Cottage Blessings

The beginning and the beginning

Every year for the past five years or so, we have spent New Year's Eve at my home parish in Queens, New York. It is the only place I know of that has Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament and Benediction at midnight to close the old year and ring in the new. Every year, at the stroke of midnight, the pastor (an excellent, hardworking priest who really got us through the pandemic) blesses the people with the monstrance containing the body of Our Lord.

Here we are on New Year's Eve 2019 into 2020:

Here we are on New Year's Eve 2020 into 2021. Same bell tower (different vantage point), same coat (on me), same boots (on me), but there is something wonderfully different. Seven of our nine children are with us instead of only three. The one good thing about 2020 was unexpected family togetherness. With so many of their usual New Year's plans canceled, we had a lot more of our children available to begin the year the best way possible--in church on our knees before our Blessed Lord.

2021 is going to be a great year for the Gunthers!

A chaplet

The other day I was praying before Mass and thinking about all the things that are weighing on me. I had my rosary beads in my hand started praying a little chaplet made up on the spot. On the Our Father beads “Jesus, my Lord, my God, my all,” three times, and on the Hail Mary beads, “Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me, a sinner.”

Somewhere in this house, I have a prayer card that once belonged to my grandfather and was passed along to my father. It is yellowed with age and shows a line drawing of Our Lord with the crown of thorns and the words “Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me, a sinner.” These words from the blind Bartimaeus brought forth a miracle from Our Lord. While all around him told him to keep quiet, Bartimaeus just kept shouting all the louder, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” “Son of David, have pity on me!”

Our Lord asked Bartimaeus, “What do you want me to do for you?”

”Lord, I want to see.”

”Go your way, your faith has saved you.” 

I think the next time I pray this chaplet, which hopefully will be today by the Blessed Sacrament before Mass, I will add a final prayer at the end. Three times:

”Lord, I want to see!”

”Lord, I want to see!”

”Lord, I want to see!”

 

St. Lucy's Day

St. Lucy's Day began with baking before dawn.

We made Swedish almond cakes for ourselves and for our friends. 

In the evening we had a candlelit procession, going from room to room and up and down the stairs singing O Come, O Come Emmanuel and remembering the long years the people in darkness waited for the One who would bring light to the world.

St. Lucy's Day is the day we officially light our Christmas lights. The children (and their darling friends) went from room to room lighting first the Christmas tree, then the other indoor Christmas lights and wreaths and finally the lights outside. 

We celebrated afterward with hot chocolate and pastries.

There are few things more cozy than a candlelit tea by the light of the Advent wreath.

Candlelight, cakes and girls in white dresses--Happy St. Lucy's Day, everyone!

Last year's resolution

Toward the end of 2015, two things happened that changed the course of 2016. The first was that our whole family made a Marian Consecration on December 8th, the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. It was the conclusion of a parish wide preparation led by our pastor, Father McCartney. When we made the consecration, I wasn't sure what it would mean, but I knew something would change. The second was that we concluded the year with Midnight Benediction at my childhood parish, St. Mary's. I wrote about this recently, but did not mention that we first discovered this beautiful, holy event on New Year's Eve 2015-16. We left church that night with the feeling that makes you want to say, "Lord, it is good that we are here."

Soon afterward, we were at an Epiphany party. There were about five families there, all with children, and we played a game of "resolutions." Each person wrote down a New Year's resolution on a piece of paper, folded it up, and placed it in a hat. The resolutions were read aloud, and the object was to match the person to the plan. I do not usually give much thought to resolutions, perhaps because I never seem to persevere in anything longer than six weeks. Looking down at that blank slip, I realized that between the January 1st holy day of obligation, first Saturday, and a Sunday, we were three days into the new year, and we had been to Mass every day.

I wrote: "My New Year's resolution is to attend Mass every day in 2016."

Now we've always tried to go to Mass fairly often, sometimes very often, but if anything would come up--a morning lesson or appointment, a change of plans, a few raindrops--Mass during the week was the first thing to go. Suddenly, in 2016, I found myself carefully planning. The 9 o'clock Mass was our usual, but within a five mile radius of our house, we found parishes with daily Masses at 7, 8, 12 noon, and even 5:30 in the evening. Truthfully, here where we live, Mass is almost as readily available during the week as it is on a Sunday.

