radiation treatment beginning sometime in the late Fall of 2013. I remember speaking by phone and swapping information about cancer treatment.  In April this year, I learned that her cancer had spread and there were no more treatment options.  Knowing that the last of my father's siblings was going to die was still hard even realizing that she was over 90 and had lived a full and wonderful life. Having lost my own parents I grieved with each of my cousins as they prepared to say goodbye to their beloved mother because even when it's time it is never easy.  A phone message from Emily and Mitzi just one day prior to my aunt's death made me determined to travel to Westport for her funeral even though the airfare cost was ridiculous and my work as a swim instructor was in full swing. As expected, the next day on Sunday, my spirited, strong and amazing aunt passed away.

Four days later, I traveled to Connecticut for her funeral.  It was wonderful to be in Connecticut with my cousins despite the sad occasion but I am so glad that I made the trip.  First, I was so grateful to be in the Catholic church where the familiar funeral ritual recognizes the new life in Christ that she was given in baptism and the promise of resurrection for believers. The bible readings were so touching  specifically Phillipians 4:4-8 which admonishes, 

"Rejoice in the Lord always.  I shall say it again: rejoice!  Your kindness should be known to all. The Lord is near. Have no anxiety at all, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God. Then the peace of God that surpasses all understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.  Finally brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. " 

As the pastor reflected my aunt embodied these qualities contained in the final verse.  She was gracious, lovely and lived a life of excellence.   Although many there were sad at her passing, we also rejoice in the promise of eternal life.  

The gospel reading was likewise so fitting. 

"Do not let your hearts be troubled. You have faith in God: have faith also in me.  In my Father's house there are many dwelling places.  If there were not, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back again and take you to myself so that where I am you may also be."  

The gospel continues on to include a conversation with Thomas asking about the way.  Thomas was my father's name.  He always looked to his older sister for guidance and she gave it to him along with unconditional love.  It was my appreciation for this relationship and their mutual love and affection for one another that had drawn me to Westport for this farewell. The Mass and the music were beautiful.  At the conclusion each of her children chose to share some thoughts.  First Rob, shared that he had chosen not to be sad today but to be grateful for her incredible life.  Also he shared a humorous story about his mother who though extremely intelligent was clueless as to balancing a checkbook especially while living in England with the challenge of a foreign currency.  My dad and she shared this trait as do I. Her daughter Emily shared her memory of how her mother was always so eager to meet and know people and loved them.  I could certainly relate to this as each encounter I had with her left me feeling loved and valued.  But the thoughts that most resounded with my heart were those shared by Mitzi those acknowledging her mother's deep faith and her resolve to always make time for mass especially each and every Sunday. That likewise was what I remember about my dad.  According to Mitzi, Aunt Emmy Lou used to say that if you can't spare an hour for God each week you need to examine your priorities.  Much like my own memories Mitzi related about the various and unique places a devout Catholic will go to not miss Mass. Also hearing of my aunt's devotion to daily scripture was a beautiful testament of her faith in God and hope for life eternal. 

As we left the church, my aunt Emmy Lou was given naval honors.  Guns fired in her honor and the flag ceremony with presentation to the family and thanks for her service to her country and condolences as to her loss. Earlier in the week, I reflected about the generation that my aunt and my father had come from and was grateful for the lessons of respect for country and dedication of service. Theirs was the generation dedicated to service and as we have just marked the 70th anniversary of Normandy we are reminded of the courage that this generation gave for us all to have a better world and future and the sacrifices made by so many in the hope of freedom. 

After a short reception, we returned to the  Westport homestead.  Here one of my cousins handed me my aunt Emmy Lou's St Joseph Missal which was opened to a page where the funeral card from my dad's funeral was stuck between the pages.  Of course this was very touching to know that this book that she opened so often had this memory of my father. I was even more struck by the scripture verse that began on the opened page. From the Gospel of John was the story of the raising of Lazarus. Having had cancer last year myself, you can't escape thinking about your own death. Prior to Easter each year, the reading about Lazarus resurrection is read on the Sunday preceeding Palm Sunday.  As I reflected then about  Jesus power over all things and my own faith and beliefs I made a mental note that if I find myself planning my own funeral that I would want that gospel reading read to share my own faith belief as Jesus says, I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he dies will live. 

