OFFERING THE PAIN OF DISEASE AS AN ASCETIC PRACTICE

 

Part of a Christian's spiritual program has, for centuries, usually included the imposition of some sort of painful, uncomfortable or inconvenient practice that imitates the suffering of Christ and thereby draws us closer to Him. Christ's pains were taken on purposely, willfully, in reparation for the sins of the world. He certainly did not merit the terrible punishments he received. He offered them to the Father in order to atone for our sorry selves.

Also, to the Catholic mind, humans are body and mind BOTH. We are not spirits who occupy a body for a time and then dispose of it when we die. IN FACT, we are promised that we will rise in our glorified bodies at the second coming of Christ. Our bodies are not awful things. We were all made in the likeness and image of our beautiful Lord but, due to the fall of mankind, the body's demands have become disordered and require tempering and balance.

Thus, part of the purpose of penitential practices is to gain control over the selfish and pleasure-loving body and ego and keep it in proper balance with our spiritual selves. Ascetic practices require and build the discipline necessary to the task. In fact, the instrument with which one whips oneself with cords, made from leather or rope, that is still used in some monastic communities, is itself called "the discipline."  Also a "scourge." 

John the Baptist wearing a garment of camel hair.

In the Middle Ages, pious people might wear a hair shirt under their clothes so that all the day long their skin would be pricked and irritated by it. Some of the saints recommend praying for hours with arms outstretched, in imitation of that agonizing position that Christ was made to take while nailed to the cross.

If one does not know the purpose of these practices and instruments of penance, it can seem odd to the modern mind, but I am not prepared to launch into a detailed explanation of the need for ascetic practice because I am usually writing for a community of people who are generally aware of the basics of Catholicism and monastic life. If you have stumbled across my blog, however, and you are not familiar, I will be happy to refer you to some excellent articles that explain these things. Just send me a comment here or find me on Facebook and I will be happy to speak with you. It need not be a public conversation, as I do not publish the comments I receive.

All sorts of things are considered penitential. Giving alms to the poor, for instance, is considered a penitential practice. Any time we give of ourselves, it involves some sacrifice on our part, and it can be considered to be a penance, especially if done intentionally.

20 years ago, when I became so disabled that I was no longer physically able to work outside the home, I decided to live as an independent monastic, in the tradition of a hermit, since my circumstances forced me into a semi-solitary state. My hermitage has to be located in a fairly urban area because my disabilities require medical supervision and care. The situation of an "urban hermit" is not the traditional setup, obviously, but the location of my apartment is somewhat rural, and it works for me.

Being physically disabled is not considered to be an ideal state in which to embark upon monastic life. It is a difficult life that requires a lot of discipline and a degree of penance, depending on the order one joins. I would never be accepted into a monastic institution in my current state or age of life, as I would be an increasingly inconvenient member of the community. 

In fact, 40 years ago, before I converted to Christianity, I was already beginning to experience some physical problems when I was a nun in a Hindu convent. Even then, I found it extremely difficult to carry out the many daily hours of physical labor that were required. I was often on the cooking schedule, for instance, making the one daily meal for the community of 12, with little or no help, and I remember having to endure quite a lot of physical pain because of all the standing. In fact, it injured me, and I spent a few weeks in a wheel chair, simply from the stress of it, as the disabilities from which I currently suffer were making themselves known at that time. This was inconvenient to the community and caused some of the women to become irate. It was a distressing situation that most monastic institutions are careful to avoid, when they can. 

Me, on the left, when I was in the Hindu Convent,

sitting with friends and the swami

If I had not left to get baptized and convert to Catholicism, I do not know how long they would have allowed me to stay, considering my poor physical condition. My intellectual and spiritual gifts were not in high demand. Half of the nuns were already seniors who were occupying the few jobs that were primarily of an intellectual nature. Their need was for young, physically able people who could keep us fed and the house clean and everything in good working order. This is not an unusual state of affairs for a monastic institution of any religion.

The nuns, eating our main meal of the day

(with the swami visiting)

We meditated a minimum of 3 hours per day, which was a delight, but the newer nuns were also required to do all the menial labor jobs, such as house cleaning, cooking, and that sort of thing. We also performed the daily worship services, which involved some gardening, hiking, and flower preparation. These positions were avoided by the senior members, but I enjoyed the quiet physicality, even if it did hurt my body.

