A Good Habit

Dear Franciscans of the "Little Flowers of St, Francis Fraternity"

I am thinking of a good habit I began to cultivate many years ago. I began to offer to Jesus every care, anxiety, frustration, suffering and pain, no matter how small, in union with Christ's passion and crucifixion to be put in the hands of our beloved Lady Mary, to be shared by her and Jesus, with sinners and the Souls in Purgatory. I emphasized sinners because the holy souls are safely in God's hands, while sinners have to make the turn about from their wicked ways to the blessed mercy of God.

Over the years the good habit has become so entrenched in my way of life that I do it many times each day. In my latest illnesses it has been a blessed comfort when the going is almost unbearable, because without it, it would be unbearable. But, there it is with me all the time, and to know that Jesus is right there all the time, walking with me through it all is to make me realize it is not wasted, that I am sharing Jesus' redemptive work.

May I humbly suggest that all of us of the Little Flowers Fraternity, strive to cultivate this good habit so that it will be a beautiful bouquet of roses there all the time for Mary to distribute where she wishes. A good New Years resolution, don't you think? All for one and one for all, we are God's children on earth.

Aren't you glad we are Franciscans? Pax et Bonum. Ruth Vogel, SFO by the grace of God, and thanks be to God.

"Sister Death"

         It seems not long ago when I was quite small with the feeling of being trapped, I felt the captivity of the days and at months and the days from September to the Christmas holidays just crawled.
    It was at that time that I took off like a runner at the Olympics, leaping over hurdles faster and faster while somewhere along the way I began to slow down slower and slower until here I am in the rarefied atmosphere of the octogenarian, with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel. It's not the first time I thought about Sister Death, I sighed.
    0l' rocking chair's got me and they say the grass is greener on the other side of the fence. I think of that big Golden Gate ahead of us to which all of us are heading. I'm sure the grass is greener over there.
    But really, it's nice and green right here and we have flowers and blue sky and white clouds, sometimes gray, and even black ones with lagged streaks of lightning tearing them apart. And there is rolling thunder, (the angels playing nine Pins my mother use to say) and its all so magnificent that honest to goodness. I like it just fine on this side of the fence.
    Somebody, I think it was Shakespeare, said: Death a necessary end, will come when it will come. And somebody, like St. Paul said, "Death where is thy sting?" The Psalmist was encouraging when he said, "The Lord is my shepherd, there is nothing I shall want. He will lead me in green pastures." And, someone else said, "He will wipe all the tears from your eyes."
    My grandmother used to send us books and one she sent was all in verse. One verse was about a child watching a pear tree and waiting for the pears to ripen, and she says, "Little pear tree by the gate, how much longer must I wait?"
     My rockin' chair is right over here. I shuffle slowly towards it, stepping very gingerly lest I disturb that banana skin under my foot, and I sit down and begin to rock.
     Jesus", I say, when you're ready, I'm ready. Here I am outside your gate. It's up to you how long I wait. Rock, rock, rock.
    Have Sister Death open that Golden Gate and beckon me inside. Will you have my beloved Lady Mary walk beside me so I won't be afraid?

"Thinking of Jesus"