After an emotional day, everyone was very tired.  I found myself walking around my aunt's beautiful property and thinking of her, my father and this being a final farewell.  Westport is a desirable community especially for those commuting to New York City and with many homes like hers that are older it is very likely that this home will be torn down to make room for some new luxury megahouse. I took pictures and knew that just as the day was now ending with the death of my aunt, the last of my father's brothers and sisters, an era had come to an end and we were each left with our memories.  I am so grateful to have known and loved this remarkable lady and especially thankful for the love that she gave to my father.  And so in the words of the church, "Eternal rest grant unto my dear Aunt Emmy Lou and let perpetual light shine upon her. " 

Traveling as a Pilgrim

I'm going on a pilgrimage!  Actually, I'm following much of the path that a group of friends from church took about 1 year ago.  What makes a pilgrimage different from a trip? I've pondered this by reading up on it and choosing my destinations carefully.  I've chosen many sacred places to go to and the focus is a bit different than trips I've taken and planned in the past.  Where am I going? Geographically to France and Spain.

Unlike previous trips, there will be just my husband and I, except for the 3 days in Paris when we will be guided by my favorite French neighbor, Nadine, aka "Frenchy." No other family or friends.  We had hoped to make this trip with a few close friends but circumstances dictated differently so it will be just Bill and I, no children as they are all grown and will stay behind tending to their own lives and responsibilities. During the course of the 2 weeks, I will turn 50, a milestone for sure. I have almost exclusively planned every detail.  Bill says he likes to be surprised so hopefully it will be pleasant for him since this a rare 2 weeks off from work.

My planning for this journey began talking with my wonderful friend Sherrie whose 50th birthday I was blessed to share and spend celebrating in Italy in 2012.  It's been a long 2 years since then and so between wanting to plan my own itinerary to visit France & Spain for my own birthday trip and having been unable to go on the voyage with those from St Patrick's last November this plan has had much inspiration and thought.

Having spent much of 2013 focused on diagnosis and treatment for breast cancer,  I have looked forward to being able to have the resources and health to make this journey.  God has truly blessed me.  I am once again healthy and strong.  I was able to work teaching swimming all Spring and Summer to save for this trip.  I expect it to be the trip of a lifetime but I want to spend each day open to the unexpected blessings and graces that I hope to experience during this time. So a bit about my journey and more when I return.

We will begin in Paris as the hub to start this adventure.  We will take the train to the Normandy area.  During our 2 day stay in Bayeux which is near the Normandy Beaches, we will drive to see just a few highlights of what there is in this region.  First on the list is Mont St Michel.  Here we will see an 11th century abbey dedicated to St Michael the Archangel.  My father owned a framed sketch of this very unique almost castle like fortress that is a times completely surrounded by water.  We plan to attend mass there this Sunday.  From there, we will spend the remaining day exploring sights related to the D-Day invasion.  Both my parents were alive in 1944 and my dad served in the army for many years and although he was too young to serve his country during World War II, his brother and sister did serve.  I have always been touched when visiting Arlington Cemetery and I look forward to being able to pay homage by remembering those and honoring those who sacrificed so much for ours and the world's freedom.

On Monday, we will return to Paris but I hope to squeeze in a brief visit to Lisieux, France.  During my cancer treatment especially while undergoing chemotherapy, I felt called to reread St Therese's, autobiography,  Story of a Soul. St Therese, known as the little flower,  spent much of her life in this area both as a child and when she entered the Convent at the age of 14.  She reminded me that we must have childlike faith trusting God in all things and accepting suffering just as Jesus did for us.  She was no stranger to this suffering especially in the months prior to her death from tuberculosis  which occurred in 1897 when she was just 24 years old.  Here, I will walk where she lived and visit a beautiful Cathedral built in her honor and ponder the love and dedication which she gave during her life to serve Jesus.


