February 28 - Lent, Day 16 - Three Incredible Promises

Dr. Hahn's question for today: What promises in the Bible mean the most to me and why?

There are two favorite promises that I can think of at the moment: "Come to me all who labor and are heavy burdened, and I will give you rest." Matthew 28:11.

These words had a profound impact on me when I first began attending church as a young mother of two small children many years ago. I did indeed feel heavy burdened in those days. My reaction was along the lines of, "Wait, there's someone here who knows me and understands me and is offering help." And yes, I now know that the above words - Jesus' promise to be with me, to ease my heavy load - to have been absolutely true, my whole life.

The other promise that means a lot to me - quite possibly my favorite words in the whole Bible - is: "God... upholds the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and befriends the stranger..." Deuteronomy 10:18

I just love this. Having grown up without a father, this promise seems to be speaking directly to me. I have come to realize that indeed, God has been with me all along, that on so many levels, God was the only father I ever had. In fact, one of the Hebrew names I took for myself at my conversion was Aviyah, which means God is my father. In recent years I have also come to realize that my earthly father has also been closer than I realized, too.

In God's promise to care for the fatherless, the widow, and the stranger in a special way, I believe that God is also modeling for us the way that he wants us to care for the vulnerable in the world.

Dear God, please grant me the strength and the courage to care for others the way you care for me.

February 27 - Lent, Day 15 - The Obedience of Faith

"Go from your country and your kindred and your father's house to the land that I will show you." Genesis 12:1

Ah, yes. My old friend, Lech Lecha, the Torah portion I chanted at my Bat Mitzvah ceremony (this parasha was designated for me, incidentally, by virtue of the calendar rather than by my choosing, which I have always found quite remarkable), and a theme I am quite comfortable with, having lived it, written about it, and composed songs around it. Dr. Hahn begins this chapter by asking, what would it be like if God asked you to leave everything you knew, everything that was comfortable in your life, and travel to an unknown destination, far away?

In 2000, I did exactly that. I packed up my belongings and made a new home for myself in a new land - only 80 miles (and a body of water) geographically, but thousands of miles, culturally. That was the year that I began my conversion to the Jewish faith and moved to the heart of Jewish Boston in order to pursue becoming a cantor. I indeed felt called by God to make this journey (even though it didn't turn out exactly as I thought it would, ultimately, and I felt duped many times along the way; even up to fairly recently, before I had a glimpse of the beautiful way my life is now unfolding), a journey to a "land you do not know, a place I will show you;" a land where I was a stranger (the word for a convert, in fact, is ger - or gera in the feminine, which is translated as stranger), a new language and customs; a land fraught with high mountains (my studies), and scary, dark valleys (my loneliness).

This past summer, when I returned to my childhood home and to my beloved Catholic Church, I felt as if I had returned from a twelve year space mission to Mars. Or, from a dream; like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz where she wakes up, looks around at her family surrounding her, and realizes, "There's no place like home."

Lech Lecha - in Hebrew, literally: go to yourself (I wish Blogger would allow me to type in Hebrew. The way these two words are written in the Torah scroll, with no vowels, illustrates this point beautifully, simply: lamed chet - lamed chet). The way I interpret this is, sometimes you have to leave home to find your true home; to find yourself and ultimately, God.

The Genesis passage, above, continues: "I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you; I will make your name great, and you shall be a blessing." Genesis 12:2.

I believe that Abraham is the ultimate role model for our spiritual journey, that God calls each of us to leave our "father's house" - all that is safe and familiar; our roots - in order that we might find our true selves and our true home.

I've said this often along the way, "If you go around the block enough times, you end up right back at home."

I am very glad to have made the journey, and even more glad to be home.

February 26 - Lent, Day 14 - A Covenant Renewed

July 1, 2012

"This is the sign of the covenant that I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for all future generations: I have set my bow in the clouds over the earth, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth." Genesis 9:13

Who doesn't love a rainbow? Ever since I learned, many years ago, the secret of when a rainbow is likely to appear (late afternoon after a rainstorm has passed by), and where to find it (against a dark, eastern sky), I have been an avid rainbow hunter. This past summer, the summer of my return, no fewer than three rainbows appeared immediately following 5pm Mass, splashed boldly across the sky above State Beach - my route home. I suppose it would have been extremely ego-centric of me to have thought that they had been placed there by God specifically for me; his way of saying, "Welcome home. I'm so glad you're back." But that's exactly what I thought.

