It was 10.00 pm when I started driving Cally and Oscar to the vet. A clear sky. The moon was full. I put Cally on the passenger seat by herself. She liked to be near me when taking a ride. We had never journeyed at night so she could probably sense something different though I purposely took both of them along to make it less obvious.
Cally had lost more than half of her weight in a few months with diarrhoea and sometimes vomiting. Antibiotics did not help. She was skin and bone towards the end but her lower chest was wider than she had ever been. Her complete blood work was normal with minimal elevation in her liver enzymes and some findings of malnutrition. The last week or so she could not walk much and I had to lift her out onto the lawn. She could only eat chicken cooked by me sometimes but everything came out after. She had lots of accidents in the kitchen but was so intelligent and sensitive that she often tried to hide or eat her own mess. It was a very sad scene for me to witness.
This morning surprisingly she managed to take in half a chicken leg. Then she finished it off for dinner. It was a good meal for her. I was counting the remianing hours for her throughout the day.
We had to wait for the vet who was attending to another dog. I did not want to leave Cally alone there so I had the opportunity to hold her for a good 30 minutes. She lied limp on my chest. Oscar was running around. The moment finally arrived. I spoke to the team to make sure that it would be fast. They would inject an over-dose of sodium barbiturate. I did not wish to witness. That would incur an intravenous drip and further prolongation of her passing.
She was in the back room when I left with Oscar. To Cally it should feel no different than another venipuncture experience. The moon was still shinning brightly when I arrived home, only a bit blurred.
I hanged up Cally's collar and tag which she had worn for 14 years. Looking at the untouched boiled chicken I made tonight, I thought Cally would have liked some.

My web master, mentor and friend passed away quietly after supper on Oct 27th 2008. He left as gently as a soap bubble that burst while ascending into heaven. For the past year or so we had talked about sickness, suffering and death. He did not want to become more and more dependent on others. He was not afraid of death but could not bear the thought of having to endure pain.

He did not like to be photographed. Most certainly he did not like to be regarded as an authority in spiritual direction. He would probably be looking for a place to hide if he had heard what people were saying about him after his death. He had a big compassionate heart but was often too shy to admit it. Several years ago he teased me as the 'Jewish Mama'. Then one day he confessed that he saw that in himself too - the tendency of always wanting to help others.

Though in the past his ambition was to bring theology to people who did not have a chance to be educated, for the last couple of years he was unable to read, too weak to keep books opened. Most of his connection to the outside world was through his computer and sometimes through TV. Of course he had friends and many visitors, people that he helped by just being himself.

JV loved music and arts. We sang together at times. He could remember many song lyrics. What he was not sure he would find it from the internet. Towards the last few months of his life we also prayed together, looking out the window from his room, feeling God's love suffused in nature. The experience was very special to both of us. It is consoling for me to know that he was found facing the window at the end.

He spoke about walking and standing in his dreams. Now he is free.

I miss his physical presence but am happy to see him smiling. Many things and events will continue to remind me of him but I can talk with him anytime I like. Thank you, John, for your continued presence!

Just came back from two weeks out east coast of Canada. Most enjoyable. Close to the end of the trip I wondered how it would be like living in a milieu without friction, like walking on the moon all your life, or floating in the uterus. I could not take it. So I was happy to be back to the rat race. Friction is what we need to climb the mountain to meet God. We need that even just to walk. Imagine slipping on the ice.......without friction. Thank God for all our interpersonal frictions!

This week a good friend welcomed a new grandson. At the same time a dear old friend of hers was found to have late stage bladder cancer. It seemed like an emotional roller coaster for her. Though I try to put myself in her shoes, it's hard to be under her skin and feel the impact.

I am reminded of a song sung by Peter, Paul and Mary in the early 70s.

"And when I die, and when I'm dead, dead and gone,
There'll be one child born and a world to carry on,
There'll be one child born to carry on."

