Happy are they . . .

Back when I was a catechist the fifth grade teacher taught a lesson on the Sermon on the Mount.  She had the kids in her class draw pictures to illustrate what Jesus was trying to teach.  On one of the pictures, a student wrote the heading:

The Beautitudes

There was something so perfect about the malapropism that it has stuck with me all these years later.  Happy are the poor in spirit,  Happy are they that mourn,  Happy are the persecuted. . .   how beautiful it is to follow after the will of the Lord.

As I am working on the difficult changes that God has asked of me in my life:  my husband's job, the death of my mother,  changes at my beloved parish, my daughter moving so far away from home,  learning how to parent young adult children into healthy whole lifestyles;  I continue to remember the lesson I learned all those years ago from that wonderful young girl.  

Following after the Lord, wherever He leads me is all part of the Beautitudes.  My life is beautiful and I am happy in my surrendering to the will of God, even when it means I will mourn, or be meek,   misunderstood, or persecuted .  

In my weakness I will find the strength I need, because He has promised it to me. 

Have a Beautiful day.

Pax

Amazing things happen when you stop trying to be what you want and just be . . .

By the way; you know what dog spelled backward is, right?


Pax

Where You Lead . . .

I don't have much time. I took a longer walk this morning, and only have a few minutes before I have to dash off (late )to my first session of the day.

I walked through the river park this morning and by the Holocaust memorial (I will post the video later when I get home. ) and then because I was so far down the park I decided to walk back through the French Quarter. That was such an interesting experience. At one point I passed a biker bar that was still really hopping at 7:20 in the morning.

As I turned back toward Canal Street I happened to pass a little Catholic Mission Church that was just beginning 7:30 Mass, Since the bells were ringing and everyone was walking in, I figured that it was a test. I could go in and go to Mass and still make it to most of my morning session. So I did. I am so glad I did.

The congregation was predominately African-American, so needless to say, the music was amazing. The priest was a mission priest who had such a heart for his people, (and The New Orleans Saints apparently as we prayed for them repeatedly throughout the service).

I felt myself welling up with tears at least four times during the service: once because I felt so at home; once because of a touching prayer of the faithful that I felt was directed at my present need in my dark night; once when the entire congregation gathered at the center of the church holding hands to sing an amazing rendition of the Our Father together as One Voice; and once as I walked up to receive communion and got a closer look at all of the beautiful statues surrounding the side altars. (I will post those as well.)

I really believe that God sent me in that direction this morning. My steps were carefully ordered. I could have gone in so many other directions. I had planned to walk toward the Warehouse district to take pictures of some buildings we saw last night on our way to dinner, but at the last minute changed my direction for no reason other than the movement of The Spirit.

I have a lot to be thankful for this trip, and a lot to think about today.

God is so good, all of the time.

Pax