THE CONTEMPLATIVE, MANUAL LABOR, AND PRAYER PROJECTS

Baby blankets and hats being prepared for donation

to the Gabriel Project at Project Defending Life

in Albuquerque, New Mexico

I just wanted to dash off a quick note for my other contemplative sisters and brothers with regard to the type of work one decides to do in the way of ministry or of making an income.

It is best to stick with what I call "manual labor," which doesn't have to mean you are out digging ditches.  As long as it is something that engages the body in rather routine tasks that do not involve much executive function of the brain, that will be suitable.

In the contemplative monasteries, they make candy and altar breads.  Some of them produce finely embroidered vestments.  I know one monastery that produces some awesome pumpkin bread.  Others make cheese and some even make wine.  Many grow a good deal of their own food.  We can take our example from the contemplative monasteries and convents and imitate their long-standing devotion to a simple life in which the hands are used for labor.

Something that occurs to me as being rather important is that most of these activities can be done in peace and silence.  I don't believe that a stock trader or a retail sales clerk would have an easy time of it, as far as developing a contemplative life.  Their jobs would pull them too far in another direction. Anyway, I am mostly speaking to the home-bound in my blog....the disabled and elderly who have the time and the quiet home life on which to capitalize.

Baby blankets and hats are one of my ministries.  The work is mostly repetitive, and with each stitch I can say a prayer for the welfare of the new baby being welcomed into the world.  Sometimes I listen to the rosary on EWTN and recite it along with Mother Angelica and her nuns.  Sometimes I wing it. I also paint, but I am having trouble getting back to that endeavor.

Anyway, if you choose a physical task like this, it is far easier to "pray unceasingly" than if you choose a more active ministry that requires interaction with other people or a lot of writing, research, typing, and that sort of thing.  The more involved you become with outside activities, the less you will be operating as a contemplative.  If you have a tendency toward loneliness and must be with people to feel alright, then the contemplative life is not for you.  We are communing with God at every opportunity we can snatch out of the jaws of time.

I don't mean to say that everyone should be a hermit. I do think we have to limit our interactions with the outside world and keep them within certain boundaries.  Each of you will have to decide what those are for yourself.

It is important to focus your prayer life also for, in addition to quietly spending time with the Lord in the practice of the presence of God and in strictly contemplative prayer, we are called to pray for the suffering world in many areas.  With so much going on in the world today, it is hard to know what to pray for.  It could be overwhelming.  I recommend having one primary prayer project that is a constant.  For me, it is the prayer that the Catholic and Orthodox Churches will resolve their longstanding rift and become one with each other again.  My prayer life is dedicated to that rather large request.  Not only does this give me a focus, but it gives me a PURPOSE as well.  This is important.

People will ask you to pray for them, and there will be transitory requests with which you can pepper the stew, so to speak.  Don't lose sight of your mission, however.  It will help you to stay more easily on the path.

I would be interested in hearing how you construct your contemplative life.  Feel free to comment and let me know.  Perhaps others will be interested also.

God bless you,

Silver Rose Parnell

GET BACK ON THE HAPPY HORSE

Every day when I wake up, I have to do my version of getting back on the horse.  The pains and disappointments of the previous day assault me and I have to throw them off and get back on the happy horse.  I grasp the wooden cross that lays on my chest while I sleep, and I remind myself of the promises of Jesus, the most excellent, happiest of news.  I smile and then I go to my shrine, cross myself and offer myself for the day, promising to do better, be better, incline myself better toward the Lord.  Then I turn on the altar lights and my day begins.  Directly after doing that this morning, I discovered a large, long piece of dog poop in my closet.

Even though I had walked that little dog at 6:00 in the morning, by the time I woke up at 10:00, he'd befouled my closet.  Clearly, the dog is not housebroken and, at 3 years old, it is doubtful I would be successful in training him.  If I lived in a house and had a doggie door, perhaps that would be the ticket, but I live in an apartment and I don't even have a fenced-in yard.  Anyway, he is the wrong dog for me.  I need a dog that will help me, not cause me extra anxiety.

After downing a strong mug of coffee, I took the little fellow back to the shelter.  I do my best not to dwell on the block of sadness at the bottom of my stomach.  Several people will be critical of my taking the pup back to the shelter.  They do not understand that the dog is not a pet for me.  It has a job.  It is a service animal.  Someone else WILL snatch him up.  Bringing him back was the right thing to do.

I was in a lot of pain today and downed two pain pills at once.  They barely made a dent in my pain level.  Some days are just like that.  The pain pills just don't work.  I settled into my crochet project; a baby blanket for the Gabriel Project at Project Defending Life, stopping now and then to load the washer and dryer, cleaning all the fabrics and pillows on which the dog had slept.  The cat was thrilled, and he flung himself across the freshly washed quilt that I arranged over the pink couch.

While I crochet, I say prayers for the baby that is going to use that blanket; prayers for a good life, a loving family, and a relationship with God.  I ask the Lord to be kind to the little one.  While I am doing the laundry or eating my lunch, however, I am coming to grips with the very real possibility that I may never be able to get a service animal.  I have to adjust my expectations.  So MANY things are outside the realm of possibility for a poor person!  I am so tired of the dwindling collection of available options of my life, but I must get over it and resign myself to the reality of the situation.  It is important to me to learn to gracefully accept the will of God, and not to do so with bitterness or sour feeling.  Plenty of people in the world are in far worse shape.  Get back on the happy horse!

I enjoy the beauty of the baby blanket growing between my fingers and I thank the Lord for the skill and the ability.  My carpal tunnel kicks in now and then, and I have to stop for a while, but it doesn't matter.  I am not on a schedule and I can't get fired.

I feel the absence of the dog's energy in the house, and I deliberately displace the empty feeling with the satisfaction of creating a beautiful blanket.  Back on the happy horse.

Silver Rose Parnell

THE HURRIEDER I GO, THE BEHINDER I GET

"SKIPPER"

Yesterday was stressful.  I had to let go of a toxic neighbor I had been helping for the last couple of years.  Some sort of mental illness makes this person hostile and aggressive, but oblivious to the effect of that behavior on other people.  After being exposed to it once too often this week, I had to put my foot down.  The whole episode was highly anxiety producing, especially since I was informed that my exertions on their behalf were not valued.  It can be frustrating when you try to minister to someone who doesn't notice the effort you are expending.  I wonder: if they don't notice the effort, do they actually receive the help you mean to give?