I have always been a voracious reader, and while I was in that convent, I read all the books that were sold in the book store and our catalog by mail. The books by and about the  Catholic mystics and contemplatives, such as St. Teresa of Avilla and St. John of the Cross, Jane de Chantal and St. Francis de Sales tugged at my heart strings.

Saint Jane de Chantal

I read the Desert "fathers" and "mothers," as well as the modern writers, such as Thomas Merton. I couldn't get enough of the mystics! I realized that Catholicism had struck my heart in a way that Vedanta never could. So I left the convent, became Christian, and went back to work in a secular job as a legal secretary. But I always missed monastic life.

Therefore, when I had to retire early, it quickly occurred to me that I could replicate convent life for myself in my little urban apartment and live as an urban hermit, dedicated to God, and live a contemplative life, similar to what I had experienced in the Hindu convent, the schedule and setup of which had been modeled on Catholic contemplative orders. I missed monastic life very much and was thrilled at the idea that I might return to it, in my own fashion.

Saint Anthony the Great - Hermit

My inability to do physical labor would not inconvenience anyone but myself. Keeping a monastic schedule would prove to be difficult, of course. The older I became, the worse the illnesses grew. My Rule of Life had to adhere to the spiritual principles and aims of a monastic hermit life while at the same time accommodating my increasingly inconvenient physical condition. It took some time to come to grips with my limitations and to accept the fact that, like Brother Lawrence, who practiced the presence of God, I am not one of those "high class" monastics whose practice appears to be perfectly regulated to the typical standard.

With regard to my prayer schedule, I adjusted that to accommodate the fact that simply caring for oneself, without help, takes a terribly long time. My solution for that was to be flexible about the timing of my formal prayers and to "pray without ceasing" at all times of the day, through various methods. (I have dealt with this in my blog post about MY RULE OF LIFE, which you may find HERE)

The Jesus Prayer is dear to my heart, and I pray it throughout the day:

"Lord, 

Jesus Christ,

Son of God,

Have mercy upon me,

a poor sinner."

In the early stages of organizing my hermitage, I realized that, rather than having to artificially create pain or inconvenience to fulfill the penitential aspect of the life, I could simply make use of the terrible chronic pain and disfunction which I suffer naturally. I offer it to God in reparation for my own sins and the sins of the world. 

Since I live in an urban setting, albeit close to a rural area and the Rio Grande River, I do have neighbors and, although I do not seek them out for entertainment, I work hard to be helpful to them, when needed. These are small offerings, but they are intentional. 

In these ways, I have transformed, in my mind, what could be considered a personal disaster into a blessed life for which I am grateful. I am a living offering to the Lord, even though my living space has few of the accoutrements enjoyed by monastics living in traditional monastic quarters.

In the beginning of my hermit life, I was more physically able, and I regularly attended mass, but I am not longer able to do that, so I stream the Mass from various providers on the internet. I have no real spiritual support from my parish. I was finally able to get someone to bring me the eucharist at home, but it took a couple years of calling them and begging for it. 

UPDATE (5/26/25): Receiving the Eucharist at home did not last long. A few months into reception of the Eucharist, the woman who brought the Eucharist turned out to be suffering from something which caused her to experience bouts of terrifyingly violent explosions of anger. While driving back from an errand one day, with me in the car with her, instead of talking to me, she screamed and yelled and "talked to" other drivers on the road. She was irate at the way everyone else was driving. 

Suddenly, she stopped the car - in the middle of the street, with me in it - so that she could walk to the car behind us, stand outside it and yell at the driver of that vehicle! It was nerve-wracking for me, especially since I am particularly sensitive to unrestrained or savage scenes.

At my home, she set in on me with that same anger. I was sitting in my recliner, and she loomed above me - standing over me and yelling at me. I was afraid she was going to hit me or do something else violent. I did not allow her to return after that.

When I told the Deacon manager of homebound ministry what had happened, he told me he did not believe me because he knew she would never do something like that and that he would not be sending anyone else. His manner was cold and unfeeling. 

Telling me that I am a liar does not seem like a wise or Christian thing to do. It demonstrated to me that he is yet another person who is faking his religious sentiments. There is a lot of that sort of thing in America at this time. For some people, religion is a social construct and/or a manner in which some people find a position of power or prestige. Others find social connections by which they telegraph legitimacy and respectability. The love of Christ is absent.

