Day Three of the Home Challenge!

If you walked into my room and turned to your left, this is what you’d see.

Looking over the top of my “work desk” you’d see my computer desk on the left, my calendars straight ahead, and the door to my bathroom with my jacket hanging on a hook.

Walking around my desk and turning again to your left, you’d see this. I made it all tidy just for y’all!

And this is where I Xanga! 

Home Challenge Day 2!

The trees in the distance are the border of the Milwaukee County Zoo; sometimes you can hear the peacocks!

Hey all!

I know, no substantial post for a while! But I’m hoping that within the next week to receive some material from a friend so that I can post a really wonderful entry; we’ll see what Jesus wants!

In the meantime I thought this Home Challenge thing might be fun, especially since I imagine most of you have more than just a single room! That’s all I have; just a li’l ol’ room with a bed and stuff. Luckily I have my own bathroom, but that hasn’t always been the case. Anywho, I guess the first day you post pictures of where you sleep. Here goes!

“Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep”

Here’s my bed, all neat and tidy.

Here’s my vow cross.

Here’s my nightstand with:

-holy water (to bless myself before bed)

-a picture of my Blessed Mother!

-a photograph of my dear St. Gemma Galgani

-a photograph of St. Therese of Lisieux (sorry about the glare)

-a photograph of St. Bernadette Soubirous

-a holy card of St. Gemma with a prayer on the back

-my alarm clock

-a small crucifix that @living_embers gave me; it is a treasure that I pray with every night.

-a rosary ring

That’s where I sleep!

Hey friends!

I was removing some pictures from my cell phone and thought I would share a couple with you; hopefully they’ll brighten your day!

This first one is for @lucywrites and she’ll know why:

I saw this at the local Menards and it totally cracked me up.

My dad, all the way up until 1982, used to collect beer cans. Back in February I went to visit him and he asked me to build a pyramid or something with them so he could take a picture and put them on Craigstlist or eBay. Behold, 212 antique beercans in what I call the Great Beer-amid!

I hope that you are all well and blessed; hopefully I’ll have a chance to offer a real post in the next few days!

@tgwiy asked some interesting questions in a recent post that I thought I would answer for the interest of all who are…well, interested. I am preparing to give a talk about how my grandparents influenced my call to the priesthood so I’ve been thinking a lot on the topic of why I’m Catholic anyways, so here goes. She proposed a sort of three-tiered approach to the whole thing, so I will follow the same.

“The first level is the atheist/theist level. You either believe in a higher power, or you don’t (or you don’t know obviously). It makes sense to me why people would believe in a higher power, no matter what religion it is.”

I remember when I was in middle school we listened to Aaron Copland’s “Appalachian Spring” in music class; I think I was in fifth grade. I didn’t really care for nor pay attention to music whatsoever at that point in my life. I wasn’t religious either; church was just a thing we did as a family on Sundays because that’s what Catholics do on Sundays. But when that part of “Appalachian Spring” started to play, the melody of the famous Shaker hymn called “Simple Gifts,” I felt something stir deep inside me. I didn’t understand why it made me feel the way it did, but something moved me in a way I’d never been moved before. Not long after that we began listening to Beethoven and when I heard the choral section of his ninth symphony for the first time I was completely undone. Something changed profoundly inside of me, and in the years since then as I tried to understand it, I began to realize that it was in music I first encountered beauty.

Never at any point in my life did I ever question the existence of God; theism was always taken for granted and for the most part unconscious. But as I became more and more acquainted with beauty I began to ask myself, “Where does beauty come from? Why is anything beautiful to begin with?” As this whole reality began to unfold for me all manner of things began to change. I stopped caring about popularity and focused on being true to myself and who I was. Band and making music was something I began taking seriously, and I enjoyed my art and choir classes a great deal more, as well as my English classes; my writing really began to take off. Soon I’d even start dabbling in poetry, a gift I still enjoy from time to time, as you all know from my yearly St. Valentine’s Day poem.

I began to notice beauty in two unexpected places: in nature and in women (or girls, as they were at that age!) though the latter came a few years later. I began exploring the wilderness around my house, especially around the beautiful creek to the east and the timber that grew along its banks. Walking in the early evening as the golden sun cast everything in its perfect color was my favorite thing to do.