Last night, little Skipper slipped out of his collar and ran right into traffic on the main drag on which this apartment building sits.  Thanks be to God, he didn't get hit and then he ran back and circled around to the back door of my apartment.  I need to get him a proper harness.  I am thinking red plaid would be cute.  It will have to wait a couple weeks for the disability check.  (More about Skipper later.)

Last night, I heard from another friend that she had discussed getting a service dog for me with someone at the New Mexico service dog organization located in Santa Fe, about an hour and a half drive from me. They charge $6,150.00 for the dog and $75 for the application fee.  It generally takes about a year to a year and a half to get a trained animal.  There is no discount for low income clients.

It would cost me more than 4 months income to pay for a service dog myself.  Obviously, this is not going to happen.

Well meaning friends have lots of suggestions about who to call to try and wrangle a free dog or free training or both...or maybe a "deal" of some sort.  This is one of the reasons why my days are so full.  I spend a lot of time begging, searching, wrangling, researching: vainly trying to get my needs met.

I also need one of those scooters and a lift for my car, but Medicare will only pay for it if the doctor verifies that I need one for use IN my home.  Who can afford so much living space that they have room for one of those massive things?  Anyway, the scooters and car lifts are also thousands of dollars, evidently.

People often do not understand that being disabled is much more expensive than being able-bodied. The able-bodied do not need service dogs, scooters, housekeepers, cleaning ladies, delivery fees, medical equipment, special food, over-the-counter medicines, blah, blah, blah.

So, it doesn't look like I will get a proper service dog.  I do have a very small terrier I recently adopted in a fit of "oh, isn't he the most adorable thing you have ever SEEN?"  (See his picture, above.)  He is completely wrong as a service dog, and my doctor has suggested that I trade him in for something more appropriate, like a large standard poodle or Portuguese water dog.

My veterinarian has recommended that a standard poodle will best serve my needs, and that I should get one as a puppy so that it can be trained young.  I have researched that avenue also.  Poodle puppies range from $1,200 to $3,000.  Can you believe it?

I have asthma and bad allergies, so I need a dog that is hypoallergenic.  According to the AKC, there are not a lot of dogs that qualify.

So, if you have money, you complain about the prices, but you pay it and you get your needs met.  Problem solved.  You might haggle, but you don't have to beg.

I am very tired of begging.  I am exhausted from the effort and the stress.  There comes a point when trying to get one's needs met does not appear to be worth the stress and exertion.  I wonder if this is why so many veterans with PTSD are homeless, on the streets?  At some point, you just give up trying.

Fortunately, I have a place to live and a comforting spiritual foundation.  I'm not on the street, so I am ahead of the game.  I have gotten used to going without a lot of things.  This is just another one.  Time to move on to something more satisfying than begging.  I started another baby blanket for charity tonight, and it is very pretty.

Silver Rose Parnell

BLESS THIS MESS

I keep this little box of doo-dads next to my recliner, where I do all my crochet projects and where I occasionally trim my nails (or the cat's nails!)  Inside the box, along with circular knitting hooks, nail trimmers, a row counter, and crochet hooks, is a pair of scissors that my son gave me, and every time I have to trim a piece of crochet, I use these scissors.  They're very sharp and fit perfectly in the decorative box.  Every time I use them, I think of my son and say a little prayer for him.

I last saw Jason in the Spring of 2013.  He and his daughter came to visit me, driving across the desert from Las Vegas, Nevada.  He was supposed to have arranged for dialysis here in Albuquerque, and I don't know if he actually did it.  He had talked about feeling that he didn't need it if he had a session right before he left.  He wasn't overly cautious about taking care of his health, which is what killed him, ultimately.

We had a really nice time for the first few days.  I enjoyed showing them around Old Town, which is very near my house.  We ate at various restaurants, which was a real treat for me, since I never do that.  Jason took a lot of pictures.  It was wonderful to have him here. A couple days before they were to leave, he ran out of money.  He had received some money in back pay from Social Security, but he had spent most of it on some guns he had planned to sell at the gun show when he returned to Vegas. It is ironic that my son was involved in selling guns when I am so anti-gun, but there was nothing I could do about it, so I made no comment.

My apartment is small.  I had only a few days' notice they were coming, it was the end of the month, and I had very little food in the house and no money.  In other words, the status quo.  My granddaughter was preoccupied with games on her dad's phone.  At that age, adults are boring. The trip exhausted my son, and he kept falling asleep in the chair.  He was very ill.

One day, when I wasn't looking, he grabbed a special pair of sewing scissors from my desk and bent them by using them as if they were a screwdriver,  I got upset because they were given to me by a special friend.  He got testy with me.  I had to straighten him out.  He apologized and later bought me that pair of scissors pictured above.  At first, I was a little disappointed, because they were completely different than the pair he had ruined, but I thanked him, knowing that he was stressed and sick and I could always buy another pair that suited me better but I could never get another day with my son.  Later, I realized the scissors he gave me were perfect for my crochet projects. 

I felt bad about our little spat.  When they were leaving, I hugged my son for the last time and told him I was sorry that the visit wasn't perfect.  He was very sweet and gave me a good hug.  I will never forget what he said.  "Next time I see you, it will be better."

A few months later, he drove himself to the hospital.  He had pneumonia.  Very quickly, it turned into a variety of issues.  He had an infection around his heart.  It went from bad to worse.  Soon, he was gone.

Jason's birthday is coming up in a few days, and in another 3 months, the first year anniversary of his death.  I have been thinking about him a lot, and especially his last words to me, "Next time I see you, it will be better."  From your lips to God's ears, my boy.  From your lips to God's ears.

Silver Rose 

DRIVING MISS RUBY

I have a great friend in my apartment complex.  She's only a few years older than I am, but she's a little more banged up.  She was in a terrific hot air balloon crash about 10 years ago and they put her back together with metal rods, chewing gum, and band aids.  Recently, she has had to give up driving, and I try to invite her to accompany me every time I go shopping because she is generally stranded.  She's also not eating properly, has never learned to cook, really, and needs some help with her nutrition.

Going shopping with her is a scream because she wanders off and spends an inordinate amount of time reading all the labels and "pricing" things she is not going to buy that day.  She often cannot find things that are right on the shelf in front of her.  It takes forever.  I am always losing her.  The other day I lost her at a new Walmart.  I forgot to bring my cell phone, so we couldn't call one another to coordinate our locations in the store.  FINALLY, when I met up with her, I had a shopping cart full of things, I was ready to check out, and she had 4 items...but she needed one more.  I checked out and waited half an hour for her to appear again.