I am just sitting here thinking of Jesus. What is Jesus to me?
Jesus is the sun--hot, burning, warming, and healing.
Jesus is the four seasons -- cold and bracing winter; searing, sometimes shower drenched, full-blown summer; mellow, brilliant autumn; new birth and promise, as at Bethlehem, springtime.
Jesus is quiet as a whisper, or demanding as a stern father. Exacting--a perfectionist; yet tolerant. Unbending; yet forgiving. Compassionate, yet relentless.
His presence touches me like a whisper that is almost unheard, that hangs in the air like a snowflake slowly descending.
Jesus is a PRESENCE -- dearly sensed, close, very real, yet unseen -- a breath -- a heartbeat -- a pulse throb -- an ever so quiet rustle, like a thought in motion.
He is a sharp sound, distinctly audible, like a click.
He is a rose in a garden; a fragrance, a thorn.
He is an earthworm in the soil, alive and ever enriching.
He is a firecracker exploding on somebody's Fourth of July.
He is moonlight on the ocean.
He is a shiny white cloud against the deep blue of the sky.
He is a sunset bursting with color.
He is a melody, a song of love.
He is grace, hanging like silver drops of rain in the air.
His voice is thunder or the beat of a drum in my heart.
He is the tap of a fingernail on a windowpane from the outside, wanting to come in.
His presence is an icicle on an eave, dangling there, shimmering in the sun, melting -- melting out of love.
His words are tinkling sounds like Chinese crystals stirred by a breeze -- gay, laughing softly full of joy.
His voice is a wildly playing violin, crying and sobbing in an agony of pain, yearning -- yearning to be accepted.
He is here.
He is there.
Don't you feel Him?
Don't you feel the gentle stir of the air as He passes by?
Don't you sense when the air grows still -- so very, very still. He is gone now.
Yes, He is gone. But I am not sad.
Because He will return any time -- any time. He told me He would. I don't quite know how. I just know He did.
My Jesus is my promise.
My shining white hope.
My Blood-red faith.
My overwhelming love.
When He comes again and He will come. I will know at once He is here.
He will come like the petals of a rose dropping soundlessly.
But I will know He is here. I will know.

    It seems not long ago when I was quite small with the feeling of being trapped, I felt the captivity of the days and at months and the days from September to the Christmas holidays just crawled.
    It was at that time that I took off like a runner at the Olympics, leaping over hurdles faster and faster while somewhere along the way I began to slow down slower and slower until here I am in the rarefied atmosphere of the octogenarian, with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel. It's not the first time I thought about Sister Death, I sighed.
    0l' rocking chair's got me and they say the grass is greener on the other side of the fence. I think of that big Golden Gate ahead of us to which all of us are heading. I'm sure the grass is greener over there.
    But really, it's nice and green right here and we have flowers and blue sky and white clouds, sometimes gray, and even black ones with lagged streaks of lightning tearing them apart. And there is rolling thunder, (the angels playing nine Pins my mother use to say) and its all so magnificent that honest to goodness. I like it just fine on this side of the fence.
    Somebody, I think it was Shakespeare, said: Death a necessary end will come when it will come. And somebody, like St. Paul said, "Death where is thy sting?" The Psalmist was encouraging when he said, "The Lord is my shepherd, there is nothing I shall want. He will lead me in green pastures." And, someone else said, "He will wipe all the tears from your eyes."
    My grandmother used to send us books and one she sent was all in verse. One verse was about a child watching a pear tree and waiting for the pears to ripen, and she says, "Little pear tree by the gate, how much longer must I wait?"
     My rockin' chair is right over here. I shuffle slowly towards it, stepping very gingerly lest I disturb that banana skin under my foot, and I sit down and begin to rock.
     Jesus", I say, when you're ready, I'm ready. Here I am outside your gate. It's up to you how long I wait. Rock, rock, rock.
    Have Sister Death open that Golden Gate and beckon me inside. Will you have my beloved Lady Mary walk beside me so I won't be afraid?

"God with us"

    God is with us yesterday, today and forever.
    I was reading a line from Psalm 143: "I remember the days that are past," and my mind drifted back to when I was ten years old.
    Our family had moved from Columbus, Ohio to a place in Virginia called Profit. The nearest Catholic Church was in Charlottesville. We were able to go to church once a month only and that was because the priest kindly scheduled, for our special benefit, a 12 noon Mass one Sunday a month (this was in "pre-historic" times when things simply were not done that way)
    In order to get there, we had to flag down a train at our rinky-dink RR station, and off we went to Charlottesville.
    Then, one summer day, when my uncle Will was visiting us from Columbus, he became quite ill. A doctor from Charlottesville diagnosed "summer grip." Well, it wasn't, because he quickly became much worse.
    One day, my mother asked us to sit at his bedside for a while. He was very weak. He was asking me very anxiously to find his Sacred Heart badge. I nosed around, found it, and brought it to him. He asked me to pin it on his nightshirt, which I did, and immediately a little smile touched his lips and he relaxed and patted it there near his heart.
    Later they had to flag down a train to get him to a hospital in Charlottesville. When they took him off the train there was a priest right there waiting to get on to go to another sick call.
     The train was ready to move and the priest anxiously called out that he would be back as soon as he could. It didn't happen that way. The person he went to see was dead when he got there and, by the time he got back, my uncle was also dead.
    Over the years, I can still see my uncle's little smile as he patted his Sacred Heart badge that rested against his heart.
     Joyfully, now, I thank God for His loving redemptive message to a little 10-year-old girl whose love for Him has grown steadily over the years.