I first dreamed of visiting Paris as a high school student when I took French for 2 years.  For the record, I have retained none of what I learned and feel so blessed to have my neighbor, Nadine,  show us this famous city and do all the talking!  If I had planned a trip then, I would no doubt have thought mostly about sightseeing Versailles, The Louvre and the Eiffel Tower.  I would have been obsessed with finding the best French cuisine .  Sure as a Catholic I probably would have visited Sacre Cour and Notre Dame but connecting with the spirituality that inspired these places of faith would have not been my primary motivation.

What do I most look forward to seeing in Paris?  The Chapel of the Miraculous Medal.  Few outside the Catholic church and many who are Catholic do not know the story of the Miraculous Medal.  I was one of those until when my children attended Catholic School, my son brought one home from school.  The story behind the medal and its creation following an apparition of Mary to a young nun in Paris captivated me.  Growing up with a Catholic father and a Methodist mother, I was not encouraged to develop a devotion to the Blessed Mother.  As an adult, I found myself wanting to learn about Mary and her faith and to be inspired to be a better mother and a more faithful believer. I have worn this Medal for many years.  It continues to inspire me and remind me of faith and it encourages me to be courageous and trusting when confronted with trial and suffering. I expect to be brought to tears when I enter this sacred place.

After 3 days in Paris, we will fly to San Sebastian, Spain.  My idea for this came from the voyage planned by our deacon on last year's trip.  It's on the Northern coast of Spain and looks to be a beautiful starting point to beginning our exploration of the next country.  Did I mention that we were going to rent a car and drive back to France the next day?  Ideally, I had hoped to visit Lourdes, France next but after sorting through the logistics of car rental and trains and travel between the 2 countries, I discovered it was easier to rent a car in Spain and return it in Spain.  Lourdes, France is in the Southern part of France.  It is a small town but due to it's fame from the Marian apparitions in 1876, it now is only second to Paris in the number of hotel rooms.  Lourdes is a place associated with many physical and spiritual healings. Plans for this visit include the evening candlelit procession of pilgrims and visiting the baths and I plan on taking the plunge in the cold spring water.  I will thank God for my own cancer healing and pray that I may continue to be blessed with health.  Also, I saved my port through which I received chemotherapy drugs during treatment and I plan to leave it in Lourdes. Each time I was stressed during procedures, biopsies, MRI's and preparing for surgery I pictured my own mother and mother Mary holding my hand and it gave me strength and courage it's my way of acknowledging and saying thanks.


Next we will travel to Haro in the La Rioja region of Spain.  It is very famous for wine.  Last year when I traveled to Australia I visited some vineyards.  If you read the gospels, you can't help but recall many parables related to wine and vineyards.  As I walked through the vineyard last year I recalled Jesus words and could visualize and relate to those works of scripture, " I am the vine, you are the branches." Traveling to this stop will also take us in and around the famous Camino de Santiago or The Way of St James.  This is a very old footpath which begins in France and winds through Spain ending at Santiago de Compostella.  Since the Middle Ages religious pilgrims have traveled along this route which ends at the Cathedral in Santiago de Compostella.  There the bones or relics of St James the Apostle are believed to be in the Cathedral.  This is a journey of 500 miles which takes those walking about 6 weeks. Bill and I can't do the trek until we retire so for now I must be content with glimpses of the notable places and if God wills it perhaps someday I will get to walk along the Camino.

On my trip to Italy in 2012, we found traveling through the countryside past farms and hills so serene and I look forward to this time being able to savor Fall and the places along the way en route to Santiago de Compostella. We will visit Burgos and Leon and every church and cathedral I can fit into my travels. I look forward to experiencing the food and culture along the way. Also there are apparently numerous medieval castles and walls throughout this region not something I see everyday in Georgia or elsewhere in the US. I look forward to the 5 days we will spend traveling through this region.  Finally when we reach Santiago de Compostella after 2 days we will take the train to Madrid our departure point for home. 