Today we went to Sprouts market for vegetables, and it was a circus.  She was revved up and chattering like a magpie while I, accustomed to proceeding in a leisurely, quiet fashion, was not in the mood.  I yelled at her at one point and had to apologize, at which point she told me that it was such a treat to get outside the apartment that she just gets EXCITED.  She was enjoying the fun trip.  Well, then I felt really crappy.  I had gotten mad at her expression of happiness.  Sigh.

The young girls at the produce department laughed at the two old biddies behind their hands.  I tried to explain to Ruby the fruits and vegetables needed to make a nutritious juice drink using my Jack La Lanne juicer.

Ruby is so scattered she went off on a tangent, taking two produce workers away from their jobs to ask them if the apples were on sale, after I told her they were not.  Then she asked if there was a senior discount.  They were very patient with her.  Meanwhile, I stood there, mortified, holding a bag of carefully selected apples, waiting for her to stop fiddling around.  She stood there, yammering to the produce workers, as if engaging them would make a discount appear out of nowhere.  Finally, she stopped talking.  They politely waited.  She stood there.  They looked at me.  Hysterical.  I dragged her away.  She argued about the number of apples I had chosen.  Everything is like pulling teeth....from a magpie.

Dismayed at the rising cost of food, even in this market that used to be very affordable, I grew anxious about whether or not I would have enough money to purchase the staples I needed: garlic, onions, ginger, leafy veggies, yellow veggies, tofu, mushrooms...and something else I had forgotten.  I wondered if I would have enough money for food for the rest of the month.  Ruby wandered off to buy a birthday card for her granddaughter, while I continued to toil in the vegetable department.  My PTSD kicked in and I lost my concentration.  It was so clear in my mind what I needed to get BEFORE I walked into the store, but the increasingly crowded store had made my mind turn to mush on high alert, if you can picture that.  I had to collect myself.

After I took a tour of the store and found her, we got to the checkout line, and she didn't have quite enough to pay for her portion, so she gave me what money she had and put aside a selection of items to pay for with her debit card, on which she had $14.  The bill was something like $23, however, because she had misread the price of the birthday card she selected which was more than $7!  This happens to us all the time.  Money is so tight on Social Security income that, when we miscalculate our purchases, we often have to pay from two different methods: a little cash, the remainder from a bank account with the debit card.  Sometimes we have to return an item and have it deducted from the bill.  Sometimes when she gets the bill, I have to lend her money.  Sometimes she lends me money.  It does get embarrassing, at times, but today we presented such an entertaining production that the stock clerks and the cashier just smiled at us and endured our bickering and fumbling with extremely good nature.

When we got back to the apartment complex, I drove her as close to her apartment as possible, and she went in and got her little shopping cart, then loaded her stuff into that.  I went home and unloaded all of my veggies from my trunk into my kitchen.  Ruby came BACK over to my house, and I made a lovely dinner of bagel, cream cheese, tomato and onion.  This has become a monthly routine, when I do my major shopping trip.  Ruby commented that we had had a really fun day, and I felt badly again that I had gotten so irritable with her.  Chronic, unremitting pain makes me grumpy.  I could have taken a pain pill, but then I would not have been able to drive.  Catch 22.

Most of all, I get disappointed in myself that the God consciousness that is so effortless while alone in my apartment just EVAPORATES when I get stressed and I am bungling my way through errands or other business exchanges.

She went home.  I drank a cup of tea, rather HALF a cup of tea, and promptly fell asleep in my recliner despite my cat's efforts to wake me by stomping his 16-pound royal furriness all over me.  It is odd to realize that just one shopping trip can now completely wipe me out and keep me aching for days afterwards.  I've been disabled for 10 years and I still can't get used to it.  It is almost as if I do not believe it, even though I know better than anyone that it is true.  I keep trying to do as much as I did when I was 30, and then I'm surprised when it doesn't work out.  I pictured a completely different life.

No one anticipates becoming disabled.  That's the thing.  You get injured in a hot air balloon crash, like Ruby, or you gradually start to get sick, struggle to stay employed, stay above water.  You swim and swim until you have to get out of the water or you will drown.  You do not have a choice about it.  When I finally went on disability, I had been sick for about 10 years, and my finances were completely depleted.  One of my old friends, on learning that my disability benefits had been approved, asked me, "If you can't afford to live on the monthly income, why did you retire?"   Retire? Ridiculous question.

The able-bodied just don't get it, but Ruby and other disabled people DO know what it is like to desperately try to maintain one's independence and the illusion of normalcy.  Both of us dressed to the nines today, with lipstick, jewelry and everything.  You'd never know that she was down to her last $14 and I was down to my last $80, even though I just got paid.

This is one reason why I am grateful for people like Ruby in my life.  We're in the same boat and we can laugh about our circumstances.  We're both religious, so we can also forgive one another our idiosyncrasies and see the humor in them.  Best of all, we are each grateful for the blessings we retain, the things that really matter that have nothing to do with how much money one has or how much physical health.

What we have in common, aside from our artistic natures, disability, pain and poverty, is Jesus, and that makes all the difference in the world.

Silver Rose

PRAY WITHOUT CEASING

Baby hat made to give away

People think I have a lot of time on my hands because I am disabled and stuck at home.  It would be nice if I had hours of leisure time that I could spend sitting in front of my altar, but that just isn't the reality of my life.

It takes me three or four times as long to do anything as my able-bodied friends because of mobility challenges and chronic pain issues. What I find myself doing is praying and contemplating during my household chores.  The happy news about chores is that they do not occupy much mental space, leaving my mind free to practice the presence of God or recite favorite prayers like the Jesus prayer, the "Our Father" and the "Hail Mary."

The joy of my life is making baby blankets and baby hats to give away to poor mothers.  I have to take frequent breaks while attending to my household chores because of my back and leg issues.  At that time, I take up my crochet or my knitting and continue work on whatever project I have going at that time.  Most of my fiber projects are fairly repetitious, so I can also pray while I crochet.  I pray for the happy life of whatever baby is going to be cuddled in that blanket.  I also pray for his whole family and especially that his parents stay together in a healthy, happy union.

Blanket and hat that I finished today

After all this practice on the blankets, I began to get creative, and some of them were turning out really nice.  I considered selling them at the local store that sells items made by local "artisans" but when I learned how little the other crochet artists were charging, I realized that this was not a good option.  The blanket, above, took me more than 30 hours to make.  How could I sell it for $20?  Golly, if I am going to give it away, I should give it to a poor child.  Consequently, none of the blankets will be made available for sale.  I'll just make whatever I can with whatever yarn comes my way, trusting in the Lord that He will provide the raw materials.

"Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances,

for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you."

1Thesalonians 5:16-18

I highly recommend finding a ministry you can do at home during those moments when you have to rest or when you are having a particularly difficult "pain day," like me, and you are relegated to the recliner chair for the day.  If you would like to join me in my baby blanket ministry, please let me know at silvercottage@hotmail.com and we can work on a project together.  Winter is coming, and not only do the new babies need blankets, but homeless men and women needs hats and scarves for the frigid Albuquerque winters.  Believe it or not, it gets down into the single digits here!  Mittens and gloves are also much appreciated.  I have not learned how to make those yet, but if you can do it, that would be wonderful.

Alternately, you could opt to donate some yarn to the ministry.  I have a few discounted yarns on my birthday wish list, and Amazon.com has my mailing address.  See the links to the right.

Most of all, though, I pray that, if you do not already have a ministry that lends itself to continuous prayer, then find something or learn something you can do that will make a difference in the lives of the poor.  We don't have to do big things.  Hey, it takes me a week to make a crib-size blanket, but it is a labor of love AND a holy relic, each stitch representing a prayer for the baby that uses it!

If you home bound and you already have a ministry, write me and tell me about it and we will post it as a comment.  It will encourage other people and also perhaps give them ideas about something THEY could be doing to improve the lives of poor people.

In the meantime, pray for me as I pray for you.

God bless you.

Silver Rose Parnell

THE POLITICS OF OPTIONS IN AN INDIVIDUALISTIC CULTURE

If you look very carefully, you can see a rainbow

amid the trees.

Yesterday I finally decided that I would no longer attend the parish I had been attending for the last year or so.  The reason I had tried that parish at all was because of the efforts of an extremely devoted Catholic woman who belonged to that parish and has spent the last year (or more) carting me back and forth so that I could sit through mass without excruciating pain.  God bless her.

Finally, however,  I had reached the point where the mental pain of sitting through a happy clappy liturgy; a condescending nationalistic homily that rarely gave God a mention; hand holding (ugh); and loud, gimmicky announcements given before the mass had ended (among other irregular practices) was greater than my physical pain.  I am quick to add that those people had been nice to me.  They gave me a comfortable chair in which to sit during the liturgy, dragging it right into the church and positioning it at the end of the handicapped row.  They gave me a sense of belonging by giving me a little responsibility at the welcome table.  The question is this: to what did I belong?

I am not going to spray all the defects all over my blog.  My point is not to bash the priest or saddle a struggling congregation with public excoriation, but to illustrate a problem common to many disabled persons, and that is the question of OPTIONS.  Our disabilities force us to make choices we would never otherwise make, were it not for the limitations of our condition(s).

Obviously, everyone's disabilities are not the same, and some disabled persons do quite well, with the help of mechanical aids, but mostly because of family, spouse or other supportive community that facilitates their access.  Unfortunately, there are an awful lot of us who are alone, and this is where the lack of real community is most keenly felt.

The rarest sight in a church parking lot:

an empty handicapped parking space

I have a lovely Facebook friend who lives off the grid here in New Mexico, and just yesterday she posted a plaintiff wish for community of the faithful.  Now, she is Orthodox, but the situation for the Orthodox church in America with regard to community is the same, because we are all dealing with an individualistic American culture.  We can barely stand our own families, what to speak of the larger community of faith.

Yesterday, I posted about my experiences with the Vedanta Society in Southern California.  Something we could learn from them is their community focus.  Granted, it has been truncated somewhat due to a dwindling devotee base and changes in the economy, but I have to admit that I really miss that little community on the hill.  In the early days, we're talking 1930's, the Vedanta Society was given a bit of property in the Hollywood Hills - long before the Hollywood Freeway was even considered.  Some of the land may also have been purchased, but in any case, they had about two city blocks of property, some of it given over to a massive garden from which they got the flowers that were used in the daily worship.  There were also little houses stuffed together in a charming rabbit warren of residences, as well as an apartment complex.  The main property housed the temple, the monastery, the book store and the catalog buildings.  It was really charming.

I lived in the neighborhood for about 8 years, 3 of it in the convent, and I used to love to attend morning, noon and evening meditation hours.  There were many elderly ladies that lived in the smaller houses and apartments who were likewise able to attend.  They just had to walk across the small street and into the temple, which was a hushed and holy place.  No chatter allowed!

In this way, all people got to partake of a monastic style of contemplative life, without having to meet the criteria that is customarily required of a religious.  Good physical and mental health is the first hurdle to being accepted into a religious order.  This quasi 'ashram' style of living accommodated people of all types.

To be fair, we were dealing with individualistic Americans and there were many instances in which community members were not supported or helped during times of crisis.  I remember asking the cook at the convent for a plate of food for an elderly, long-time devotee who was flattened with a dangerous flu, only to be told there was not enough food, which was not true.  I said that was fine and that I would give her my portion of lunch.  Begrudgingly, this nun allowed me to take a plate to the sick old lady.  

Now, that old lady had been very active in her youth.  She was a founding member of the group that originally moved onto the property, or she came very soon thereafter.  She had spent many years devoting a great deal of time to the maintenance of the place and the massive cooking projects that were required during the East Indian celebrations.  (There was always lots of great Indian food, and everyone in the world was invited.)  She had to gradually cease her efforts as she became too old to do them.  All of that support was forgotten, discounted, and taken for granted by some of the members, such as that one nun.

Lunch at the Hollywood Convent in the 1980's

(Swami visiting)

Another non-Christian group that does a much better job of forming supportive communities is the Mormons.  (Ignore, for the moment, their insistence that they are Christian.  Their theology and cosmology is completely different than accepted Christian doctrine from the earliest Christian age until the present.  That is a topic for another day.)  If you are a disabled Mormon, you are likely getting visits from eager young Mormons, with offers of help of all kinds.  If you want to attend a Mormon function, someone WILL take you.  If you are elderly, likewise.  If you've just had a baby, a score of young women will be helping with house-cleaning, baby clothes, baby this, baby that.  You won't go hungry or homeless or lonely if you are a Mormon in good standing.  I could never make myself believe in their theology, no matter how hard I might try, no matter how much I admire their community cohesiveness.  It's too bad, really.  I have several family members who are Mormon.