    Since my last talk I've popped in and out of the hospital. Results negative.
    One trying episode could be likened to a medieval torture chamber.
    The doc's can really put the screw on you. They rammed an instrument down my throat. Was it made of iron? It felt like it.
    Dilated.
    And twisted this way and that way.
    Excruciating!
    They had numbed my throat with drugs.
    And frozen my voice.
    I couldn't utter a sound.
    Two nurses held my hands fast so I couldn't raise them to my throat.
    At one point I was sure the pressure of that instrument being twisted about was going to break my front teeth.
    The pain reached a zenith.
    And went on and on.
    "I can't stand this," I thought.
    Then I thought of you, Jesus.
    And Calvary.
    So I started to scream -- inside.
    Not a sound.
    But I was screaming inside your name.
    Frantically.
    JESUS. JESUS. JESUS.
    I clenched my hands.
    And discovered latter I was clenching the hands of the nurse.
    With all my strength.
    They didn't say a word.
    Bless them.
    JESUS. JESUS. JESUS.
    No one new I was screaming, except you.
    And I thought, "This is intimate. This shared closeness with Jesus.
    "All alone together in this wild storm of pain.
    You said, also without sound, "hold on, I am with you."
    It finally came to an end. That rough spot, close to You.
    It was happy to look back upon because of you Jesus.
    Thank you for my cross.
    I carried it, with your help and I thank you.

Words and Deeds
by Ruth Vogel, 3-29-80

    Jesus, this is a good time for me to sit and talk with you here at Virginia's house. I'm staying with her mother while they are away for a few hours at Bunnell. I am thinking about what St. James said - what good is it to wish someone a good day when they are so much in need they can't have a good day - how can they unless someone supplies the need?
    I think so often things people say are empty words, glibly uttered, not really meant because when it comes to doing, there are excuses, excuses, excuses. There are Pietistic utterances, prayers, rosaries, masses, promises - all are meaningless until they are put into action in the marketplace. It follows your own words, Jesus, "By their fruits you will know them."
    It is really quite beautiful, this Gospel Way; how many times we can tie our thoughts to a Gospel passage, and in this Gospel-habit-minded way we can recall quotes that fit in with what we are saying or thinking. It's like shaking hands with an old friend.
    Here (tongue in cheek) is another way to say the same thing.

Credit:  Little Flowers of St. Francis Fraternity

Ruth's Archives

Meditations and Prayers

Dear Jesus of the loving, Sacred Heart, June 23, 1984

Your month of June is rapidly coming to an end, and sad to say, I have accomplished little or nothing this month.

I am suddenly aware that I have reached a period of stagnation, perhaps hibernation would be a good term to use. But, this should not be a time of hibernation.

This late spring and early summer should be alive with promise, with plans, with deep breaths taken and exercise -- my favorite, walking -- of reappraisal of one's diet with a view to building up energy; with a look about with interest in the neighborhood, the parish, people, with a go-do with a purpose, the purpose being to foster a renewed aliveness in friends and activities, not too much spreading out; but rather a deeper interest in the things, and people, who are closest to one's heart -- to the Franciscan way, may it never grow stale! To Franciscan members, to Franciscan work -- a planning for fresh ways, fresh approaches, selected reading, renewed interest in the formation field, which is so tremendous and unending a process; and above all a re-awakening and intensifying of Jesus-awareness, Jesus in my life, Jesus in my thoughts, Jesus in my heart, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus -- what am I without Him? What can I be, and do, with Him.

All that I need to be!
All that I need to do!
Simply,
Humbly,
Quietly,
In my little niche in life.
 

Awake, my soul!

There's a shining path up yonder. It is threading its way up out of the shadows into the full light of the sun.

Step forward with confidence -- Jesus at my side -- I, full of compassion, and hope, and brotherly love, and concern, and good fellowship.

The resurrection theme is not just for Easter. It is for every day. Alleluia!

Meditations