Days and weeks passed, and I kept wondering if we would have some obstacle to getting to Mass, but this only happened once--a late January blizzard kept us absolutely and completely snowed in for a whole day from morning until night. A few months later, getting to Mass required a minor miracle. We were vacationing on Martha's Vineyard (imagine me saying that in a Woodside accent, and it won't sound so snooty), but it was a week before the Summer season began. The three parishes on the Vineyard combine in the off season, and there is no Mass on the island at all on Fridays. I looked into taking a ferry to the mainland for one day, but the ferry and Mass times did not at all coincide. I prayed, "Dear Lord, would you please let there be a Mass here on Friday?" After Mass on Thursday, the priest was greeting people. I shook his hand and said, "Father, there is no Mass here tomorrow, is there?" He said, "Normally there isn't, but we are having a special memorial Mass tomorrow at 9 am."

God is good.

Most days, the children came with me--one of my younger daughters came every single day, even to those early 7 o'clock Masses. My husband joined us now and then on days when he didn't need to be at work too early. Toward the end of 2016, I almost couldn't believe the year was drawing to a close, and we had had the blessing of Mass every single day. (Remember that blizzard? God must have felt sorry for us, because He generously provided a February 29th leap day to make up for it.) I started to wonder what had this year of grace meant--what was God preparing us for? It had begun with a Marian consecration and benediction, and it had been a beautiful year for us. Yes, it had the trials and troubles of any normal year, but it was hallowed and felt like the start of something. It felt like a Year of Mercy.

Yesterday, I spoke briefly with our pastor after Mass. He mentioned 2017 as the 100th Anniversary of Fatima and the importance of this great event. In 1917, the Blessed Mother appeared in Fatima, Portugal, to three shepherd children the same age as my youngest three and gave a message of peace and hope to the world. Yet, there is another important part to the story that is sometimes forgotten. The children were first visited in 1916 by the Angel of Peace who prepared them for the appearance of Our Lady by teaching them prayers and even giving them Holy Communion. 

I look back on 2016 as a gift sent one hundred years after the visit of the Angel of Peace--a time of prayer and preparation and grace. How happy and hopeful and eager we are as we await this great centenary of Fatima.

 

Final Vows

We attended the final vows of our spiritually adopted Franciscan brother, Brother Bernadino Marie.

Our Lady of Good Counsel Church, 230 East 90th Street, New York City.

Out cold:

Father Benedict Groeschel:

Two Gunther rows:

A prayer after Mass at the shrine in honor of Our Lady of Good Counsel, a patroness to all homeschoolers:

God bless, Brother Bernadino!

The words of St. Catherine Laboure

"Whenever I go to the chapel,
I put myself in the presence
of our good Lord and I say to him,
'Lord, I am here. Tell me what
You would have me do.'

"If he gives me some task,
I am content and I thank him.

"If he gives me nothing,
I still thank him since I do not deserve
to receive anything more than that.

"And then, I tell God everything
that is in my heart.
I tell him about my pains and my joys,
and then I listen.

"If you listen, God will also will also speak to you,
for with the good Lord,
you have to both speak and listen.

"God always speaks to you
when you approach him plainly and simply.

A word from my heart

Starting this coming Monday (if you aren't doing this already), get yourself to daily Mass.  Try to arrive ten minutes early, and offer the Mass for the four intentions we must always remember:  (1) Adoration ("I love you, dear Lord"); (2) Thanksgiving ("I thank Thee for blessings too numerous to mention"); (3) Reparation ("I am truly sorry for my sins and and ask for help in amending my life"); and (4) Impetration ("Dear Lord, send your grace into my heart). Offer the Mass in union with the intentions of the priest, and ask God for one blessed favor--the grace to return to Mass again the next day.

This is what life is all about.

For the Feast of St. Thomas Aquinas

When I was in sixth grade, Father Higuero, one of our parish priests, would come once a week to give our class a special catechism lesson.  Father  did not grade or test, but, on the first day of class in September, he gave one simple assignment: Prepare an oral report on the life of a saint and be ready to speak in front of the class whenever called upon. We students knew it would take the entire school year for each one of us to have a turn.

Now if I had been given a girl saint or perhaps a martyr, this would have been right up my alley, but instead of St. Bernadette, Joan of Arc, or valiant St. Laurence, there fell to my lot St. Thomas Aquinas — priest, philosopher, theologian, doctor of the Church. To say that he did not capture my imagination would be putting it mildly.

By the time Father Higuero returned for our second session, I had forgotten about St. Thomas — and the assignment itself for that matter. As he began scanning the rows of children to choose that week’s speakers, I ducked my head behind the girl in front of me, praying, “Dear St. Thomas Aquinas, please do not let him call on me.” To my great relief, two other children were chosen, and I resolved to be prepared the next time. Week after week this went on, with me always forgetting and my prayers to St. Thomas growing ever more fervent.