What is the point of all this?  I have a dream that one day Catholics will become more like the original Christian community that held all things in common and no one's needs went unanswered.  I have a dream that our "community" will be more cohesive, less individualistic and more helpful to one another.  I dream that the contemplative life will become more available to Catholic communities.  I suppose I dream of Catholic "ashrams," though I wouldn't want to use that term.  I long for loving communities.

"All the believers were one in heart and mind.  No one claimed

that any of their possessions was their own, but they shared

everything they had."

~ Acts 4:32

If I ever won the lottery, the money would be gone in a minute because I would build a community with plenty of room for the elderly and disabled, complete with little cottages outfitted for the handicapped, smooth walkways that lead to the kitchen and the chapel, and meditation gardens.  I imagine a library stocked with all the Catholic classics, as well as religious DVDs.  Big dreams for a little person of no resources!

In the meantime, while praying for the big picture, I have to find a way to get my own needs met with regard to getting to a church on Sunday.  Mind you, I am a sick, elderly lady and I am actually not required to go to mass any more.  I want to go to mass, though, and I would like to be able to attend mass at a parish of my choosing and not be forced to attend a place that violates all my sensibilities. I miss the Eucharist.

Wish me luck, and help me in my prayers, won't you?

God bless you all

Silver Rose Parnell

I HAVE TO STOP READING MARK SHEA

Mark Shea, a well-informed and prolific Catholic writer, is one of my Facebook friends.  He has a wide circle of Facebook "friends," some of whom don't seem to like him much.  That's what happens on Facebook when you open up your friend list to people you don't actually know.  Some people want to "friend" you when, in actuality, they just want to fight with you and/or bash your religion or your politics.

I find the whole thing fascinating.  He posts "hot" news items, makes a one-sentence comment, and then the fur flies.  So far, I always agree with his take on these news items.  He has compassion, intelligence, knowledge and good sense, which is a lot more than I can say for some of his "friends" that respond to his posts.

I spend WAY too much time trying to elucidate a logical, sane, fact-driven point because some of them haven't even a passing understanding of classical logic and its fallacies, and it just frustrates me.  Most of them do not bother to actually read the articles that Mark posts, what to speak of any independent, original source material from which to form a cohesive, rational  and fact-based point of view.  I waste my time posting source material that bolsters my comments, only to have them ignored or discounted by people for whom opinion is king.  Today, one guy even told me that he wasn't going to read the articles I provided, but that I should critique them and tell him which of my proffered articles was the least convincing!  He was so lazy, he could not be bothered to counter my arguments himself.  I was supposed to do it for him!

In one sense, it is invigorating.  Crafting a good argument, making a good case, can be fun.  In the end, however, it is a waste of time.  Once I craft my case, no one will actually respond to it.  Irrelevant comments abound.  Eventually, I feel that I do not exist for these solipsistic Facebookers.  There is no give-and-take.  No conversation.  No debate.  They just repeat the same ridiculous, nonsensical arguments over and over again, and if I challenge them in a way that makes them look bad, they turn their ire on me and start to attack me as a person.  Then it is a free-for-all.

When the dust clears, I feel terrible that I have wasted my valuable time pretending that I can enlighten anyone in a culture that is, for the most part, entirely closed off from incoming information that disagrees with the all-holy opinion that comes out of the imaginations of people whose rigidity of opinion is caused by mental laziness, lack of curiosity and disinterest in ultimate Truth.  It feels as if many of these people "pick a side" that is already well-established, for instance, liberal or conservative, and then they argue from that position, with little, if any, independent thought.  In their world, there are only two sets of beliefs....and that is it!  They just swallow whole whatever side they've chosen.  Today the gun lovers were attacking Mark for saying that some innocent people getting killed in a drive-by shooting was a "pro-life issue."  That's all he said...and the crowd went wild.

Ultimately, my distress is my own fault.  I already know that my main function, my "work," if you will, is prayer and contemplation.  I accomplish a lot more doing THAT than I could ever hope to do by thinking up intelligent comments for Facebook.  I am responsible for wasting my own time.

Despite being terribly interested in the topics on which Mark posts, I have got to stop reading him.  But he is so INTERESTING, I whine to myself.  Maybe I could still read him but avoid commenting on his posts.    Okay, so I will let myself read him, but I have to exhibit some restraint and avoid commenting.  He is just so darn INTERESTING, though.  It will be hard.  But I will try.

Silver Rose Parnell

GOOD BYE COCO

Coco Chanel Parnell

2004-2014

For the last 6 years, I have had a service dog and, although I was allergic to her and she blew her coat all over my apartment so much that I could have made a sweater every week from her fur, I loved her dearly.  A few months ago, I had to take her to the veterinarian for the removal of a tooth.  It turned out that she had cancer in her mouth.  They removed as much as they could, but the cancer returned within a couple months.

Finally, when her energy waned and she was no longer able to eat easily, it was time to take her back to the vet for the final time.  I couldn't find anyone to go with me who wasn't going to fall apart and make it more difficult for me.  This is one of the MANY difficulties of being a solitary who really IS a solitary and does not live in community and is not supported by any institution.  There is no one to share the burdens or the joys.

I didn't want Coco to realize that something "bad" was going to happen, so I behaved as if everything was normal, except that the day before I took her in I made sure that she had some of her favorite things: A couple hours of cuddles and tummy scratches in my lap, some pieces of chicken from my dinner plate, a car ride, a short leisurely walk around the apartment complex, etc.

At the vet's office, I held her in my lap like a baby on her back and petted her while I sang her little lullabies that I made up on the spot.  She kept looking into my eyes with a mixture of emotions that I couldn't quite make out, except that I could tell she was worn out from pain and fatigue.  Eventually, my arms couldn't hold her any more and I sat her on the chair next to mine.  There was white fur everywhere: on my lap, my chair, the floor, and Coco's chair.  She hung her head in exhaustion.

The vet and her technician were very kind and gentle.  The technician was going to pick up Coco from the chair and place her on the exam table, but I wouldn't let them.  I had to do it.  I pulled my back out and put it into spasm for the next 4 or 5 days, but I had to do it.

Coco was on her tummy, facing me.  The vet shaved a small portion of fur from one leg.  I kept telling Coco, "Good dog.  Coco is a good dog."  I wanted to cry so badly, but I had to hold it together for Coco's sake.  I didn't want her to know that something was terribly terribly wrong.  I kept telling her what a good dog she was and smiling.