When I am done, I expect to have made many wonderful memories and hope that my faith life with be further enhanced.  God is good all the time so I don't anticipate being disappointed. I recently read on a daily devotional website that I follow that spiritual discoveries benefit us forever. My goal is to come back transformed and renewed and ready to live each day more purposefully.  This sounds much like my hopes for my life following cancer. Please keep me and Bill in prayer during this journey and if you have a prayer request or special intention, please send it to me.  I plan on spending regular time in prayer each day and I promise to pray for each of your intentions.  God Bless!

Claiming Today

I'm claiming today as my one year anniversary of cancer or cancerversary as it is also called.  What does that mean and why is today important to me?  Ideas around this date and what day it falls on have to do with different things but from what I have been told and to me it has to do with the day you were diagnosed and every year beyond that is the time you mark.  February 5th was the date of my biopsy one year ago. It was 2 days later that I received my official diagnosis from the breast surgeon.

It is a day today to say hooray I survived!... not the disease but the fear and the ordeal.  This day last year I remember sitting in the waiting area of the Breast Center in Macon just wanting answers was it cancer or wasn't it?  Would the doctor do a biopsy today or would I have to wait again for another appointment. I was that day and throughout the year surrounded by those who loved me my family, my daughter and husband, and a trusted friend and fellow breast cancer survivor, Wendy. That day I waited as I would wait every time that I saw this doctor, not complaining as there is no punctuality when your appointments revolve around individuals being told that yes, you have cancer. When it was finally my turn and I was examined the doctor told me that yes, today was biopsy day which would confirm what I knew in my heart that I had breast cancer.

Getting the biopsy was quite an ordeal not the actual procedure part as that was really not a big deal for someone who is not really that squeamish about doctors and medical procedures.  The ordeal was that a routine blood pressure check prior to the biopsy showed that my blood pressure was through the roof 200/110! My memory immediately went to the readings that my mother had days before her death from a cerebral hemorrhage.  My thought was to heck with cancer I'm going to have a stroke like she did! The nurse did probably half a dozen readings with multiple machines and although that was the high point, it did not ever reveal a normal reading.  Now, I had to worry about whether they would allow me to have the biopsy at all which was even more stressful thinking about not having answers.  I had waited long enough!  Fortunately, the doctors did agree that the procedure could be done.

I remember waiting  for the procedure clutching my rosary and trying to relax and trust that God was right there with me which I believed but I could not will my blood pressure down.  February 5th interestingly and providentially enough is also the feast day for St Agatha, an early church martyr who is considered to be the patron saint for breast cancer. My belief in God has never wavered throughout any of this or before any of this but coming to a place of true trust and peace has not been an easy journey.  I knew what I believed that I was willing to accept whatever God willed but my stomach was doing flips.  Why couldn't I be less afraid?

What I remember most about the procedure was the radiologist doing the procedure.  She must have seen the fear in my eyes and she was so reassuring.  She told me, "You are going to have a hard year, but you are going to be just fine."  My fears I truly believe were based on the extent of the cancer.  Had it spread to my lymph nodes?  How had this lump, almost 3 centimeters grown unnoticed by me or had it been missed by last year's mammogram?  The imagination is not always a good thing. Anyway the procedure did get done and I went home to unwind with a glass of wine and waited for the results which would come two days later with a positive diagnosis.

True to the words of that doctor, I did have a hard year but in other ways I had an incredibly blessed year too.  I cannot say that cancer is a blessing but it can be a transformation point if you are open to the "opportunity" of reexamining your life that cancer presents.  So much in life each one of us takes for granted often basic things such as health or the ability to enjoy eating a meal or even being able to do simple errands like the dreaded weekly grocery trip.  Once you start to feel better and the fear is gone and you are on the road to being finished with treatment you value the simple opportunities that before you took for granted.

I also count this past year as an incredible learning experience.  I learned so much about this disease and I came face to face with others fighting their own cancer battles and saw and came to understand the suffering that this disease causes for both the patient and the family.  I was blessed to have wonderful doctors and medical care.  Yet at some point the more you learn about the disease the more you come to realize that although there are many successes and much progress in the fight against cancer there are still people of all ages dying of this disease.  For some their disease progresses too far before detection but for many others this is not the case.  Recurrence is a very real possibility with any cancer and once diagnosed there is a cloud that hangs over you forever.  It is not just a matter of fighting a single battle and forgetting as there are no guarantees as to what the future holds.