When I was in seventh grade a girl named Mandy moved to town. Before I saw her I thought girls were icky and nothing but trouble, yet one look at her dark eyes and auburn hair and I was convinced otherwise. Nothing ever came of that crush but a lot of interior drama and a song I wrote for her on the piano, however it was with her that I began to realize what this pursuit of and appreciation for beauty was teaching me: that first (when I only saw beauty in things) I had a yearning for something and later (when I saw beauty in a person) that I yearn for someone. Interestingly enough, though, it was before I met Mandy that, giving up on my dreams of being an astronaut, I realized my “dream job” was being a stay-at-home dad. Strange for a sixth-grader, no?

This pursuit of beauty led me on a journey that would only lead me deeper and deeper into the reality of myself, one that brought me to encounters with the source of beauty Himself. But you all know that story fairly well!

What I understand now, looking back at those early days, is that I was encountering a phenomenon far beyond what I could understand, something that did not have an earthly explanation. I remember thinking that beauty, especially beauty as experienced in non-human things, has no real applicability or relevance when it comes to human survival; in other words, it makes no sense to suggest that beauty is merely a natural instinct on a purely biochemical or physiological level (granted I was not using these terms or concepts in middle school for crying out loud!). It is easier to see how finding beauty in the opposite sex can have material explanations, but I remember (as I would fall in love later on of course) wondering, too, why this particular girl or that particular one was so beautiful to me even though there were so many very attractive girls in my high school, small as it was (graduating class of around 75). If finding the opposite sex attractive is all about mating and the like, why this phenomenon of finding one particular woman beautiful above all others? 

As I became older and, hopefully, wiser I began to realize more and more that beauty was a gift, an intentional one at that, and not merely a fluke of nature. Beauty is a rational response; we understand that something is beautiful, even though our opinions on what exactly is beautiful differ according to our tastes and intellectual ability (what children find beautiful and what adults find beautiful can be vastly different, such as when girls were “icky” and then, magically, they were not!). Were beauty merely a random thing with no rationality behind it whatsoever, then I wouldn’t be able to comprehend it or understand it to be beautiful. Nor would it be possible, it seems to me, for there to be a vast consensus regarding things that are beautiful: newborn babies, certain men or certain women, certain pieces of music, sunsets or other natural phenomenon, etc., especially considering the diversity of factors influencing the perspectives and tastes of those in such consensus! Yet songs and poems about sunsets have been written in many cultures for centuries. 

I began to see over the years that beauty wasn’t so much a something as it was the action of a someone, such a one that was trying to speak something to me through beauty. Eventually I would come to realize that someone was God, the one who makes anything that is beautiful beautiful in the first place.

So, a long story about why I am a theist! Or at least how I came to affirm my theism to begin with.

“The second level is what religion you “choose” once you identify as a theist. There’s so many you could be. Jewish, Christian, Muslim, Taoist, Buddhist, Shinto, Wiccan, Pagan, Mayan, Roman, Greek, Hindu, Sikh, Janist, and so on and so forth. It fascinates me when people say “I am _____ because of X reasons.”"

The easy answer is that I am Christian because when I was thirty-one days old I was baptized such and my parents raised me in such a way to foster the Christian faith.

(Baby Me on Day One and Baby Me on Day One of my new life in Christ)

That and I grew up in a town where there were no mosques and synagogues! Not because we didn’t like Jews and Muslims but because, frankly, in a small farming town of just over 3,000 people you just aren’t going to get a lot of religious diversity.

I suppose, though, that I’ve chosen to remain Christian chiefly by a special grace that helped me to choose it. Also, and I mean no disrespect, but Muhammed did not offer his life for me, nor did Buddha, nor did any other non-Christian religious figure. As for polytheism (Roman, Greek, etc.) it seems to me that if gods are like us save for they are immortal, powerful and perfect, well, its nonsense to me. If a god is perfect, meaning that it lacks nothing and is utterly complete in itself, then why need there be more than one? Even were I not Christian I think I would tend naturally toward monotheism; at least in that I could form a meaningful relationship with a god to whom I can be grateful for everything, as opposed to picking a favorite god or gods among whom I must divide my heart.

“And the third level is what “flavor” you are. For example, you’re Christian, but you’re Southern Baptist, or Pentecostal, or Catholic, or Mormon, Eastern Orthodox, Methodist, Lutheran, Presbyterian, Anglican, and so on.”