She didn't struggle until they gave her the shot.  I imagine it stung a little bit.  It was over so fast.  I told her she was a good dog.  She kept looking me in the eyes, and then there was a flicker of recognition that something was happening.  The pain was lifting.  She relaxed.  She died.  Her eyes were open.  Her tongue came out of her mouth.  They laid her on her side.

I fell apart completely.  We were all weeping.  Me.  The vet.  The technician.  The vet, a compassionate Christian woman, hugged me and said, "I love you."  I told her, "I love you too."

I couldn't stop petting Coco and asked several times, "Is she gone?"  I could not believe it.  Could not stop petting her, even though she couldn't feel it.  I tried to close her eyes but couldn't.  Eventually, I draped the end of the blanket over her body so I would not have to see her eyes.

Some time passed.  The technician left the room.  The vet asked me if I would be getting another service dog.  The queen is dead.   Long live the queen.  She recommended I get a standard poodle, the largest size, a smart dog that is easy to train and would accommodate all my needs.  I should get a puppy and train it from the beginning.

It is hard to jump right onto the next project of obtaining another service dog, but life does go on, despite the emotionally searing pain.  As with all projects, I do not have the resources to obtain a pure bred poodle puppy and pay for training, vet bills, a crate, food, toys, but somehow it will work out.  The Lord takes care of me, as he takes care of the sparrows in the field.

Spending so much of my day in contemplation of the Divine has given me a strength I never had before.  It has given me the confidence that everything I need will be provided.  The Lord knows what I really need in the ultimate, best sense, and I trust His judgment.  Trust is a remarkable gift for someone who suffers from PTSD, which generally destroys all of one's trust.  Without the contemplative life I am privileged to live, I doubt I would have been able to handle this fresh trauma with any sort of poise.  Without having become disabled, without being mostly house-bound, the contemplative life I now enjoy would have been impossible.  Consequently, I am grateful for my disabilities.  The disabilities, the chronic pain, and the poverty have all been gifts, in the highest sense.

I just have to continue to hold onto Him with all my might, rest in His reassuring embrace and be at peace in the confidence that He is now taking care of Miss Coco Puff also.

Please pray for me, that I am able to continue in faith.

God bless you all.

Silver Rose Parnell

PRAY FOR MY DOG

Saint Rose of Lima

I have had a sweet little service dog for the last 6 years.  Her name is Coco, and she is dying of cancer.  Every day she sleeps more and more.  Our evening walks have become little jaunts, once around the building, and then she is straining to get into the back door so she can lay down again.  Soon, I will have to take her to the veterinarian's office, and then I will have to get another service dog.

I realize it may sound a little abrupt, that I will get another dog so soon, but I am not sleeping throughout the night, just like I did before Coco came into my life.  Without a dog to stand guard and hear the noises of the boogey man, I am vigilant, alert, waiting.  I have post traumatic stress disorder.  Sleep disturbances are common for people like me.  Often, I am awake all night, despite taking all kinds of sleep medication.  Finally, at 6 a.m., I go to sleep.  The vigil is over.

I pray for healing, but it does not come - not yet - maybe never.  I am not unhappy about that.  I trust in the Lord to do what is right.  Faith in the Lord does not necessarily erase all the difficulties.  If anything, they can sometimes increase because Satan is afoot and he hates people who have serene faith in the Lord.  He tries to shake us up, as he tried with Job.

People become confused and think that if we, as disabled people, have so many difficulties, physical, mental and financial, that we must be terribly unhappy, but this is not necessarily so.  As contemplatives, moving through our day, through our problems, our pains and our sadness, we are walking with Jesus and Mary, the saints and the angels.  If we keep our mind on the Lord and our heart open to Him all day, we are at prayer no matter what we are doing, whether we are caring for a sick dog, washing dishes, or sitting quietly by a window.

Spiritual life is full of contradictions.  How I can be grieving for my dog and full of joy at the same time is a mystery.  I don't understand the mechanism of this condition, but I accept it gratefully and hope that it continues.  But I still need your prayers, so please pray for my dog, that she has no pain, no distress and no fear, but that she will slip away peacefully and naturally in her sleep.  Please pray that I have the strength to get through this traumatic event, yet another death in the litany of death that has been chanted in my life over the last few years when my father and then my only child died.  I, in turn, also pray for you, because I know that you are going through your own versions of the trials of Job and, like me, you are quietly joining yourself with the Lord to get you through the trauma.

As part of the body of Christ, I am with you also.

Silver Rose Parnell

JANE DE CHANTAL

Saint Jane Frances de Chantal

If you are like me, and you are disabled, poor and trying to lead a holy life in the midst of your sufferings and pains in a world that discounts you because you do not appear to be productive, you need some inspiring words to keep you going on the contemplative path.  In the case of today's saint, Jane de Chantal, you may find a lot to bolster your prayer life and your resolve.  The letters between her and her spiritual director, Saint Francis de Sales, would be helpful to you, and there are several other books, as I remember, about these two saints.  It has been a while since I read them.  I was in a Hindu convent at the time, but I recall feeling strengthened by this saint's attitude toward spiritual life.

Here is a great quote about her:

“She was full of faith, yet all her life had been tormented by thoughts against it. While apparently enjoying the peace and easiness of mind of souls who have reached a high state of virtue, she suffered such interior trials that she often told me her mind was so filled with all sorts of temptations and abominations that she had to strive not to look within herself...But for all that suffering her face never lost its serenity, nor did she once relax in the fidelity God asked of her. And so I regard her as one of the holiest souls I have ever met on this earth” ~ St. Vincent de Paul.

Just google her name or look her up on Amazon.com, and you will find many books about her and St. Francis de Sales.  The library may also have some things.

It seems to me that most saints suffered greatly, in one fashion or another.  A few were sickly or disabled, like Blessed Margaret of Castello, and some were depressed, like Mother Teresa of Calcutta who had a dark night of the soul for 30 years.  Others were tormented by demons.  Most were afflicted with doubts and other temptations.  If anyone can relate to them in their sufferings, it is the disabled and frail elderly, many of whom endure chronic pain that does not leave them for a minute.  Depression and mental illnesses like post traumatic stress disorder are very common these days because the world has become a mean and violent place.  All of these things can interfere in a person's spiritual life if we let it get to us or if we imagine for a moment that we cannot possibly become saints if we are so messed up.