With this knowledge, I found myself wondering again about how likely it was for me to be cancer free forever.  It was almost easier to think that it would come back at some point.  I am a worrier.  I want to think that I am in control and I hate uncertainty so where does this leave me?  I have felt myself moving beyond this negativity but it has only come through a realization that my life is not completely my own.  I believe that God created me and I am learning the meaning of placing my trust in God.  I will be here as long as he wills.  I can worry about it or I can move forward each day being open to the opportunities and challenges that come my way. So today I find that I am feeling well and at peace.  I am joyful for my own good fortune but I hurt for others whom I  know are still in the midst of struggle from this disease.  I am no longer feeling worried for myself and I pray that I will continue to have this peace even in the event that my health circumstances change.

Sky is clearing 

So I'm claiming today and celebrating this point in my journey of life.  This morning the sun cleared after a few wet and rainy days and the clouds parted and the sun came out.  I found this to be a very fitting setting for what today means to me.  Life is a cycle that like the weather we do not have complete control over.  Mostly, I am learning that the value of my life comes by my turning to God and trying to follow his will for my life.  There is a strange freedom in understanding that your life is not completely your own.  I don't wish to relive the past year but I do believe that it has taught me to count my blessings and to live with more purpose and gratitude and for that I am incredibly thankful.

Counting on Christ

How has Cursillo changed me?  To answer that requires that I look backward to where I have been and where I am now.  Where has God been in my life?  Where is he now? By the Grace of God I have always known that God was in my life that he did exist and that somehow he was working in my life and in this world.  I credit this to my parents.  Briefly, my father was a cradle Catholic who strongly identified with his Roman Catholic faith.  From him, I learned a strong sense of duty to God, an obligation to attend mass and from time to time as I grew older I could ask him questions and learn from his strong foundation of Catholic education from grade school to college.  My father was particularly enamoured of Jesuit spirituality having graduated from Georgetown and he passed this appreciation onto me.  Although my parents were married in the church following my mother's forced conversion, my mother was not and did not remain Catholic.  Her heart was with the church where she was raised the United Methodist Church.  This was a bitter point of dispute with my parents.  My father was adamant that I was and would be Catholic yet my mother endeavored and successfully shared many aspects of her personal Spirituality with me.  What did I learn from her?  Much! I attended Sunday school for at least 10 years growing up.  I received my first bible at her church when I was 8.  I learned beautiful hymns that still echo in my heart and and I can still hear both her and my grandmother who were both very accomplished musicians singing these songs which still stir my heart to love and adore God for all he is and all he has given to me.  From my mother, I learned an example.  She prayed with me each night as she tucked me in and I would say Now I lay me down to sleep probably till I left for college. Each night she read from her bible and studied God's word.  At times she would share special spiritual insights with me like when I visited Colorado the first time and was so struck by the beauty and majesty of the Rockies and upon calling her she voiced what I had been thinking when you behold these mountains you are certain without doubt that God exists.

Academy of the Sacred Heart-Grand Coteau Louisiana 

More formation occurred the year I attended boarding school at the Academy of the Sacred Heart in Grand Coteau, Lousiana.  My father had attended and graduated from Catholic Military School and spoke fondly of this experience.  I was fourteen, struggling and unmotivated academically.  I wanted to escape from living in the constant drama that was unfolding between my parents who had separated and I jumped at the novelty of getting away from home and having a fresh start when my father suggested it.  My mother was opposed to this but she acquiesced to my desire. Grand Coteau is located nearby to Lafayette, Louisiana in the heart of Catholic country.  The school was picturesque  set in a beautiful southern building amid large water oaks and dating back to 1821. The sisters of the Sacred Heart were our teachers and I came to love and respect them as well as to learn and more closely identify with my Catholic faith during my year there. I was drawn to attend daily mass, my own choice, and I came to know the Jesuit priests from the nearby seminary particularly, Father Poche, the retreat director from Our Lady of the Oaks retreat house.  Several of my classmates and I spent time during the weekends learning about the history of the area and visiting the nearby cemeteries with this kind and wonderful man. During this time, I strongly felt the presence of God and even briefly contemplated whether I might have some calling myself to religious life.