Then there was the time I was sitting at a stop sign next to a large corn field that was being irrigated by a rotating sprinkler system. It was late afternoon and as I waited to enter the highway, watching the enormous spray going around, I noticed that every time the spray hit a certain place in the rotation, a huge rainbow appeared, which made me realize that we are actually always surrounded by rainbows - God's covenant - just add water, like a cake mix.

Dr. Hahn's question for today: Noah knew how to prepare, and he knew how to let go. How can this Lent become a time of preparation for me? What can I let go of?

Preparation, building (arks and other creative projects), packing, and organizing - these things are all fairly easy for me. Not so easy is the letting go of old emotional baggage - past wounds, both inflicted upon me by others, as well as my own mistakes and regrets - things I wish I'd done or said differently; stupid things I've said or done that I know have hurt others that haunt me sometimes at 3am.

Lord, help me to let go of past mistakes, to know that I am forgiven by your grace; and help me to forgive past injuries by others - may I forgive as you forgive me. Please also help me to eliminate negative thinking and doubts - those times when I am certain that everyone hates me - all of which are self-inflicted, and self-crippling.




July 1, 2012

February 25 - Lent, Day 13 - The Destructive Power of Envy

"The Lord said to Cain, 'Why are you angry, and why has your countenance fallen? If you do well, will you not be accepted? And if you do not do well, sin is lurking at the door; its desire is for you, but you must master it.'" - Genesis 4:6-7





Dr. Hahn's question for today: When have I experienced the power of envy? What were its consequences in my life, and how can I experience healing?


In this chapter, Dr. Hahn explains that there is a difference between jealousy and envy, writing, "Technically speaking, jealousy seeks the good that is perceived in another person, whereas envy seeks to destroy it."

I believe that a little jealousy can actually push us to success. I'll admit that I am a very competitive person and when I see what others in the field of music and photography are doing around me, it often pushes me to get a little better at what I do in these areas. My on-going joke is, I'm so competitive, it bugs me when cars pass me on the Interstate.

There's a rather famous story that circulates in Jewish circles during the days of repentance about a rabbi in a small town who decided to ban all yetzer hara (the evil inclination; the Jewish faith teaches that man is born with both evil and good inclinations and that we have the responsibility to choose to do good or evil). As the story goes, on that day, nothing was accomplished, by anyone. The lesson in the story is that the line between good and bad is not always clear and without a little competitiveness, all productivity in that little town came to a screeching halt.

So it is with jealousy and envy. While a little jealousy sometimes pushes me to be better at what I do, occasionally I am envious to the point of wishing someone would fail so I could be the best. One of my most vivid memories of envy having run amok in my life goes back about to the summer of 1998. That summer there was a tall, handsome man, an attractive blonde woman, and two handsome children sitting in the pew every day at morning Mass. I was a single mother of three young children at that time and it grieved me greatly to see this family: everything I had ever wanted but had failed to achieve was paraded before me, in high relief, every morning. At the end of the first week, they and I made friends - she, Jodi, was also a music minister at her home parish on Long Island - and during the course of our conversation I also learned that Jodi was not the wife or the mother. You see, Leo's wife had died the previous year, and Jodi was the nanny. Yes, young Margaret and Leo's mother had been pregnant with their baby brother (named Maximilian, after the saint who had sacrificed his life in Auschwitz in order that a fellow prisoner with a wife and child would be spared), had contracted an illness that could only have been cured by aborting the baby, which she chose not to do, so both were lost. So - as much as I wanted to be sitting in the pew with a tall handsome husband and two gorgeous kids - could I really have drunk from the cup that Leo's wife and family had drunk? No. That incident taught me everything I need to know about covetousness and envy.

Dear Lord, I pray to remember that I am the best expression of who you made me to be.

Dream, 2-26-13

Frost on my windshield, 2-26-13

My brother, John (gone since 2000), is with me. As usual, we are in our childhood home (where I now live). I'm happy to see him, and start filling him in on all the news, as if he's recently returned from a trip. My mother is now in the dream. I say, "And while you were gone, I dreamed of you so many times, and of mother, too, and now you're both really here."