So life is like the waves by the seashore, one following another. There may be bigger or smaller ones but they all come to pass. Nothing can stop the perpetual motion (except when it's really cold of course). So we live, one generation following another. The sea waves are all connected in one body of water; so too are we all connected in Christ. What consolation!

Have a spirit-filled Christmas! (To all ye reading this)

I used to walk the cemetery on New Year's Eve just to stay with the dead and to reflect from their perspective. Today was a beautiful sunny day, the end of our liturgical year. By chance I passed by the cemetery alone. This time I did not do a year-end Examen. There was no intense thinking or absorbed praying, just walking, bathing in the sun on this very pleasant close-to-winter day. The leaves were turning yellow or brown. Everything seemed to be physically more dead than alive. Once again I was reminded of the non-essentials in life. How freeing it would have been if I could only get rid of more physical clutters or intellectual properties or spiritual 'statics' that interfered with the radio frequency from God or the clarity of my vision. Even good things like hobbies felt excessive.

I am grateful tonight for having walk that walk.

It has been almost a month.

I still remember distinctly the point he made in his homily.

With sequential pericopes Peter turned from the blessed to the cursed. First Peter was praised because God the Father had revealed to him the truth of Jesus Christ. He became the rock upon which Jesus built his Church. Immediately in the following pericope, Peter's kind but blind concern caused Jesus to see the shadow of Satan in him. The Satan that would tempt Jesus to forsake God's will of going through the passion. The same Satan whose sweet concern tempted Jesus' divine power to turn stones into bread, the Satan who tried to dissuade him with the power of earthly kingdom and finally the Satan who quoted scripture to test the love of God for him.

Grant us Your alertness of the Angel of Light.

This is an emotion, anger. Sometimes I look at it, I analyze it, I think of ways to diffuse it. Other times I experience it. Occasionally I let it sweep me off the feet. All emotions are powerful, they can become creative or destructive or both.

What makes me write this after a silence of almost three months???

Since the arrival of the pipe organ in our parish, so many people are angry. This is the ugly side that outsiders do not hear of or see. This is the fact of life that anyone desiring something counter-cultural will have to be prepared for.

Subtle anger first appears from the finance committee. Then the guitar group looks at the instrument as if it is their arch-enemy, with the organist along its side. What makes matters worse is that our pastor quite by chance comes across a great musician who falls in love with the organ and will move just to take up a very low-pay job as a part-time organist of our parish. She is way over-qualified for this position. Guess what, now those who cannot play the instrument too well are actually getting upset, because their 'share' is being taken away. They protest. No conflict is easy to deal with. I feel sorry for our pastor.

The only request from Christ before he went on his final trip was for us to love each other.

Yes, anger is an emotion that we cannot control when it starts. Some are justifiable, most of them are not.

My teacher Mary Jo Leddy at Regis talks about 'Radical Gratitude' being the most essential attitude in life. Well, I think 'Radical Self-centredness' is the cause of most if not all of our downfalls. If the source of anger is because of lack of self-gratification, then it is not worth it. Let go. Things can be done much better with a calm and grateful heart.

I don't think the persons involved will ever read this message. However, through them I am reminded of a good way to diffuse anger and to turn the energy into something creative and constructive. I will just reflect on the source of my anger, whether it is over my own gratification, or over justice for others. I guess I should thank God for the the recent rather unpleasant experience.

I was at a liturgical music workshop yesterday. Learned many nuances in liturgical music. Got the news about the recent music publication from the Jesuits in St. Louis. Confirmed that hymn texts are prayers reflective of theology of the time. Most of all the invited speaker affirmed many of my experience with the church choir. Interestingly the last bit really lifted my spirit.

"Mediocrity should not be tolerated even though most of the ministers are volunteers." "Practice is essential." "The size of ego is generally inversely proportional to the musical competence." "If the choir takes four weeks of practice to sing a new song, how can we expect the congregation, most of whom cannot read music, to follow a new piece in one sitting? Repetition is essential to build up a repertoire." "Prepare by praying with the hymn text."