Meet my great-great-great-grandparents Johannes and Elisabetha from Brilon, Westphalia, Germany (or, in those days, Prussia). They were the first of my paternal ancestors to immigrate to the United States and settled in Norway, Iowa in 1865. They were wed in Sts. Peter and Andrew Church in Brilon, which was the church Johannes was baptized in, which was the church his parents were married in and his father was baptized in, and so on back into the 1600s at least (I haven’t had a chance to look further). However what I do see is that my family has been Catholic for a very, very long time, since before the Reformation and since there wasn’t anything in Germany before that then they’ve probably been Catholic since St. Boniface and others first began to preach the Gospel to the Germanic tribes centuries after the fall of the Roman Empire. As I’ve become to realize this my Catholic heritage has become dear to me; to think that my simple family of farm-folk from Germany has remained true to the faith that was first preached to them over a thousand years ago–even in spite of the Protestant Reformation that swept through their homeland–well, why would I ever want to leave?

My grandparents Don and Leila, who passed the faith to my father, who influenced my mother’s conversion from being Southern Baptist; she saw the joy that my grandparents always carried with them and when she realized how inseparable it was from their Catholic faith, she realized that she wanted it for herself as well. And now, even in the midst of crippling debt, two jobs and being divorced, she is yet joyful and the Eucharist is her greatest treasure. Praise God! And God bless my grandma; she just turned 93 on March 5th and prays the rosary twice a day for the whole family.

(A photo of my grandmother that my grandfather carried in his wallet during World War II.)

In addition to inheriting such a treasure as the Christian faith as it was taught and handed down by my ancestors, I’ve come to cherish the Catholic faith for other reasons, too. I love it’s history; granted, there are some painful and ugly parts of it. But there is also so much beauty and goodness that a person could not even glimpse it all in a life time. I love the saints and their writings, the stories of their lives. I love the martyrs; to think that through the ages there have been hundreds of thousands of Christians who believed the same as I and were killed for it! I love the Mass and the way we incarnate our faith in the world. I love the sacraments and above all the Eucharist; this is my dearest treasure of all. What’s more is that the Eucharist is Christ, unchanged through the centuries: when I receive the Eucharist at Mass every day I am receiving the same Christ in the same way the FIRST of my ancestors did when they were received into the Body of Christ all those centuries ago; Christ is truly my alpha and omega. I love the Pope and the Papacy, that there is a living voice of authority to whom we can look for guidance when questions of faith and morals arise that are not so clearly spelled out in Scripture or are clear in tradition. I love the universality of the Church and its world-encompassing scope. I love the different rites–twenty-three ways of being Catholic!–that have arisen from the traditions laid down by the Apostles as they preached the Gospel to different peoples in different lands. 

But most of all I love Jesus Christ. When I stop to consider that there was only one Church around after He founded it on St. Peter and that I, by the grace of God, was born into that same Church that traces its roots historically, traditionally, archaeologically, spiritually, scripturally and ritually all the way back to that founding moment I find myself, whenever asked by anyone if I ever thought of leaving the Catholic Church, saying the same words as that strong-headed, sometimes idiotic, but earnest St. Peter, “To whom shall I go? You have the words of everlasting life.” Jesus Christ founded the Church, He founded it once and as one, He desired it to remain one, He entrusted it to the Apostles, and today it is known as the Catholic Church. It wasn’t founded by some guy named “Cathol” (thanks, Eddie Izzard) because it isn’t named after who founded it, but rather named for what it is: a universal (katholikos) body of people called out of (ekklesia) the world to be His. It’s called the Catholic Church simply because that’s what it is; I don’t know that I would be comfortable belonging to the Church of Luther, Calvin, or anyone else but Christ.

“What did your spiritual journey look like?”

Beyond what I’ve shared here (I tried really hard to pull up some previously unpublished material!) I’ve given the full-length version beginning here at the post called “In the Beginning.” That begins a whole series regarding my faith journey as well as my vocation story. Many have enjoyed reading it, so I hope you all do as well.

I hope this post was interesting for you; feel free to ask more questions in the comments if you wish!

He heeded not her cry, instead letting himself fall into the pool as though to drown, and he fought not the embrace of the cold water as it dragged him down by the leaden weight of his heavy raiment. Darkness began to surround his vision as a enclosing army when of a sudden he felt as though a great hand had closed around him, and he was pulled through the hole of the dividing wall into the pool of the lady, being lifted up and spat out upon the water’s edge. He opened his eyes and coughed violently, water pouring from his mouth, his hair and garments, and all that he heard was muddled from what water yet filled his head.