It is precisely BECAUSE we are messed up that we have a chance of becoming saints if we use our sufferings and humiliations to our advantage, offering it all up to God while maintaining a joyous visage.  We needn't pretend the suffering doesn't exist.  We aren't stoics or automatons!  We wrestle with our struggles, whatever they are, and we will notice them and occasionally give voice to the frustration, and we will certainly feel the pain, but our primary focus is on God and the beauty and joy of Him.  But never let anyone tell you that you "shouldn't feel" this or that emotion.  The saints feel plenty.  That is how they have a heart for the poor and suffering, and a heart for Jesus, Mary and the other saints.

Don't forget that God is great and has no problem using broken instruments such as ourselves.  Ignore what the worldly have to say about you and, whatever you do, don't let it get you down.  God will use us in the way he wishes to use us in the time in which he wishes to use us, and all we have to do is be open to him in our hearts.

I have been getting down on myself because of my inability to keep a strict schedule.  That was stupid.  One of the reasons I am disabled is because my illnesses prevent me from maintaining a schedule.  Somehow I had internalized the criticisms of the world.  I am learning to ignore the critical lady who frequently tells me, "I don't understand why you're not working.  You should be working.  Surely there is SOMETHING you can do.  You're so INTELLIGENT."  (As if one can only be disabled if one is a moron!)  Then there is the nosy neighbor who quizzes my apartment manager and asks her for a list of my disabilities because I do not "look" disabled. (Most illnesses, no matter how grave, cannot be detected by simply looking at someone.)

Quite a few people ask me how much money I get in Social Security.  I have made the mistake, in the past, of actually telling them the amount, only to be told that I am not really poor because some other able-bodied person with a temporary financial problem has a lower income than I do.  People do not understand that being disabled is MUCH more expensive than being able-bodied and, while an able-bodied person can actually do something to alleviate their situation, like taking a second job, a disabled person is pretty much stuck.  Occasionally, some of us can find a little something we can do to increase our income, but it is very difficult.  The solution for any financial privation is usually tightening our belts and doing without.  I will write a blog about that one day.

None of these people have the right to the information they ask about income or health conditions, and, these days, when pressed, I simply say that I have a collection of illness which, put together, make it impossible for me to work.  It does not satisfy them, but if I say it enough times, they stop asking.  Hostility and criticism toward the disabled and the poor are rampant in our society today, and we can fall into the trap of trying to defend ourselves at every turn.  Don't do it!  If someone is quizzing you about your disabilities or your income, it is not out of concern for you.  They want to judge for themselves whether you are poor or sick and your word is not good enough.  If you give in to this type of interrogation, you will lose your dignity like I did, and no amount of explanation will change a person's mind about you and all the other "lowlife" poor people who are faking disability (supposedly.)

Don't make the mistake I made and internalize the world's garbage until you are so down on yourself your spiritual life goes down the tubes.  There are plenty of people in the world for whom all the explanations and information in the world would not be enough to gift them with a sense of compassion and understanding for your trials or appreciation for your contemplative strivings.  In fact, most people won't "get you" in any real way.  If you're lucky, like me, there are a few dear friends who respect you and trust you.  Ignore the rest of the nattering world and hold onto the Lord.  Think of the rest of us who are in your same position (and there are quite a lot of us!)  We are your community.  We get you.  We support you.  We pray for you.  Don't give up.

Silver Rose Parnell

THE DISABLED CONTEMPLATIVE

My Prayer Corner

August, 2014

A few years ago I started this blog, thinking that I would educate the public about what it was like to be disabled and, consequently, struggling, if not downright poor.  There were so many nasty rumors being circulated about poor people, in general, and such a lot of misunderstanding about disabled people and their needs, that I thought I would be doing a good service by disseminating factual information to counteract the meanness.

What I did not realize is that my target audience was not the slightest bit interested in having the real information or in learning anything.  There are many people with strong opinions in this world for whom their opinion is God.  Their opinions arise out of a few anecdotal stories, or a feeling or a philosophy, but they are rarely based on hard facts or statistics.  The harsher the opinion, the less likely that the person has done any real research into the area of his or her strong opinion.

Because I am disabled and poor, people with harsh opinions about the poor and disabled are not the slightest bit interested in what I have to say.  After all, they think all the disabled people are just faking it and that the poor people are somehow cheating the system.  How could they possibly learn anything from me?

The people who ARE interested are those who are in the same position in which I find myself.  I have been hearing from them that my blog has, on occasion, helped them.  I have been asked to start again, and I think I will...this time with a different focus, a different audience, and a different perspective.  I want to be a supporter and encourager of other disabled and poor people, as well as those who are endeavoring to live a monastic life at home, in their own little domestic church.

We can commiserate with one another and find a way to take the frustrations and limitations of our lives and transform them into a vehicle of holiness.  We can be a community for one another.  To this end, I am thinking of establishing a Facebook page or group for the disabled contemplative.  I will try to focus on inspiring saints, such as blessed Margaret of Castello, who was terribly disabled but still managed to become a third order Dominican renowned for her saintliness and devotion to other poor people.  I will post encouraging articles on the Facebook page, along with notices of the occasional posts I make to this blog.

I still plan to spend more time praying and meditating, so I will not be putting lots of time into perfecting the blog posts, as I used to do.  The posts will be shorter.  The pictures will be fewer.  I might miss a grammatical error or a misspelling.

If you are disabled and you wish to follow the contemplative life, or if you are already following that life and would like some encouragement and inspiration, please join us.  There are a lot of disabled folks and retired elderly folks, for that matter, who are naturally turning toward contemplation as their life has slowed.  We can help one another on our spiritual path.

God bless you all.

Silver Rose Parnell

GOD LISTENS AND ANSWERS

I have been praying and asking our Lord for some guidance as to his plan for me and what it is, exactly that he wishes for me to do with my life, given that I am disabled and somewhat isolated.  For some time, I believed that I was meant to write a blog advocating for the poor, and I did so for the last few years.  Gradually, however, I came to understand that the blog was not accomplishing what I had hoped and that it was sucking time away that could be better spent in prayer and meditation.  I have erased the entries, except for this one.

When I left the Hindu convent many years ago, I imagined that I may become a Catholic nun or sister, continuing in the community life I enjoyed while a Hindu nun, but numerous obstacles were laid in my path, until no other life but what I am living now seems feasible.

Sometimes God shows you His plan for you by putting you in the position of having nothing else to do!  This is particularly good for hard-headed people like me.  God has arranged it so that I have the inclination, the time and the private space in which to live a contemplative life dedicated to Him.