After a single year, I chose instead to return back home to the private school where I had gone since the first grade.  My father was bitterly disappointed in my choice and as a result I lived with my mother and had limited contact with him throughout the remaining 2 years of high school.  On Sunday's when I would attend mass, my father refused to speak with me and I felt lonely, isolated and alone at the church where I had grown up.  As a result, I began attending church with my mother and grandmother.  I was welcomed here and even visited by the minister and invited to become a part of this community which had always been a second faith home to me.  Yet in my heart I was a Catholic as that had always been my identify.  Eventually, my father forgave me and encouraged me to return to church which I gladly did.

For college, I ended up at the University of Florida.  I initially began faithfully attending mass at the nearby church and Catholic student center.  I did not however become involved in student ministry and over time my attendance at mass became more sporadic.  The same year I started UF, I met a boy from my hometown named Bill whom I soon realized was the one I would spend my life with.  Having watched my parents marriage struggles over religion, I had always hoped that I would marry in the church.  Again through the grace of God, I had found the most wonderful person who too had been raised Catholic and so church membership was never an issue.  During our last year of college as we prepared to marry in the church, we both got caught up on our sacraments by being confirmed.  In 1986, Bill and I were married at the Cathedral of St Jude the Apostle the church where I had grown up in St. Petersburg, Florida.

Just over a week after Bill and I were married, we packed up my 1970 Ford Torino and moved north.  Bill would be working for Frito Lay in New Hampshire and I would be attending law school in Boston.  Moving to New England was quite a culture shock.  We knew no one.  Having just received the sacrament of Matrimony one of the first places that we went was the nearby church in the town of Derry, New Hampshire where we settled.   From this first point and throughout our marriage in almost every community where we have lived the Catholic Church has been and continues to be a place of belonging.  That belonging however has grown from a place to attend mass fairly regularly and on Easter and Christmas to a place that defines who I am and why I am here.  In those early years of marriage, I was far more preoccupied with studying for a career and worrying about buying a home and where I would take my next vacation than I was with knowing God and his will for my life.

Fast forward to 1990, Bill and I had moved to Connecticut where our lives revolved around our careers and future plans for having a family and buying a house. In our new community, we did not establish the same ties with any parish.  There were 2 close by and I cannot remember the name of either.  One had air conditioning, one did not and where we went, when we went which I know was far less frequent, was more defined by what season of the year it was. In April of that year, I had just learned I was pregnant when I received a call from my Grandma telling me that my mother had been admitted to an intensive care unit at a hospital in Florida.  I was on a plane the next morning and within days I was having my mother removed from life support, flying to Memphis, Tennessee where she was to be buried and planning a funeral.  An unexpected death reminds us that we are not in control.  I believed and do believe that my mother is with God but losing her that year changed my life and my priorities.

To start with, we moved back to Florida.  Someone had to look out for my Grandmother who was 85 and suffering the onset of Alzheimer's.  I am an only child as was my mother so that left me.  Bill and I left our careers and lived with family for over 3 months until he went back to work once again with Frito Lay.  In November 1990, our son, Will, was born.  As is often the case following the birth of a child, faith reemerged and took on new meaning having seen during a single year both death and new life. Our parish became a central place of our life.  We attended mass regularly and baptized our son.  For myself, I wanted to pass onto my children the sense of faith that I had been given and I wanted them to grow up with one faith in their hearts. Another change was that I had no interest in returning to a law career despite the many years spent achieving that goal.  I had a new understanding that life was not forever.  I wanted to spend my days raising my son who was the joy of my life.

Found memories of kids during their ACA days

Fast forward again.  We added 2 more children to our family and changed cities. I wanted to enroll my children in Catholic school and for them to learn their faith in a way that I did not and in a community where they would thrive.  We did a bit of parish shopping until we found the right church with the right Catholic school. My son started in the 1st grade and my daughter in kindergarten at Annunciation Catholic.  Being a part of this school and faith community was an amazing experience. I learned about my faith with my kids.  I joined a church ministry called Ministry of Mothers Sharing and came to my earliest understanding of how God's Grace was operating in my day to day life as a mother. I volunteered at school, my kids played sports in the Catholic Youth League and their friends and ours were those who went to our church and we saw each Sunday at mass.  I also grew spiritually be electing to be a sponsor for RCIA for 2 years.