The king’s vision cleared and behold did he see before him also on the water’s edge the boat that had borne his lady aloft, turned on its side and broken. She ran to him, her skirts clinging wet to her legs though they could do nothing to impede her, and she cradled his head in her lap as she repeated his name over and over again.

“What…what has happened?” he said in bewilderment.

“My love, you have tipped the scales; when you entered the water it was as though an enchantment were broken, and the water in my pool rushed upward and heaved the both of us onto the shore. My father is satisfied; I am yours to wed!” For it was that her worth could not be matched by gold or jewel, nay, not even for the whole of the world would any scale yield to balance, but only could the life of one who loved her make such a purchase. Thus when Médash gave himself to the waters in which all his treasure lay was a gift equal to her offered, and thus was it accepted.

A great current of humanity swept the two of them up and out of the dark chamber, bearing them into the warmth of the afternoon sun, and what a feast was had that night! Yet it was not to last, for in the midst of it all Drostérn approached the king, saying, “My lord and king, it is that I shall depart in the morning with my gold. Please make provision for its transport, as well as for my daughter and myself, and in one year’s time when certain preparations have been made she shall return to you for her wedding day.”

There is no word nor words, no image or thought that can convey the sheer wealth that departed the mountain the following day. Not a golden pin was left to Médash, not the plainest, most rough-cut gem nor the minutest glitter of diamond dust; even the gold and silver threads of his garments had been removed, as well as the pearl buttons. Though he bid farewell in great joy, in the days to come he began to sink in great worry, for already other kings were reminding him of his debt.

Six months passed him by, Médash all the while hearing naught from his bride save for one letter a month promising him constantly of her continued love. Too there came at first messages, then messengers, then very solemn declarations indeed from kings who required repayment of the debt—with interest—lest their own kingdoms begin to suffer. The king turned to his people in earnest, and all gave freely what they could for love of their dear king, and though their offerings satisfied the distant rulers for a time at year’s end there was talk of forfeiting land and perhaps Acton itself in order to settle the debt. No more did people speak of the Golden Hand, for in the eyes of many it had become one of tin or even clay, the Hand itself lowered and outstretched as that of a beggar. The king himself lived nearly as a hermit in his great halls, eating only what food his people would offer out of kindness each day, for he had nothing with which to pay a soul. His servants had all left him to find employment elsewhere, his armies had disbanded likewise, and even his great horse had been sold that he might have bread for a month, though by that time it had become mold and worm-ridden.

The spring came and lo one day did the king look out in the four directions and see columns of men marching forth to the mountain from three of them, and from the wastes he saw nothing. He knew not what day it was, and all hope fled his heart; thus did he fall on the cold flags of his empty bedchamber and weep, crying aloud to God, “Oh my Lord, my King; I have nothing! Once I was the King of Kings; now I am but a beggar. Should it be that you leave me in this hour, oh my God, I shall surely have nothing at all; I shall cease to be.”

At midday all his people lined the walls of the mountain and watched as the armies of twelve kingdoms arrayed themselves on three sides. Messengers rode forward to deliver terms, but the king sat upon a wooden chair—for his golden throne had been melted down—and said not a word. Those men who brought tidings and demands turned away from the once great king, shaking their heads in sorrow to see him so diminished, and soldiers were made ready to occupy the whole of the mountain and see to its fair division among the kings to which Médash was indebted.

Then it was that Médash heard a sound in his empty throne room, a flutter of wings, and he beheld for a third time the white dove as it circled above him seven times and then departed out the western window. Following it hence he looked as it soared over the wastes, and there did he spy a single rider on a black steed. Trumpets rose up from among the armies and soon, too, did the few trumpets remaining of his own answer, and the lone rider was granted leave by twelve generals to enter the mountain. In awe did the king behold the rider, for the creature that bore him was none other than his own great warhorse.

“My king!” said the rider, “I bring tidings from your lady, who even now rides hence to greet you! For the winter’s passed, and spring’s appearing; the hour of your union is at hand.”

Though this news stirred his heart somewhat, Médash bid the messenger depart, “Tell my lady that I am no longer worthy of her hand, for I can offer her naught but a cave and a shadow of a husband.”

