Cottage Blessings

When the frost is on the punkin'

Please head out to the Cottage Garden to read Theresa's thoughts on the wonders of Autumn.

The Heart of the Priesthood

"Private prayer is like straw scattered here and there: If you set it on fire it makes a lot of little flames. But gather these straws into a bundle and light them, and you get a mighty fire, rising like a column into the sky; public prayer is like that." -- St. John Vianney

They came in cars and vans, trains and planes, in buses and on bicycles--throngs of the Faithful gathered at the Cure d'Ars parish in Merrick, New York to honor St. John Vianney, patron saint of parish priests. Everywhere were God's own friends, holy sisters, donning the blue and white sari of Mother Teresa, black cassocked priests prostrate in prayer, wheelchair-bound grandfathers clutching the hands of children, pious women devotedly absorbed in their Beads, hospitable parishioners welcoming visitors with the warmth of a smile. As the children and I joined these good people in that holy place, the words of St. Peter rang out in my mind, "Lord, it is good that we are here." Mt. 17:4.

Canonized in 1925, St. John Vianney was proclaimed the patron saint of parish priests, a fitting tribute to a life of heroic priestly service. When his body was exhumed pending beatification, it was discovered miraculously incorrupt. His heart was removed and remains venerated as a holy relic. Brought here by the bishop of Ars-France to celebrate the 80th anniversary of the Cure d'Ars parish, the relic is a precious memorial of a great saint and an invitation to the Faithful to appreciate and encourage our priests.

Admittedly, I was a bit concerned about attempting the visit. My husband would not be able to join us, and, by all accounts, there were thousands flocking to this relatively small parish church. The weather had turned cool, and lines were reportedly quite long. A dear friend in touch by cell phone had waited over an hour just to enter the church, and it seemed likely that the crowds would only get larger in the early evening. The prospect of parking our unwieldy 12-passenger van in a crowded lot or perhaps crossing a busy street with my brood of young ones was daunting to say the least.

My mother kindly offered to make things easier by watching Maureen (2) and Patrick (4) at home. While this was an appealing idea, something told me I should bring Paddy along. After all, he is the only one of our children who might actually become a priest one day, and I did not want to miss this opportunity for one priestly heart to inspire another. I prayed to St. John Vianney to help us have a smooth and prayerful visit.

When we arrived in Merrick, I turned into the parking lot and thought for a moment we were in the wrong place. Although crowds were gathered in front of the church, plenty of spaces were available in the back, so many that I was able to choose the most advantageous one. My girls were quick to unfasten and hold hands with the little ones, and, before I knew it, the eight of us were proceeding round the side of the church in quite an orderly little jumble. Smiles were everywhere it seemed, smiles for baby Eileen asleep in her sling, smiles for Maureen cavorting near the steps, smiles for Patrick, his palms pressed together in prayer. I inquired as to where the end of the line might be found and was told (wonder of wonders), "There is no line. Go right in!"

As I struggled my way up the steps, a mother with a nine-month old reached out, and we two hefted the empty stroller together. She also had a brood of lovelies in tow, and a moment of understanding, good humor, and even something akin to friendship passed by way of our smiles.

The grand old church was dim, stained glass sparkling in the fading light. My children, impressed by the grace-filled atmosphere, were solemn. Even buoyant Patrick seemed subdued by the majesty of it all, his hands folded like a well-trained first communicant. Before long, we were close enough to see the heart in its golden case, artfully placed before the saint's beloved chalice. White plumed Knights of Columbus stood round with swords drawn, gallantly guarding the precious mementos. As we arrived in front, an usher invited us forward, thoughtfully ensuring that all eight of us could kneel together. We paused a while in prayer, thanking God for this great saint and asking St. John Vianney to bless our family and encourage priests throughout our diocese and the world.

Out of politeness to the procession of pilgrims behind us, we hurried along, not tarrying any longer than necessary. Moving to the right, we found ourselves face to face with the tabernacle. The children approached and knelt, unwittingly arranging themselves in size order. Agnes to the left, taller than me now, and Patrick to the right, still striving just to reach the rail. Our fellow pilgrims were filing reverently down the side aisles, leaving the children to bask in the most precious presence in the church, the One Who is "with [us] always, even until the end of the age." Mt. 28: 20.