To this end, I am working on establishing a better monastic schedule and routine, as much as my disabilities and mundane logistics will allow.  I will try to pray always, either among the pots and pans in the kitchen or in front of my personal altar.  I ask that you pray for me that I will have the strength to do this.


When I was a nun in the convent, we lived on donations as well as the income from a book catalogue.  Similarly, I live on a small disability income, donations, and the occasional sale of a painting or baby blanket.  If you are interested in purchasing a painting or a baby blanket, they will be displayed on www.silvercottagecreations.blogspot.com.  In addition, a donation button is included on this page.

If you would like me to include you in my prayers, please write me with your intentions and I will pray for you.  In the meantime, God bless you all.

Silver Rose Parnell

OUR LADY WHO SHOWS THE WAY

 Hodegetria Icon on display at Our Lady of Perpetual Help

Byzantine Catholic Church in Albuquerque, NM

copyright (c) 2012, Silver S. Parnell

All rights reserved.

On Wednesday, I was dressed and ambulatory.  My church had devotions on that night.  I resolved to go, even though it is on the other side of town from where I live, and I am very glad I did!

Copyright (c) 2012, Silver S. Parnell

All rights reserved.

There, displayed in front of the iconostasis, was a full length Icon of Mary, covered in gold and silver metal.  Now, when I say "full length," I mean the entire body, and this is somewhat unusual.  She is holding the baby Jesus, just as in the Icon of our Lady of Perpetual Help, EXCEPT that, in this standing icon, she is pointing to Jesus and his hand does not rest in hers.  In this icon she is showing the way to salvation, therefore she is "Hodegetria" or "Hodigitria," the Wayshower, She who Shows the Way, the Lady of the Way, etc.

Copyright (c) 2012, Silver S. Parnell

All rights reserved.

It turns out that the original icon on which this one is based was painted by Saint Luke during the earthly life of the Theotokos (Mother of God.)

Saint Luke painting the Hodegetria

In the 400's it was brought from the Holy Land by Empress Eudocia and thereafter sent to Constantinople.  It is a much earlier iconographic image than Our Lady of Perpetual Help, which itself was modeled after the Hodegetria, with two differences.  Our Lady of Perpetual Help holds the Christ Child's hand in hers, and one of Jesus' sandals has slipped from his foot and is hanging from it, which presents a darling mood.

Our Lady of Perpetual Help 

The icon that greeted me at church was about 4 or 5 feet tall.  Only the beautifully painted faces and hands of the image were exposed, the rest being covered in bas relief metal, as I previously mentioned.  I was dazzled by this image.  What a beautiful image of our Blessed Mother and Jesus!  I felt an immediate awe and attraction.

Copyright (c) 2012, Silver S. Parnell

All rights reserved.

I thought that the name of Empress Eudocia was very familiar, so when I got home from devotions, I opened my genealogy database and found out that, just as I suspected, she was my 43rd great grandmother!  Knowing that an ancestor brought the original icon from the Holy Land and thereby preserved it, ignited a flame of interest in my heart.  Of course, like most Catholics, I already have a devotion to our Blessed Mother, no matter what image represents her, but there are two things that draw me to this particular image.  The first is that our Mother is showing us the way to salvation.  She is pointing to Christ.  Secondly, the original image that Saint Luke painted has a link with my family.

Empress Aiela Eudocia - mosaic

The original icon was doubled-sided and depicted a crucifixion on the reverse side.  It was displayed in the Monastery of the Panaghia Hodegetria in Constantinople.  Many copies of it were made, while the original is believed to be lost or destroyed during the fall of Constantinople in 1453, but there are two separate traditions that speak about it being carried to Russia or Italy.

an Icon of "Hodegetria of Smolensk"

One Russian tradition is that this icon appeared in Russia after the Fall of Constantinople, upon which it was installed in Smolensk's Assumption Cathedral.  Russian versions of the icon are called "Our Lady of Smolensk" or the "Hodegetria of Smolensk" and many miracles are attributed to it.   In one story, it is given by Emperor Constantine Monomachus of Byzantium to his daughter, Princess Anna, in honor of her marriage to Prince Vsevolod Yaroslavovich of Chernigov.  The princess brought the icon to Russia in 1046, before the fall of Constantinople.  Later, in about 1101, her son translated it to Smolensk, where it is reputed to have protected the people of Russia from invaders with many miracles.

Hodegetria of Anna of Poland

The Italians say that the original image painted by Saint Luke that was sent by Eudocia to Pulcheria (Catholic saint and another relative of mine!) was actually just a circular icon picturing Mary's head.  This piece was inserted on top of a large rectangular icon of Mary holding Jesus.

Another Italian story claims that when Baldwin II left Constantinople in 1261, he brought the circular icon out with him and likewise inserted it into a larger image of Mary holding the Christ child.  This image, which been repainted many times, is held at the Benedictine Abbey church of Montevergine.  In the following picture, you can see a faint line where the head was inserted.

Hodegetria Image at Montevirgine - (detail)

[Purported to have been painted by Saint Luke.]

Hodegetria at Montevirgine, full length

[Purported to have been painted by Saint Luke.]

The Hodegetria is especially revered by those with eye problems, since the first miracles attributed to it involve the curing of blindness in two men.

Madonna di Constantinopole, Bari, Apulia, Italy

[Purported to have been painted by Saint Luke.]

These are the rough outlines of the story of the Hodegetria image, but I didn't know any of it when I was praying during our devotions at church.  The image of the Hodegetria affected me powerfully, and I found it to be a wonderful instrument of teaching, direction, and inspiration.  While I was praying for my intentions during that portion of our devotions, I experienced an inner vision of all the people for whom I had prayed being drawn up into heaven and directed to Christ by the Blessed Mother, who pointed the way.  It was a vision of sparkling bright light.  As the people ascended toward heaven, the darkness of their sins was sloughed off, like dirty clothing.  Gradually, the people began to shine and sparkle until, when they reached the Lord, they were as bright and shining as the heavens around them.

Virgin Hodegetria from the Rila Monastery,

Pchelino Convent

I felt very strongly that my prayer for the intercession of the Hodegetria had been answered and that sins of those persons had been expiated.

In this year of faith, I plan to learn a lot about the faith, our history, the various customs and icons, and most especially about our Blessed Mother in her form as the Lady of the Way, Virgin Hodegetria.

Anyone interested in seeing more images purported to have been painted by Saint Luke, take a look at this interesting web site I found:  http://www.wherewewalked.info/Luke/lukeicons.htm

Copyright (c) 2012, Silver S. Parnell
All rights reserved.