“My lord, I shall report no such thing. Do not let evil thoughts extinguish your hope, for behold from the desert comes your salvation!”

Looking again through the western window the king fell to his knees, for coming forth from the desolate dunes was a great and winding train of wagons, the very same that had gone hence from his mountain a year before. But now it was all decked in flowers and bells, serpentine flags ornamenting each vessel such that the whole train seemed like a flaming dragon crawling across the earth. Musicians played joyfully and dancers spun and cartwheeled alongside the caravan, and soon wagons were being diverted to each army to satisfy the debts of Médash. Armor and weapons were cast aside and camps were struck, and peace swept over the mountain like a long-awaited rain. The king could not believe the grace of God and his heart burst with gratitude as wagon upon wagon made its way to Acton, bringing hope and life anew.

Hours passed before the entire caravan was within the gates, and hours still before all the people of the mountain and the caravan were assembled in the great arena. Mighty men from some distant land bore the king upon a golden litter—formerly one of his own—and brought him to the center.

A voice announced, “People of Médash! Behold the Lady Rodhél, betrothed of the Golden King!” Then a unicorn trotted in, pulling behind it an ivory chariot in which stood Rodhél dressed all in white silks with lilies adorning her hair. All the former soldiers and servants of Médash marched in after her, bearing in their hands and upon their shoulders all his former treasure, down to the very last gem. When it was that the king and his bride-to-be stood before each other, holding hands and smiling through tears and laughter, the voice again spoke, and Médash saw that it was his former master-of-ceremonies, dressed splendidly all in green.

“The lord Drostérn sends his greetings, King Médash, as well as his blessing for you to wed his daughter. He sends with her a dowry that befits his daughter and expresses the esteem which he bears for you. For during the past year he spoke with his daughter at length of you, and many times did he meet with other kings and merchants who could tell of your character and goodness. Though he chose for his part not to be present this day, he promises his love for you, bearing you in his heart as though you were his son. May God bless your union, and may your greatest treasure be not your gold or jewels, but your wife unto the end of your days on earth.”

A tremendous cry went up from the people gathered in the arena, and above the roar Médash said to his beloved, “Why has your father not come? I desire much to embrace him!”

Rodhél answered with naught but a single tear, and then Médash knew her father could never be among them. He kissed her tear and held her close to him as all the place about them continued to churn and shudder in revelry.

Six days there were in which the whole of the mountain was made ready for the wedding of their king, and such were the flowers clothing the city that the lands far off in each direction could enjoy their scent if it was that the wind favored them.

On the seventh day of the week, at the sun’s height, there in the arena for all to see did Médash wed Rodhél. She drank of his wine and received a silver signet ring of her own as a pledge of all his wealth, and when it was that the priest serving at the altar that day granted him leave to lift the veil that hid her face from his sight, the King of Gold beheld at last the greatest treasure in all the world.

TÉ YENT

I hope that everyone enjoyed this story; it ended up taking longer to tell than I thought originally!

All were dismissed once the gold was gathered and placed back upon the shelves, and because of the late hour Médash and his guests retired for dinner. At table he pondered and discussed what ought to be done, for he was determined to keep his word and to win her hand.

“Rodhél, I am confounded by what I have seen! For I have seated you upon a horse before; by my strength alone have I borne you above the earth. Yet not with ten thousand pounds of gold did I move you today. But fear not; I have a thought that may grant us what we seek.”

That night, when his guests had gone to sleep, Médash met with his head-servant along with fifty of his strongest stonecutters, leading them all far underneath the mountain where many reservoirs of water were kept in the event of drought. Instructing them carefully, Médash guided them in digging two reservoirs adjacent to one another, separated only by a wall as wide as the king’s foot. At the base of this wall, in the center of its length, a hole was made such that water would flow freely between the pools. In six days was this work completed with great precision, and straight lines were cut within the reservoirs that the level of water, once present, would be made known and its rising and falling easily discerned. Then on the seventh was a festival had in which all families where called to bring a vessel of water from their own homes to be poured into the new reservoirs. Within hours the great pools, each seventy strides in length and thirty-five across, were filled and all were present, eagerly awaiting the revelation of the purpose of the marvelous reservoirs of water.