Gazing upon my children lingering in prayer, I regretted my lack of a camera. Perhaps it was St. John Vianney or my guardian angel, but suddenly I recalled that my new cell phone takes pictures! Here is the blessed moment captured forever (Agnes, Theresa, Margaret, Marie, and Patrick):

Half an hour later, I was behind the wheel bound for home. We cruised along the familiar highway, and soon I recognized my exit, curving to the right. Maddeningly, it became clear a moment later that I had completely read the sign wrong. We were in fact nowhere near our exit and would need to turn around. Maneuvering a U-turn in a dark and desolate neighborhood park, I shook my head, griping to the girls that this was the most ridiculous and inexplicable mistake I had ever made. Within ten minutes or so, we were back on the highway and gasped to witness the immediate aftermath of an appalling accident, with a mangled car in flames and the first police sirens screaming out their shrill notes of dismay. Fervently praying for the victims, we wondered aloud if St. John Vianney had shepherded us to that early and fortunate exit. I like to think that he did.

*******

With our story told and gratitude for the gift of St. John Vianney, it seems fitting to punctuate this piece with his most beautiful words on the Blessed Sacrament:

"If we could comprehend all the good things contained in Holy Communion, nothing more would be wanting to content the heart of man. The miser would run no more after his treasures, or the ambitious after glory; each would shake off the dust of the earth, leave the world, and fly away towards heaven."

Tomie de Paola

The Yesterthoughts kids met author/illustrator Tomie de Paola. Don't miss this post and picture!

A Host of Angels

Please take a look at "O Night Divine" to read a reflection about motherhood and my lifelong angel collection:

A Host of Angels.

Back Home Again

He's an hour away from ridin' on your prayers up in the sky
and ten days on the road are barely gone.
There's a fire softly burning; supper's on the stove
but it's the light in your eyes that makes him warm.

--John Denver, Back Home Again

My most recent visits to the Bonny Glen and Lilting House tell me that this may be a Cottage Blessings Exclusive:

Lissa and her family are all together and feathering their cozy new nest in San Diego, California. Needless to say, she is exceedingly happy, as is Scott!

This last installment of the "Lissa's Trip" series is the most joyful one of all, and, I am pleased to say that they did go to the Chapel of Loretto.

Do I know my friend, or what?

Serious

Beauty and Functionality

But who would expect anything less from Dawn's Homekeeping Notebook?

I keep separate notebooks--a Christmas notebook, a kitchen binder, a sporadically updated Flylady Control Journal, a small spiral tablet for quick jottings and reminders in my purse. Dawn's system is so much more. It is a work of art, really.

Take a look, and be inspired!

Please pray

for my beloved friend, Jenn.

Jenn, I think at least a million prayers have been offered for you in the past twenty-four hours. I am so relieved that you are home and doing well.

"Go ahead, make my day."

I think I might just start a whole new blog category called, "Photos I find on my camera at the end of the day." Here is sweet little Maureen squinting menacingly and poised with a chubby finger on the trigger of a watergun.

While you are here, please don't miss another surprising photo in the Cottage Garden!

The Miraculous Staircase of Loretto

Last night at dinner, my father-in-law mentioned the "Miraculous Staircase" in Santa Fe, New Mexico, a marvel of craftsmanship and inexplicable ingenuity. Over the years, the staircase has baffled architects and wood experts alike, as it was constructed with no visible means of support from a wood that has never been positively identified. The sisters of Loretto credited St. Joseph with the work, telling of how an unknown carpenter appeared on the ninth day of their Novena for a new staircase to an inaccessible choir loft. With only a few simple carpentry tools, the man completed the project in just a few months, disappearing without thanks or payment.

So, of course, with this intriguing story fresh in my mind, I came home to hear a message from Lissa saying that she and the Bonny Glenners made it to Santa Fe.

I would like to tell her about the Staircase, but, if I know them, they've probably already visited the chapel, lit a candle there for all of us, and are by now fully immersed in the mathematical mystery underlying its construction. Sitting here at my computer in New York, I can see the visit in my mind's eye--Jane is taking measurements of the risers and mentally calculating how many it should take to reach the choir loft; Rose is poring over a field guide to unusual woods of New Mexico; and Beanie is sitting on the lap of the Mother Superior, surrounded by a group of delighted sisters!

I for one will be looking forward to the next update!