The hard-bitten and cruel attitudes of Donald Trump and his minions are reflected in the attitudes and behavior of these people. If you are poor with no family and have nothing to bring to the parish, or if you are not a devotee of Trump, you are shunned.

But the more I am mistreated by these people, the kinder The Lord is to me. The vast lacuna of Christian friendship that the parish leaves behind is filled to overflowing with God, the Blessed Mother, the angels and the saints. I am especially blessed with many sainted ancestors in my family tree, such as Saint Margaret of Scotland and Saint Olga of Kiev "Equal to the Apostles."

Not all parishes are cold and hostile places - but enough are there to present a challenge when trying to make a connection with The Church when one is disabled and homebound.

"Anger is a kind of temporary madness"

~ St. Basil the Great ~

Some Catholic parishes shun and mistreat the poor and needy, disabled and senior who reach out to them, while at the same time they express wonder at why their membership is dwindling.

At any rate, you cannot live this life and be emotionally needy. As a modern-day hermit, one has to be confident in one's connection with The Lord and His love for you because the parish will not likely reach out to you unless you were well known to them prior to becoming disabled and/or you have a lot of family that belongs to the parish. Every community has its own personality, of course. I am just saying that lack of spiritual support from your church family may be one of those painful things you will have to offer up, if you embark on this life, and, even if you have no interest in becoming a hermit, disability and isolation may force you into that position, so you might as well find a way to enjoy it and embrace the vocation that has been thrust on you. God brings all things to the good for those who believe.

Saint Melania the Elder

as a Hermit

Another challenging situation to offer up is that growing disabilities make it more and more difficult to make one's hermitage look like a place of prayer. I have no help at home, even though approved for 28 hours of housekeeping services a week by Medicaid because there are simply not enough people available to do this kind of work. Every once in a while, someone is offered by the agency, but I have had to eventually reject these people, as most of them have had domestic problems that interfere or they were drug addicts, alcoholics, or generally unreliable.

I am learning to accept things as they are and to be grateful for everything, even though there are dishes piled up in the sink. Art projects and rosary makings, meant to supplement the income, present a colorful, happy mess on the art table. The mail has piled up because I am now blind in one eye, and it takes a long time to slog through it. The floor needs sweeping. But, in my mind and heart, I am in Heaven with God, our Blessed Mother, and all the saints and angels.  I am surrounded by the entire Heavenly Court, singing the Lord's praises and enjoying the consolations that being near The Lord bestows.

I predict that we are going to have a growing number of senior Catholics turning to this kind of life, as they grow older. Baby boomers are retiring at the rate of about 10,000 people PER DAY, many of them in fragile or ill health, and it has occurred to me that all of those who are Catholic could do the same as what I am doing. There are SO MANY resources in the forms of books and videos, YouTube talks, and  streaming mass that the guidance is available, even if you do not have a single human person leading you down this path. The ascetic practices become a natural outgrowth of one's normal life as a senior person.

Living as a hermitess is also considered to be, in itself, a penitential type of life. Many baby boomers find themselves alone at the end of their lives. Perhaps this vocation is meant to be.

Saint Marina

as a Hermit

Whether you construct your life as an "urban hermit" or a wife and mother, or a single working person, the method of adopting the intentional offering of life's sufferings as a spiritual practice can be used by anyone. You don't need a hair shirt or a scourge. Offer up all of the naturally occurring sufferings! In this way, all of it becomes spiritual currency. 

The emptiness of your life will be filled by Christ, His Blessed Mother, the angels and the saints, as it is mine.

God bless us all. 

Silver Rose

GOD BRINGS ALL THINGS TO THE GOOD FOR THOSE THAT BELIEVE

About halfway through the month, I typically run low on food. There are things to eat in the cupboard, but I have to be creative sometimes, and I often have to eat things I'm not particularly keen to have at that moment. I liken it to a type of perpetual fasting and, in that light, it becomes a blessing. Fasting as a method of sacrificing the ego, its will, and its constant need to be fed, enables one to grow closer to God. It has been continually advocated in the Judeo Christian world, as well as in other religions, for thousands of years. God brings all things to the good for those that believe - even when something looks bad at the outset  - even when something is uncomfortable or downright painful.