Soon great strong men brought small wooden barges and piled them up neatly along the side of one reservoir. Then, led in by the king, a beautifully carved ship painted all in white with the carved neck and head of an eagle at the fore, large enough to bear but one person, was brought and placed in the water of the opposite pool. Rodhél, dressed splendid all in blue, was carefully lowered into the vessel and pushed out into the middle. Sure enough all beheld the water in both pools rise, though but a little, according to the lines etched upon their walls. A barge was ordered placed in the empty pool and soon wagonloads of gold began to arrive in the vast cavern. The king halted all things that he might speak.

“My people! Behold there upon the waters your future queen, Rodhél, daughter of Drostérn!” They all of them cheered, and the stone of the mountain hummed sympathetically. “Her father has demanded that I give to him my bride’s weight in gold, and to my amaze my great scales could not bear the price! Thus have I made these pools as a scale the like of which none have seen nor will see again: I shall fill the barges yonder with gold until the water in both pools is equal, for I swear to you, as God is King of All, that once I begin to weigh the other barge down with treasure, the water in our lady’s pool shall not rise until I have placed at least ten-thousand pounds; should I be required to go beyond this I fear I shall be undone!” Giving a slight pause for his people to think a moment upon his words, he then said, “Fill the first barge!”

Thus did his people cheer on the servants that began to heap sacks of gold into the first barge, floating there in the great pool as though a leaf on the ocean. Once it looked as though the vessel was about to sink for the weight it bore the king ordered them to cease and to push the barge out. The people were astonished to see that though several thousand pounds of gold pressed upon the water in the further reservoir, the level of water in the lady’s pool had not risen from the place of its starting. Another barge was brought in and filled, and again, and again until the setting of the sun that day and the utter emptying of the treasury of Médash. The pool was one-third covered all in barges heaped to near-floundering and the level of water within had risen considerably, yet the water of the lady’s pool remained still. Such a marvel had never been known under the mountain, and ever since that day, on its anniversary, the story was told anew from father to daughter, mother to son.

That night did Médash remain long awake, not knowing what was to be done. At sunrise he dispatched hawks to every king with whom he was acquainted, begging them to send all treasure that could be spared, for he was in desperate need.

Over the course of two months caravans escorted by armies of powerful men streamed to the mountain like rivers, and within the waters of wagon and beast there flowed gold in such supply that it seemed as though the sun had broken atop Acton and bled upon the earth. Anew was undertaken the great water-scales, again did Rodhél go hence in her fine-crafted boat, and again did the water in her pool not rise a drop though it was that in three days time the pool opposite her was covered all over in barges and small boats laden to nearly sinking with treasure. Even mighty men among those sent to guard the caravans fell to their knees in awe, for they sensed that the Hand of God had moved against the Hand of Gold. Indeed the Golden King was vexed beyond all thought, and in an act of madness he tossed onto the nearest barge the last of his treasure: the signet ring of his kingdom. It landed atop the treasures already assembled with an innocent tinkle of metal upon metal, yet its added weight caused the barge to plunge beneath the surface of the water as though it were swallowed up by a monster, and the waves thus loosed by this motion capsized all the rest, to the horror of all. One-by-one each barge wavered and slid beneath the water, issuing forth a cloud of foam that made it seem as though the whole pool was boiling. Even this, however, did not move the water of the lady’s pool whatsoever, as though it were ice or crystal, and Médash wept.

Too did his entire kingdom weep, for their hearts broke for their king. Bereft of all his treasure, stripped of gold and ring, he had naught left to give. He stood at the edge of the waters, looking down into its depths at the faint shimmering of the vast treasures below, watching as streams of bubbles sprouted up here and there as all things were drowned. Then did he look across the way at his beloved Rodhél, and she returned his look. But something in his face pierced her heart with a dagger of fear and she cried aloud, “Médash!”

Now that the Oscars are over with (bummer that Mother Dolores didn’t win! Oh well!), here’s a simple little post to give you all something to think about for Lent. After all, as I’ve mentioned in years past, St. John Chrysostom described Lent, I think, very well in saying that it is a time for “fasting from sin.” 

So here’s a question: what do these sinners all have in common? (The answer is in the comments!)

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You know, I haven’t watched the Oscars since I was in high school. My sister loved watching them and since we only had one TV in the house, we all had to watch it or find something else to do.