Then, as always, I wake up and realize I'm dreaming about dreaming.

February 24 - Lent, Day 12 - Broken Hearts, Broken Homes

Dr. Hahn's question for today: What small way could I make someone in my family happier today?
(You mean, in addition to the blood, sweat and tears I have been giving, and continue to give, 24/7, for the past thirty-nine years?)

I was born with a broken heart, into a broken home, and have spent my life searching for (and mostly finding) healing as well as dedicating myself to the happiness of my family. One of my favorite parts of my photography business is photographing families; on some subliminal level, every family I photograph offers a touch of personal healing.

What small thing for today?
1. Noticing, while walking through the kitchen, that my two small grandchildren (who are in my home, visiting for two weeks) needed drawing paper, I stopped at the 5&10 store on my way home from Mass and bought them a nice new sketch pad, along with a new box of crayons.
2. After one grown son inadvertently got locked out of my house the other day, I had a new key made for him (my home will never be locked to any of my children), at same 5&10.
3. Sat with DIL and went over schedule for the week to plan child care for her two babies.
4. Lent son and DIL my car for the afternoon so they could have a family adventure.

February 23 - Lent, Day 11 - Slaves or Sons?

Desperately trying to catch up with this journal idea that has flown out of my hands and out of control, like a sheaf of paper in the wind. I am able, at least, to read each day's offering from Dr. Hahn; it's finding the time to write that is vexing me at the moment.

Though I'm a few days behind - with many thoughts swirling in my head, begging to be released - I will focus on today (with the little time I have remaining before babies barge through my door in forty-five minutes).

Today's question from Scott Hahn: What specific activities or habits would make Sunday a day of rest for me? What is one thing I could refrain from doing? What could I do differently?

Ah, yes - the Sabbath - a subject that is near and dear to my heart, and as a practicing Jew for twelve years, a day and a concept that was a very large presence in my life. (I'm beginning to notice, as I write, how influential having been Jewish is in my Catholic Christian life. Indeed, I have remarked more than once over the past few months on how beneficial I believe it would be for every Christian to be Jewish for a couple of years).

The Jewish Sabbath, depending on what circles one is traveling in (as is true in every aspect of Judaism; as the saying goes: ask three Jews, get four opinions), ranges from absolutely no observance whatsoever, all the way to not turning on or off lights (along with unscrewing the bulb in the refrigerator so that the light doesn't come on), no cooking (which requires a flame; lighting a flame is prohibited on the Sabbath) except to set a special metal plate on the stovetop (called a blech) over low heat before the Sabbath begins and leave it on the stove for all of the twenty-five hour Sabbath observance; no riding in cars; no shopping (unless for medicine); no discussion or thought of work, war, or disease; no musical instruments to be played.

And yes, in my twelve years of Judaism, I experimented with and participated in every possible expression of Sabbath observance, from the most strict to the most liberal. And while I no longer observe the Jewish Sabbath, I have been able to carry some of my Shabbat habits over into Catholicism. I will say, the Christian concept of a Sabbath observance is an absolute walk in the park compared to Judaism. I will also say, today's world - of over-busyness; fewer boundaries between the work week and Sunday, or office space and home space; stores open on Sundays - makes observing any kind of Sabbath more challenging than in days gone by.

As for "What specific activities or habits would make Sunday a day of rest for me," and what I could refrain from doing or do differently: for starters, because I'm in the music ministry, often playing at Sunday morning Mass, it is already sort of a work day. Not completely, but yes, I do have responsibilities outside of myself.

What I try to do is limit any kind of business dealings, which isn't entirely possible, but it is something I strive for. Being in business for myself - fielding calls for my rental property or my photography business occasionally intrudes on my Sabbath. I recently changed my rental turnover day from Sunday to Saturday, both so I can pursue my music ministry as well as abstain from hard labor. I often try to treat myself to something totally indulgent, like working on a favorite photo or house project; something just for me on Sunday. I do find myself longing, sometimes for a real Shabbat - a day of emptiness - but that is an endeavor that, for me, anyway, is more difficult thaמ working eight hours of hard labor. The interesting thing about doing nothing, though, is even though it feels lazy and decadent, I wake up the next day refreshed and renewed and able to accomplish much more than I would be able to without taking a time out.