One morning late in the school year, Sister Kathy announced, “Father Higuero is coming for the last time today and will arrive in a few minutes. In the meanwhile, please read these magazines quietly to yourselves.” My heart sank to hear her words, for of course this meant there would be no more postponing the inevitable. Miserable, I said one last prayer, “Dear St. Thomas, I know I should have learned about your life and didn’t, but won’t you please help me?” The girl in front of me passed back the stack of religious magazines Sister had mentioned. Imagine my delight and wonder when I caught sight of the headline on the back cover: “The Life of St. Thomas Aquinas.” “Thank you, St. Thomas, thank you!” I whispered so low that none but the saint himself could hear and began reading with the greatest interest imaginable.

Half an hour later, Father Higuero nodded approvingly upon hearing a young girl’s enthusiastic account of the life of St. Thomas Aquinas. Although Father never would learn the truth about what a spur-of-the-moment effort it had been, my guess is that he would have been forgiving and perhaps even a bit pleased. After all, thanks to his priestly guidance and teaching, I had managed to learn something about the life of a great saint. Far more important than that, I came to believe for the rest of my life that St. Thomas Aquinas was my friend.

At this very moment, my eldest daughter is taking two SAT subject tests.  When I realized today was the Feast of St. Thomas Aquinas, I smiled knowing she was in good hands.

 

A post long overdue and not as well done as I'd like it

I have written this post in my head about a dozen times these past few weeks. It is difficult to say why I am having such trouble sitting down to write it. Maybe my problem is that it feels almost as if I have reached a last chance to share something so big, so miraculous, with anyone.

Not so very long ago, I was going through a sorrowful time. The dream and hope of another baby was gnawing away at me, dominating all my thoughts. Month after month passed, and I began to realize that, at age 40, the new-baby-phase of our lives might very well be over. (Hope this isn't sounding selfish or silly--it probably does, so please forgive me.)

One day, I was tidying the dining room--shifting clutter from one place to the other as usual--when I found a bag of religious articles purchased months ago. I smiled to see a handful of round flat coins depicting the Holy Family, Our Lady of Mount Carmel, St. Joseph, and others, remembering they had been meant for use in our miniature wayside shrine craft. Long forgotten, the pretty round coins had been left on the windowseat, awaiting a future "sort and rescue."

Among the coins was one image that interested me in particular. I could not remember it at all, though it did not surprise me that I would have purchased it. It was St. Padre Pio, smiling and holding the Christ Child on a little pillow. Having spent a great deal of time praying for a new baby through the intercession of St. Pio, this was significant to me. I had never before seen him shown with the Christ Child (St. Anthony, yes, but St. Pio, no), and I began musing to myself that it was as if he was presenting me with a baby on a pillow. Flipping the coin around, I read his familiar words of advice, "Pray, hope and don't worry!" It gave me such a warm feeling inside, a little gleam of hope and lightness.

Still clutching the coin in one hand, I moved into the kitchen. A great deal of noise was coming from the den, and I could hear Margaret calling to me, "Mom! Marie knocked your picture off the top of the cabinet!" Nothing about this was unusual--stuff is always being batted around in our house. I wouldn't have paid much attention to the report, except that Margaret charged into the kitchen with Marie at her heels to hand me the fallen picture. It was a small image of Padre Pio, his hands clasped in prayer. At this point I laughed outright, much to the confusion of Margaret and Marie. I offered a silent prayer to St. Padre Pio, once again asking his intercession for a new baby.

Now I know to some, these two nearly simultaneous occurrences might seem like a coincidence--and a minor coincidence at that--but they dispelled some of the gloom of my mood that afternoon, reminding me that there is always hope.

About two weeks later, we found out to our great joy and gratitude that we are indeed expecting our eighth child, a gift it would be impossible to describe in words. The first day I was able to test was May 25th:

St. Padre Pio's birthday.

So that is my news--we have a new baby on the way! Sorry it has taken so long to tell. Thank you to all the friends who were praying for us. [I was at the top of the list to the left for quite some time.] God is good!

A Grace Given

I recently read A Grace Given, a phenomenal book by writer and father Kent Gilges. The book chronicles the illness of Kent's little daughter and his own journey towards the Catholic faith.

If you have a moment, please take a look at my review for this week's edition of The Long Island Catholic: When grace comes stamped.