This year I will at least watch the red carpet stuff, and perhaps I’ll watch the rest of it if Billy Crystal is on his game (man is he hilarious!). But this year I have a good reason to watch; one of my friends will be attending:

But that was taken years ago when she was a rising starlet in Hollywood, famous for resembling Grace Kelly and for giving Elvis Presley his first on-screen kiss; in fact she had to kiss him a few times because both of them were so shy they blushed and make-up crews had to come in and hide it!

At the height of her promising career she felt a deeper longing in her heart that only God could satisfy, and so she left it all behind and entered a Benedictine convent on the East coast.

Now she is Mother Dolores Hart, OSB

She and I have been penpals for a few years now, ever since I heard about her, and she’s been such a good spiritual friend and, really, a spiritual mother for me. I am hoping to finally meet her in person this summer, God-willing!

This year there is a short documentary about her life that has been nominated for an Oscar, and she plans to attend. She is the only nun that is a part of the Academy so for the past years you’ve been watching the Academy Awards, she has seen those movies and cast her vote (don’t ask me how she voted this year; I never asked!). So when you see a nun walking that red carpet Sunday night, now you know “the rest of the story,” as the late Paul Harvey would say. 

Please root for my dear friend, Mother Dolores!

Here’s a good article about it all: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/02/15/oscars-2012-mother-dolores-hart-elvis_n_1279731.html

Dawn came, and though he had arriven many hours before Médash chose to tie his horse under the small grove of trees and then sit at a wooden table near a small wicker shed, waiting. Hour after hour he poured through all memory of Rodhél, scrutinizing the response of his heart to each, and when it was that the red sun arose shimmering above the ocean of sand so, too, did the realization of love arise in his heart. Before he knew what to say to his beloved, however, she stepped outside into the glory of the morn, the wind playing out her raven hair and swaying her pale skirt. Words failed him, and naught but his tears greeted her as he stood, clad in his white robe and girt about in a simple kilt. Bare chest heaving, lips trembling, he fell to his knees and did her homage, his kingly locks covering his abashed face.

“My lord!” Rodhél exclaimed, dropping an empty jug and racing to him. She knelt and lifted his face in her hands as she said, “My lord, what troubles you? What have you to do with me again this day after sending me from your sight?”

“My lady,” said he, but only by great effort, “I am the King of Gold, with wealth enough to purchase ten kingdoms, yet I had not until your departure tasted the bitterness of penury. My pride, wounded by being so easily deceived, blinded me utterly to your goodness, and I beg you forgive me. God has taken away my blindness, and I feel unworthy to view what it is that He has revealed to my poor heart!”

Rodhél dried his tears with her hair, gently as he had never known gentleness, and said to him, “My lord, you are forgiven, for never did I hold you in contempt. Your actions were just, for I should have come to you in the light and not in the shadow as though a demon or some other creature. Yet my awe of your majesty and the baseness of my ignorant treatment of you when last you came to my home made me a coward, and for that I have done my penance.”

“And likewise, my lady, have I done mine, for though I have fought many a battle and bore many wounds, and though I have suffered countless things in my centuries of life I have not suffered, truly, but in these past weeks of your being parted from me.” Then he looked into her eyes as though peering into a new and wondrous land for the first time, as in days of old when a wandering Elven lord came over the top of a high hill and glanced, but for a moment, into the valley of Héleredh where Adama and Eva once did dwell, before an angel of the Lord came and hid it from all sight. For long did Médash gaze into her, and his heart then felt alien in all the world as though it had found, at long last, the home of its birth and belonging. He knew in that moment that the world would bear him no comfort unless his heart rested in hers.

“Rodhél, in these weeks alone have I come to realize that in spite of all my wealth there is one treasure I long above all others, yet it is beyond even my riches to purchase, and I fear that without this treasure I will have no joy in this world.”

Her eyes went wide and she said, “My lord, what would you have me do to help you obtain this treasure? For I have naught but an elderly father, a horse, and some pomegranates.”

Médash said not a word, instead taking her calloused but graceful hand into his own, and the look of his eyes spoke to her soul all that she desired to know.

A single tear, lit all aglow as a golden jewel by the still rising sun, wound its way down her cheek and trembled upon the precipice of her jaw before it fell to the earth. She grasped his hand, and the both of them embraced, crying out with joy. But it was not to last, for behold did come unto them her father, clothed in a rough spun tunic and leaning heavily on a stick.

“Horse-thief! What have you again to do with us, eater of pomegranates?”