By 2004, teenage years arrived and my son graduated from the 8th grade.  He has significant learning challenges and the local Catholic High school would not have been a good fit for him.  I tried homeschooling him and then public school and neither option seemed to be a good fit.  About that time, Bill and I began to contemplate a relocation to Georgia.  Maybe moving to the country and a simple life living in the Bible belt would be better option for our kids and for us financially.  Maybe we could save money and send them to public school? We of course did take that relocation and move to Warner Robins in 2006. Once here we found that both  nearby churches were far smaller than our former parish.  St Patricks was closer so we started attending there.

From 2006 until 2010 Fall when I made my Cursillo seemed to be a time of constant turmoil. Teenagers are difficult! Our lives revolved around trying to keep them busy and entertained with sports and socially.  We made friends mostly through our neighborhood, Bill's work and cheerleading.  We attended St Patrick's regularly on Sundays and our 2 oldest attended confirmation class but we did not live in the bubble that we did when they were younger.  We  quickly questioned everything  about this move especially schools and the new friends they were making.  By 2008, we decided that Emily, my middle child, belonged back in Catholic school so she was enrolled at Mount de Sales. The following year I made the decision to enroll my youngest there as well with the hope that they would both graduate and flourish in a more disciplined environment. Being that Macon is 30 minutes away and that we were not members of St Josephs, we did not have the same experience that we had with Catholic school in Florida.  Emily did much better academically attending there but her sister struggled.  We enjoyed the sports and school events but we did not experience the same connection that we had in Florida especially spiritually.  At the end of Katie's(my youngest's)  first year, she had not completed the 8th grade satisfactorily and was denied to re enroll for the 9th grade. She had passed the grade and could move to 9th at another school just not Mount de Sales.  I was willing for her to repeat the 8th grade but was told it was against school policy.  I decided to homeschool her rather than put her back in public school. This was another big disappointment.

My first 4 years in Warner Robins had felt like a roller coaster.  I longer for the serenity that I had felt back while living in Florida and the spiritual support I had felt at my former parish. I had heard about Cursillo and Ultreya and knew Julie Eby from my neighborhood so I signed up to go knowing I needed something different in my life. I cannot forget the joy that I experienced on this weekend. Prior to coming I had started this blog that I entitled, "Grow Where you are Planted." When I heard that in Cursillo, we talk about blooming where you are planted it all made sense why I was there and it confirmed that this is where God wanted me to be.

I think many of us wish we could stay on the weekend forever.  Well maybe not in the bunkhouse with the hard beds and snoring but definitely in the Spirit. I guess that is why so many of us have chosen to serve on team.  I left feeling on top of the world and I could not wait to go back.  Yet back in the world we must go.  And as it goes, it was not  one month from my Cursillo  weekend when we faced another bombshell.  My daughter Emily was forced to withdraw from Mount de Sales  in October of her Senior year following a minor disciplinary incident .  Once again, I felt devastated.  Here I was trying to more forward in faith and learn to accept where I was and the circumstances of life and here was yet another blow in very long line of blows relative to raising the teenagers. Yet somehow, it was different.  I had started grouping as part of the 4th day and I had  not just friends who would listen but friends that helped me put it into a spiritual perspective and prayed with me and for me.

I remember when I went to my first group meeting at Julie Eby's house.  I felt like the youngster in the bunch.  I was the only one with kids still in school and I had trouble initially relating to those sharing about their grandchildren.  That was one surprise that I definitely did not need from my already wayward teens! Yet something told me.  This is where you belong there is much wisdom here and you can learn from them. Sometimes when I brought up things that were bothering me that I knew were petty in nature I knew I had much maturing that I needed to do in my faith. This group challenged me and accepted me and I finally had a place and spiritual sisters to gather with regularly to help me grow in my faith.