Tonight I was pondering dinner, when I noticed that I have a lot of half-and-half leftover, as I have reduced my consumption of tea over the last few months. Calculating that the half-and-half was going to go bad before I could use it all if I only used it for tea, I realized that I also had the other items necessary to make alfredo sauce with chopped walnuts. Sunday dinner was delicious. Another thing brought to the good that, on the outset, appeared to be somewhat sad.

If I stop to complain about whatever is going wrong, I may miss the good that the Lord wants to bring out of it and into my life. If I look at the deceptively empty refrigerator and become focused on THAT, it may never occur to me to become creative and make a masterpiece.

The last five years or so have been rough and getting rougher. Someone had me written out of my father's will after he got Alzheimer's. My father died, my uncle died, my son died, my dog died, my cat died. My relationship to the church I loved was destroyed by a callow young priest who ridiculed my weight in front of a group of people, pantomiming how funny it would be if he couldn't pull me out of a chair because my bottom is so big. He disparaged my disability status. He went on to harass me every time he got me alone, and I had to leave the church - the only Byzantine Church in New Mexico. My health has gotten worse and my illnesses have multiplied. Among other things, I am going blind, very slowly, from macular degeneration. My inability to find an appropriate place to live has been documented in other blog posts.

When I became disabled, friends of many years dropped me immediately. The few family who had the resources to help me picked a fight or found some bogus "reason" to be angry with me, giving themselves an excuse not to behave like the Christians they claim to be. They say that family is all one can count on, but but some families are not good. Some families hate God and goodness, living only for their own comfort.

It may never become apparent to me exactly what sort of good the Lord plans to bring out of all this pain. The good may not be realized during my lifetime. It may never make sense to me. It may never make sense to you, but sometime before my story comes to a close, I need to send out a reassuring message, and that is simply this: The Lord is bringing all these things to the good - for me and for others.

This is the blessing of living the Catholic faith, being a member of the church founded by Jesus - even if some of the priests are horridly broken and cruel people - even though I cannot get anyone from the bishop's office to return my phone calls about my vocation - even though our dear Papa is sometimes hard to understand - even though family and friends have left me twisting, by myself, at the end of a short rope - even though I have been suffering continuous pain FOR YEARS. I am being blessed.

Some people mistakenly believe that if we live the Christian faith well, Jesus will reward us with a comfortable life. That is not what he promised. This is what He said:

"Do not think that I came to send peace upon earth:

I came not to send peace, but the sword.

For I came to set a man at variance against his father,

and the daughter against her mother,

and the daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law.

And a man's enemies are they of his own household.

He that loveth father or mother more than me, 

is not worthy of me;

and he that loveth son or daughter more than me,

is not worthy of me.

And he that taketh not up his cross, and followeth

me, is not worthy of me."

Matthew 10: 34-38

Christianity is the hardest gig you will ever do. It isn't rainbows, lollipops and unicorns, as some people believe. It isn't warm and cuddly. It isn't about prosperity. It is the sword and the cross, just as Jesus promised.

May we all be blessed.

Silver Rose Parnell

Copyright (c) 2017

All rights reserved.

GETTING OUT OF BED HAS BECOME AN ART

Sunset at the hermitage

In the sunset of my life, I am finding the simplest things most difficult. Getting in and out of bed, for instance, is a production, which is probably why I sleep so often in my recliner. I get a much better, much deeper and more restorative sleep, however, if I sleep in the bed, a bed, I might add, that cost me a fortune and took two years to pay for.

The problem is that, if I DO get a good night's sleep or 8 or 10 hours straight through, I wake with my lower spine and hips frozen in pain if I move. If I just lay there, I am alright. The mornings are beautiful and I can pray the time away, but at some time I have to get up, and this is when the morning comedy show begins.

All the icons appeared to be staring at me while I tried to wriggle myself out of bed one morning. The night before, I had finally put together a rolling bed cart so I could bring the computer into the bedroom on some evenings when the Pope is engaged in some special event and I want to see it on EWTN at 3:00 in the morning or whatever odd time of the early morning it had to be shown, due to time differences around the world. It is an inconvenience, but there is something wonderful about being included in an event as it happens.

The cart was blocking the side of the bed which I customarily use to crawl out in the morning, but it didn't occur to me that I might not be able to get out of bed on the other side.