I must redouble my efforts to make Sunday restful and holy: take a walk, visit a friend, lie on the couch and watch a movie or read a book?

Lord, help me break my addiction to busyness.

February 22 - Lent, Day 10 - Paradise Lost

February 21 - Lent, Day 9 - Jesus, the New Adam

February 20 - Lent, Day 8 - Remember to Rest

Totally ensconced and immersed for past three days with three babies, age three and under (not complaining); barely time to brush my teeth, never mind write in journals. Soon.

February 19 - Lent, Day 7 - Made in the Image of God

Dr. Hahn's questions for today: Are there areas in my life that need to be conformed to Christ's image? What step can I take during this Lent to create this change?

February 18 - Lent, Day 6 - The Sacredness of Human Life

Dr. Hahn's questions for today: Who in my life needs to hear how important and sacred life is? How could I make them feel true worth?

One of my grown kids, in response to an accident that injured his hand - though most of his recovery has been miraculous, and certainly the accident could have been truly catastrophic - is very much down in the dumps and seems to have lost his perspective on life. One aspect of his recovery will be challenging, and this has gotten him down. I try to encourage him, but sometimes listening to and meeting a person where he is at is the most helpful, while maintaining my own optimism and faith (and trying to conceal my heart that breaks for him).

Lord, please give me strength to support the people I love; to not be brought down by the darkness that sometimes surrounds me; to stay connected to your reality. You are my light and my salvation.

February 17 - Lent, Day 5 - From Chaos to Cosmos

"In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth" (Genesis 1:1). God also instituted a place in which to commune with him directly.
Our Lady Star of the Sea, Oak Bluffs, Massachusetts.


Dr. Hahn's questions for today: What ways have I allowed myself to be influenced by the world's thinking? Where am I tempted to think I am self-sufficient, having no need of God?

When I listen to or watch or read the daily news, exposing myself to its constant barrage of doom and gloom - I forget that God is in charge. I forget that I subscribe to another reality, a reality that transcends the daily, worldly chatter that would have me believe that war, brokenness, tragedy, and death are the final words.

When I am tempted to skip Mass, thinking, "It's a cold, snowy day; I'm so cozy here; there's always tomorrow," thinking that somehow my memory of my last Mass, my thoughts of God (and somewhat unfocused prayers) are enough, I am putting God on the back burner. Not completely, but listen, either the sacraments are real and make a difference, or they do not. If not, why bother at all, ever? If so, why put them off? Yes, God is everywhere. But one thing I learned at the end of my Jewish journey, when I had no community, no pulpit, no pew - is that having a real connection to God: taking my faith beyond my imaginings and vague recollections and self-interpretations - subjecting myself to a mish-mosh of popular culture/facebook cutesy sayings and questionable theology - makes all the difference in the world. There's a reason that the Church has written into its instructions Holy Days of Obligation (so too in the Jewish faith, God instructs the Jews to observe the Sabbath and to assemble at certain times of the year); clearly, if left to our own devices, we are left to wander in the desert, meandering hither and yon, victims of the world's opinions and trends and fancies and some vague recollection of the faith we learned as children, but not connecting with anything with any real power or any real substance to sink our teeth into.

Dear God: thank you for leading me home. Please help me to remember to never leave you and your Sacramental Church ever again.

February 16 - Lent, Day 4 - Contracts and Covenants

Today's question: Do I treasure my brothers and sisters in the faith? What could I do today to express my love for a fellow believer?

Yes, I think I do. My faith is the culmination of years of searching for my father, healing, and wholeness; for my father's family (that turned out to be enormous - like a small tribe). I am profoundly aware, when I am at church, that I am with my family, that these are "my people."

I express my love for fellow believers when I donate my time and talent in the music ministry; or when I take a young friend who's thinking of becoming Catholic to Mass with me; or, when I'm out and about in public, if I recognize someone from church, or recognize (by way of jewelry or or words spoken) that a stranger is a fellow Catholic - I feel a special kinship and kindness towards that person. I also have a sense that I am in this faith family for life, "for better or worse" (especially as someone who tried life outside the family for a period of time).

(Short entry today so I can catch a ferry to go and pick up my daughter-in-law and two of my grandbabies.)