“My lord, I…”

“Father!” said Rodhél, “He is no horse-thief; he is our king.”

The old man stopped a moment and looked upon Médash, spying the golden hand embroidered on the breast of his white robe, “That may well be when he is within his districts, when he sits upon the mountain and beholds the Salduar Forests to the east, the Wastes to the west, the Gharamere to the north and the Sanabhoro River to the south. But beyond his sight is our home, and thus is he subject to me. I am called Drostérn, but you have leave to call me ‘lord’ that our places may be well remembered here.”

Médash did him homage, as was right, and he said, “Begging your pardon, lord, but it is that Médash, a man, seeks the hand of your daughter in marriage.”

“She has no dowry,” was the old man’s reply.

“She need none, lord, and you need not fear any shame because of it.”

“She has no veil, for her mother’s perished to moth a century ago.”

“She would have one made for her of silver thread and moonlight if she desires!”

The old man, for a time looking quite regal, seemed to age again before the sight of all when he said wearily, “If I permit you to take her hand and the rest of her following, you take from me my every joy in this world. Thus I must deny you. So long as I have her I am the richer, for when I die it will not be my few possessions that testify on my behalf before my Judge, but my daughter. ”

His words smote the king to the heart. Rodhél then moved to stand before her father, saying not a thing, and the two stood as that for what seemed a day to Médash-King. Then, sighing heavily as though a groan from within the depths of the earth, Drostérn said, “Man, if you desire my daughter to be your bride, you must offer me her weight in gold that it may be my livelihood in her absence. Grant me this, and she shall be your queen. ”

The king said solemnly, pressing his closed fist over the golden hand on his robe in pledge, “This do I swear: should you and your daughter deign to accompany me back to my palace I shall grant you her weight in gold, as well as grant you all else that you should desire for your life-long provision.”

A wagon was secured to the king’s great warhorse, a humiliating task for so grand a creature, but the horse bore it obediently, and within the wagon rode Rodhél and her father. Thus did King Médash ride again into Acton, clad in his night robe and kilt, bearing behind him a crude wagon with what appeared to be two common folk. The trumpets and watchmen all hailed him in spite of the strangeness of his attire, for kings are not made so by raiment. The fanfare called all manner of people into the streets, and in moments news spread as wildfire that Rodhél had returned to the mountain. As the king made his way through the city, flower petals began to rain from above as women and girls threw them from windows and rooftops, and a thick joy filled the atmosphere like honey and milk.

The three broke fast together, and when all had eaten, bathed and dressed the king met with Rodhél and Drostérn, saying, “Let us go to the treasury, that we none of us may wait a moment longer for our happiness to be complete.” Litters were brought for the each of them, and within the hour they had passed through many guard posts and secured doors into a vast chamber filled with chests and shelves on which sat leather sacks of gold and jewels. Windows made of quartz and other transparent stone filled the place with such light that ignited the riches like fire, and the sight of it filled all with awe. In the center of the chamber was a grand scale large enough that a pair of oxen could easily stand on one side to be weighed.

Disembarking from their litters to sit at ease on plush cushions, the king then explained to Rodhél and her father that she would stand on one side of the great scale while Médash had his servants begin placing sacks of gold on the other. Once the scale was balanced, all that was upon the scale would belong to Drostérn. With this her father was satisfied, and thus did Rodhél go to stand upon the scale. It slowly dropped so that its pan rested upon the floor with her weight, and servants were ordered to bring gold until the scale balanced. Sack after sack of gold was brought forward, and even after the number which Médash thought would be sufficient had been surpassed, still the scale had not moved at all! Soon twelve great sacks of gold coins had been brought—easily the weight of a strong bull—and yetthe scale refused to balance.

He then thought perhaps the scale had become broken, and so he bid Rodhél to step off for a moment. As soon as she left the plate the side with the gold crashed to the floor with a sound that rang throughout the mountain, and when he bid her return to the scale behold! the plate that bore her gently came to rest upon the floor as though she weighed the greater. Médash ordered a dozen more servants to come to the treasury, and soon a great line of them stretched from the scale to the shelves, one strong man handing a sack of gold coin to the next and so on until the last man heaped it upon the scale. In three hours time there was such a mound of gold upon the scale that the chains bearing it broke and all came crashing and ringing about, never having lifted Rodhél from the floor an inch, nor even a height through which one could thread a hair.