Feeling very much like Kafka's cockroach, I wriggled and squirmed, trying to find a position that would allow me to exit the bed without wrenching my back and causing even more damage to it. It took a good ten minutes before my feet found the floor, finally, and I began the customary production involved in straightening my back.

It is on day's like this that I am grateful to be living alone, with no one to see my comedic stylings in my pajamas...no one except the Lord, of course.

Please pray for me, as I pray for you.

Silver Rose

MOTHER TERESA'S SHOES

Mother Teresa of Calcutta, kneeling on the hard floor, praying

Sometimes when I read about the privations that saints have endured, I despair of ever becoming one. While the saints are deliberately choosing pains and sufferings, I am doing everything I can to avoid the pains and to get my needs met.

Currently I am having problems with severe osteo arthritis throughout my body, including growths in my feet and fallen arches.  I have always had problems with my feet, as they are misshapen.  They are very wide over the metatarsals but narrow in the heel.  One foot is an inch longer than the other.  I've had terrible foot pain for the last 53 years.

Doctors, podiatrists and shoe experts have been telling me that I need to have shoes made specifically for me throughout my life, but I have never been able to afford it, so I have tried to "make do" with different shoe styles, including some versions of Birkenstocks and the vaguely affordable Crocs. Now that Crocs has changed their styles to conform to a new, slimmer line with a harder plastic shell, I can no longer wear them.

Walking has become a nightmarish trial.  Every step feels as if someone has taken a hammer to my feet, knees, hip and back.  Even when my legs are elevated, I experience a sharp, pounding pain in the left foot and ankle which I have broken 5 times since I was 11 years old.  Disfigured with masses of twisted purple and blue veins, along with large areas of swelling, my legs look almost as bad as they feel, despite the recent loss of 47 or more pounds.

Mother Teresa's feet

Looking at Mother Teresa of Calcutta's feet, I can only imagine the agony she must have endured with long hours on her feet, caring for the poor and dying, wearing shoes that not only did not fit her but also twisted her toes into bizarre conformations.

Mother Teresa of Calcutta's foot, shod in old sandal

I read a story some time ago about how Mother Teresa would choose her sandals when she needed them.  From the donation box, she would pick the most worn out, ugliest and poorest made sandals for herself.  While I am complaining about not getting my needs met with regard to shoes, I have her example before me: a woman so self-effacing and humble that she picked the worst of the worst for herself, even though it likely caused her tremendous physical pain and most certainly caused malformation of her bones.  We can see the twisting of the toes.

Lacking the fortitude and saintliness of Mother Teresa, I cannot even aspire to her example.  I just can't.  The physical pain is a huge distraction and presents a sizable limitation in my mobility.

While I can't follow her example, I can learn from it, though.  Certainly, her example is a lesson in humility.  Her choice to emulate the poorest of the poor, the most humble and vulnerable of humanity, is also a great lesson in gratitude and an adjustment in perspective.  No matter how much pain and privation I am enduring at this point in time, it is nothing compared to the plight of many thousands of people in the world today.

If I do manage to get some shoes made for me, I will remember to walk a few miles for the sake of others and in service to the poorest of the poor.  I will remember to be grateful, once again, for having been born in a country with a fairly high standard of living.  I will remind myself to keep rein on my ego and not let it get carried away with itself.    Please help me with your prayers.

God bless us all.

Silver "Rose" Parnell
(c) 2015

SAINT LUTGARDIS AND LOVE OF ENEMY

Saint Lutgardis in prayer

Today marks the death anniversary of Saint Lutgardis, who was a nun who died on this date (June 16) in 1246.  I admit that this lovely saint has little to do with the topic of loving one's enemies, but she is the saint I've chosen for the day, while the Gospel Reading of the day deals with loving one's enemies and praying for those who persecute us.

There is a whole long list of saints who are honored today.  That's the way it is for most days of the calendar year.  There are far more than 365 saints, so they all have to share.  I picked St. Lutgardis (sometimes Lutgarda or Luthgard, depending on the language of the country in which you live.) I had not heard of her before, and I am making an effort to broaden my knowledge of the saints, so she was my choice.  She was also a nun from the age of about 12.  I love to learn about other nuns, as it inspires me to cling more fervently to my own unique vocation.