February 15 - Lent, Day 3 - Temporal Loss-Eternal Gain

Dr. Hahn asks today, Is there clutter in my life that I've been clinging to? What could I do to simplify my life and sharpen my eternal focus?

The photo above is of my dining room in its present state, and depicts the process of reorganizing after my move from Brookline this past spring; a process of consolidating two storage closets (three if you count the fact that some of this stuff will go into storage in my Plantingfield Way house).

I hate clutter. I literally cannot start my work day until my space is clean and organized (OCD? ADHD? or simply delay tactics?). After many years living in a home cluttered with kids, pets, baseball bats, shoes everywhere, laundry I couldn't keep up with, I luxuriate in living alone in a peaceful, organized, pet-hair-free home, and live close to the adage, "A place for everything and everything in its place."

While the above photo is a depiction of my physical clutter (that has to be dealt with today, in preparation for my grandchildrens' imminent week-long visit; this room, God willing, will be in perfect order by the end of the morning), I think that what Dr. Hahn is referring to is the mental clutter - the busyness - that prevents us from entering the stillness of God's presence.

Here is just a partial list of the clutter of my life:

Two houses to maintain (mostly alone - repairs, renovations, upkeep).
Cameras that require maintenance.
Phones, and devices that require monitoring (I have three devices with which to check my e-mail or Facebook page), all with batteries that need to be charged.
Many instruments that need to be played and practiced and maintained.
Many more songs to write and to learn.
Many interests: sewing, weaving, knitting, building, creating, gardening, surfing, walking.
Photos to take, edit, organize, and print.
Book ideas.
The news media that fills my mind with mostly useless garbage and fosters fear rather than faith.
A Facebook stream that fills my mind with mostly useless and trivial garbage; rarely edifying. Add: too many people's psyches to monitor.
Being accountable to and enjoying the company of friends and family.

Along the lines of the discipline I developed living as a Jew, observing the Sabbath every week - clearing the slate of all work, worry, and worldly thoughts for twenty-five hours (this is every bit as difficult as it sounds) - taught me how to create Sabbath moments, or hours; a way to compartmentalize my life, to be able to say, "During this time period, I am only doing ___________, and nothing else." Simplifying my life and sharpening my eternal focus will certainly call on my skill in creating Sabbath moments.

Lord, I pray to remember to create Sabbath moments, to empty my mind of everything except You.

February 14 - Lent, Day 2 - Divine Discipline

Dr. Hahn's question for today: What additional sacrifice can I make today to affirm my desire to be disciplined this Lent?


Being Jewish for twelve years taught me nothing, if not discipline: the discipline to separate meat from milk, meat utensils from dairy utensils, and purchasing (and eating) only kosher food and household items (including plastic wrap and dish soap); the discipline to keep an even higher level of kashrut during the eight days of Passover, including scouring my home, every square inch in preparation and eating no wheat or leaven; the discipline of lighting the Sabbath candles every Friday night and abstaining from doing almost anything for 25 hours; the discipline of fasting on Yom Kippur, and much more.

Lately I've been wondering about how much discipline I have. Being on a somewhat free-lance schedule, working mostly from home, is not conducive to a living a disciplined life, I find. How many days do I have every intention of accomplishing X, Y, and Z, and by 2pm realize I haven't even started on X? How many nights do I not even bother to eat dinner until 9:30 pm? Or sometimes, simply call a couple of beers and a bag of chips dinner? How many times during the course of the day do I need to check my (evil, time-wasting-worse-than-cigarette-addiction) Facebook page for some vital message?

I will say, though, I have been very disciplined in getting myself to daily Mass, missing few mornings since June. Even mornings when I really don't want to go out (most), I make myself, and am always glad when I have gotten myself up and out the door; glad to be hearing holy and edifying words and receiving Communion, glad to be outside of my own space, glad to be seeing friends. Having someplace to go every morning is not a bad thing - almost like having a real job, I guess (but better, because then I get to come home and get involved with my own projects).