Even though I was gung ho to serve on team I did not do so until this past Fall.  I was going to do the Spring right after  my weekend in 2011 but there was a lot going on in my life and  so it seems for several of the weekends  after that.  I was hoping to serve last Spring but then another curve ball came my way, cancer.  Even though I count myself as a person of faith and know that my life belongs to God, I was so afraid.  I started back to daily mass something that I had not done since boarding school.  Here, not surprisingly were other Cursillistas whose faith inspired and strengthened my own.  I can't help it but I've got to talk about Bec and Ed again.  Bec who had just walked a similar cancer journey was there with a faith and strength that I wanted for myself. Ed looked out for me but was also especially concerned for my husband in his role as my caretaker.  Daily mass was my lifeline.  I had also started volunteering with RCIA .  This part of the St Patricks community  rallied around me as well and prayed with me and for me.  I became part of their study when Father Eric administered me with the sacrament of Anointing of the Sick.

As I had said, I wanted so much to be a part of the Cursillo last Spring.  Ann who was the Rectora had invited me.  Arlene and Denise both from my group were on that weekend.  Jim was the deacon, Bec was on team and Stephanie from RCIA was a candidate. Bec  and I had gotten to know each other better in the early part of last year.  She had come to my first chemo and brought a stuffed clown to cheer me up.  I kept hoping that I would feel well enough to volunteer at the last minute but I was in between chemo 4 and 5 and just didn't.  I did feel well enough to go for closing and I could tell from that what a wonderful weekend I had missed.  I vowed to do the next one.  Bec spoke of the cursillo following the weekend saying that she had felt that she needed to give back after coming through her own cancer journey.  I'll never forget her saying that she felt like she had done what God was calling her to do just following the weekend.  It was not long after that we learned that her cancer had reoccurred.

From June and onward despite having 2 surgeries I began to feel better.  I committed myself to serve on team and contacted Lawanda once I felt certain that I was well enough to do so physically. I told her in earnest I will do whatever you tell me.  I was even prepared to serve in the kitchen even though I really don't see that as my primary apostolate.  When Lawanda emailed and asked me to do the Layperson talk, I was honored but as I read the suggested text, I did not immediately connect.  All the wisdom from the longtime cursillistas  guided me as Deacon Ken and Katee  told me I could make this my own.  So I sat down and let the Spirit guide me and he did.  I was able to create something that helped me to grow in my understanding and which I hope also spoke to those candidates making their weekend. I also as I was preparing my talk was guided by Denise and Arlene and by Bec as well as I sat with her one afternoon in the Tuscan Room at her home and practiced asking her what she thought of my talk.  Bec so loved this ministry.  It was just a few weeks before the woman's weekend this past October when she entered hospice.  As many of us were there, I know that we felt a special connection as Cursillistas during this time of prayer and waiting for God to take Bec home which he did just days before the woman's weekend.

How Blessed am I? Thoughts while visiting Sydney, Australia November 2013

Despite my sadness at having said goodbye to a true sister and friend, the weekend was full of joy and the Holy Spirit.  Wednesday before the weekend began, was my last radiation treatment and the end of what I would term my active treatment for cancer.  It felt like a rebirth for me spiritually.  So how has Cursillo changed me?  Well I can honestly say that it continues to transform me.  It has given me a true sense of belonging.  I even wonder sometimes how I could ever leave Warner Robins and St Patricks?  Say what? What has Cursillo done for me?  It has taught me a formula to nourish my own faith life by finding the balance between study, piety and action.
It has also given me a strength and peace that I did not have last January as I confronted the uncertainty of my diagnosis.  I know as do all who have had cancer that it may come back.  Yet living and growing in my faith each day gives me the peace that I am endeavoring to do God's work and that my life is ultimately in his hands. I am better able to turn the troubles that I have and face in life over to God trusting that he can and will take care of whatever challenges I face if I just trust in him. At the end of last year, I thought to myself how blessed am I and knew in my heart that I was indeed blessed because God has taught me how to trust him and I can confidently say I am counting on Christ today and always....de Colores!