The holy people we remember today are:

St. Benno
Bl. Guy Vignotelli
St. Aurelian
St. Berthaldus
St. Tychon
St. Colman McRhoi
St. Felix & Maurus
St. Luthgard (Lutgardis, Lutgarda)
St. John Francis Regis
St. Aureus
Bl. William Greenwood
St. Cettin
St. Curig
St. Ferreolus & Ferrutio
St. Quiriacus and Julitta

If you have some curiosity about the other saints, Catholic.org has a wonderful website with extensive information and a great search feature that allows you to find the saints either by date or by name.  The link for that page is HERE.

There was a time in history when ladies had only two choices in life.  You either married or you joined a convent.  Generally speaking, it was rather shameful to be a spinster living at home, but, as with all generalizations, this was not always true.  Lutgardis's father had managed to squander her dowry in a bad investment scheme which meant she could not marry.  At the age of 12, he sent her off to a convent, despite her having no monastic vocation to speak of. In fact, she came and went as she pleased and entertained all visitors she wanted, both male and female.  Then something happened in the way of a vision which set her firmly on the path to heaven.  She grew more and more devout, had visions, a type of stigmata, and levitated during prayer.

You will find her entire story HERE.

The thing I found most inspiring was that she began with no interest in God whatsoever, but ended up becoming a great mystic and saint, which speaks to the importance of teaching one's children the faith.  Often times, a child will express disinterest in a topic, skill, or way of life, but they have no way of knowing if they are interested until and unless you introduce them to it.  Exposure to a thing is necessary.  I think it very odd when someone says that they are not going to teach their child about God but will "let them choose" when they're 18.  Let them choose based on WHAT information, I want to know!

Saint Lutgardis gives me hope that, even if we start out as vain, superficial people, we can grow and improve and "become perfect" as our "father in heaven is perfect," which brings me to today's Gospel reading.

Matthew 5:43-48

(43)  You have heard how it was said, you will love your neighbor and hate your enemy,

(44)  But I say this to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you;

(45)  so that that you may be children of your Father in heaven, for he causes his sun to rise on the bad as well as the good and sends down rain to fall on the upright and the wicked alike.

(46)  For if you love those who love you, what reward will you get?  Do not even the tax collectors do as much?

(47)  And if you save your greetings for your brothers, are you doing anything exceptional?

(48)  Do not even the gentiles do as much?  You must therefore be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect.

It occurred to me that I have, in the past, prayed for people who have done me grave harm in one way or the other, but it has been quite a while since I prayed for those people.  I have forgiven them and I did pray for them for some time, at least until it was fixed in my brain that those people had been forgiven, but I wonder if Jesus intended that we continue to pray for our enemies, over and over again?  How much is enough?  I am unsure about this aspect of things.  I am grateful that this reading came to me today so that I would have that little nudge that would inspire me to examine an important aspect of my prayer life.  I'll have to ponder this one a bit.

In the meantime, I offer this translation of St. Lutgardis's Heavenly Court: ST. LUTGARDIS'S "HEAVENLY COUR"

The doctor called today.  The latest tests reveal that my illness is still a mystery.  He will call again tomorrow with information about the next steps to take.

Despite being in the middle of an intense pain episode, I made a big pot of vegetarian soup today, with organic tomatoes, kidney beans, red onion, garlic, olive oil, celery, new spring potatoes, and just enough cayenne to warm the mouth.  I put a little brown sugar in there also, to put a damper on the tang of the tomatoes.  I fed a couple neighbors in an impromptu, casual supper: me with my legs propped up on a big box with a pillow on top (my recliner is broken), one neighbor on my couch with a tray and another at the tiny white table in the middle of the living room.  I've lost the ability to socialize in a group, for the most part.  Having spent the last 11 years as a solitary, with very little company, silence has become my friend.  I do enjoy a conversation of substance, but those are sometimes very hard to find or generate.

Now that there is a dog in the house again, I am forced into a walking schedule, which I am assuming is good for anything that ails me.  I have yet to hear of an illness in which they tell you NOT to walk, even if walking makes you feel like someone is sticking hot pokers up your spine and in your kneecaps.  Anyway, it is time to walk the cutest dog in the world.  I'll pray for you while we stroll.

God bless us all.

Silver "Rose" Parnell
(c) 2015