So, coming into Lent for the first time in twelve years, I now bring with me my Jewish background of discipline and structure and order, and I must say - I welcome it. Someone posted onto Facebook yesterday, "I've decided that for Lent this year I'm going to do something positive for the world instead of giving something up. I don't think that giving up chocolates or red meat will make me a better person." A statement that was applauded by her peers (30-somethings), and to my mind is indicative of where we are in our culture; a culture that says, "I'm going to do things my way. 2,000 years of tradition is outdated and stupid; I've got a better idea." I think that doing something positive for the world is a great idea, but is only half of the equation. Giving something up - trite as it may seem - is a physical, muscle-memory-building act that builds character as well as unites us to the Sacrifice on the cross, which is what this season is all about.

I have given up beer - wish me luck, as there are few things I love at the end of the day than a beer or two - giving up beer for the eight days of Passover was a walk in the park compared to these six weeks. I am also throwing in speaking disparagingly of people and swearing, for extra measure.

The good news is, I don't have to do it alone - all of this will be possible with God's help (I even found the discipline to write in this journal for the second day in a row even though I have 100 things pressing in on me).

Dear God, I pray for the strength to be disciplined for these next 39 days - and beyond.

February 13 - Lent, Day 1 - God's Unfailing Love

Ash Wednesday. Inspired by Scott Hahn's Lenten Reflections; A Father Who Keeps His Promise, a daily reader for the six weeks of Lent with a question at the end of each short chapter, I will attempt to record my own Lenten journey for the next forty days, here. The first question is, do I have the discipline to do this? Discipline, in itself, being a key to the Lenten journey in general, I suppose. So yeah, along with the thing I've given up, this journal is part of my offering for Lent.

These thoughts, along with the music I'm preparing for the 12 noon Liturgy of the Word, and again at 6pm - even though there are many other things I could and should be doing today - are my Ash Wednesday meditation and preparation for Lent. May these offerings be acceptable in your sight, Oh Lord.

Dr. Hahn's question for today: How has my earthly father shaped my understanding of God as Father? Do I believe that my heavenly Father loves me with an unfailing love?

Wow, great question. My earthly father - or lack of - has shaped my entire life, including and especially my understanding of God as Father. Indeed, one of the Hebrew names I chose for myself is Aviya, which means "God is my Father." (Avi: my father; Ya: a name for God) This name sums up my entire life; is both the question and the answer to my life. Coming into this world with no father, essentially being born with a broken heart, caused me to search for healing and meaning, which led me to find my Father in Heaven. I now know two things: one: God has always been with me (as it says many times in scripture, God has a special place in his heart for - and admonishes us, also, to care for - the widow, the orphan, and the fatherless), and for most of my adult life was the only father I knew; two: so also has my earthly father always been with me and indeed is very much a part of who I am. The latter knowledge having been understood only in recent years, aided by a special letter I found in which he expresses his love for me; visiting his grave (where he communicated directly to me); and the most miraculous occurrence of all: having been found, this past October - on my birthday - by his gigantic Italian family, a most wonderful, healing experience that continues daily as more and more of us cousins find each other (my father had 62 first cousins).

So yes, having no earthly father led me to my Heavenly Father, for which, after all is said and done (and many parts of this journey were not particularly fun), I am very grateful. Aviya: God is my Father; and yes, both of my fathers love me very much.

PS: As an aside, a few months ago I went up to Norwell to play at an Irish session with friends at The Tinker's Son. Peter and Pamela Smith graciously opened their home to me. I had a wonderful night's sleep in their guest bedroom, but when I got home that night I realized that the Miraculous Medal I carry in my jeans pocket was missing. The last place I saw it was that morning at the Smith's. I described it to them and asked if they'd found it. No luck. Still, I was positive it was in that house. The next time I used my mainland car I searched diligently - under and inside every possible surface - for the medal, thinking perhaps it had fallen out of my pocket while driving. The next time I stayed at the Smith's, I searched every square inch of the guest bedroom - to no avail. Okay, no big deal. It's a piece of metal - but blessed by the priest, with supposed miraculous properties; a medal that had some sentimental value because not only did my (supposedly non-religious) daughter, Maria, wear it twice while flying between the US and Europe, it's one of the few objects I have that links me to my devoutly Catholic years 12-15 years ago. I'm not even sure where it came from, to be honest. I think it was a gift. Anyway - last night I received a message from the Smiths: "We found your medallion..." Yes, I knew it was in that house. And now, the eve of Ash Wednesday it turns up. This is a sign, I believe, for good (yes, I was eventually going to purchase another one, but I will be very happy to have this one back); a miracle.