These were just some of the gems.

At mass this morning the priest spoke emphatically about the importance of embracing the cross and living out the paschal mystery. I whispered to the choir director suggesting that we could change our recessional hymn to 'Lift High the Cross'. She agreed that it was a good choice suitable for the context and within the repertoire of the parish. After mass, a small voice behind me said, "I wish I could have the power to change a hymn. I want to have some say too." I turned around, it was our newest member, an older woman who could not read music. My spirit lifted from the workshop was brought back to reality immediately.

Somethings in life are like sands in my shoes. There is no need to go far looking for challenges to be a good Christian. On the other hand, these sands tell me that I still have sensation in my feet. I wonder how often have I demanded that God let me have my way in uncomfortable situations? Yea, I want to be in control just like that choir member, and just as helpless.

"No one puts new wine into old wineskins; otherwise, the wine will burst the skins, and the wine is lost, and so are the skins; but one puts new wine into fresh wineskins."

There are rules in a department, laws in a society, Commandments of God and Beatitudes of Jesus. These are created with the intention to help us live respectfully in harmony.

One very late night, I was driving home from out of town. At a junction between a small country road and a main through-way I was waiting for the light to turn green. The side road probably did not have a weight sensor. The light seemed to take forever to turn. I waited and waited. The through-way was dark and completely clear for a long way. Finally I decided to drive through the red light. In my mind, the lights were there to coordinate drivers so that we could all be safe. They were not there just for us to obey the signals.

I am not writing this to encourage others to break the laws. All I am trying to say is that if we obey the essence of the written laws we will do more than required, we will meet more than the minimal standard. For example, the national turn-around-time for small surgical biopsies is two working days. This is because of the time needed for grossing by a pathologist or an assistant, dehydration & embedding of the tissue, cutting & staining of slides by a group of technologists, reviewing and reporting by the pathologist,and finally typing by a transcriptionist and signing by the pathologist before the report could be released electronically and/or mailed out. Often the cases are worrisome clinically and bear malignant results. All I need to remember is that the slides belong to someone real with all their hope, anxiety and fear waiting along with perhaps their family and loved ones. I will try my best to have these cases taken out of sequence, reported, typed, signed out and released within the first day.

God, help keep our minds and hearts young and open at all times so that we may follow the essence of your will, let your wine be poured into our skin kept fresh by you.

The Gospel of today, 6th Sunday Ordinary Time, Cycle B, hits me in three counts.

If only I could wear my own sinfulness on my skin, I would have asked for healing a great deal more readily. Ah, that would be too easy. Won't it?

"If you are willing, you can cleanse me." If only I could possess the confidence like the leper I would have been touched and healed many times.

Will I be able to treat the lepers of today, those who carry social stigma, the same way as Christ has treated the leper in the Gospel? Will I be confident in the love of God when I carry a stigma perceived within my social circle?

I was overcome by this feeling after communion this morning.

Suddenly I see myself taking in everything going on with the humans and with the earth. I feel part of myself rotting away affected by a form of 'fresh-eating' disease: all the atrocities done to humans all ages all over, acres and acres of forest being cut down every minute, garbage being generated as if there is no tomorrow. The other part of me tries to regenerate. My body is in a constant flux of destruction and healing. At times it feels like a tug of war between a malignant tumor and my immune defense.

A frightening image. Must have been very transient. I was awaken by the dismissal of the priest.

The sky was grey as I left the church. People from the Alcoholic Anonymous were smoking outside. Difficult time of the year for them, too many opportunities for drinking.

Suffering is redemptive.

This poem was passed on to me by an Augustinian monk when he was living in our parish. It was written by someone in his order. I had used it on the prayer cards for the funerals of both of my parents. The monk I knew passed away a few years back. Someone, a priest, asked me for it today. I thought, in gratitude, I would share it with whoever that may be visiting these thoughts. Something tells me that the anonymous monk would be pleased with this.

The candle you see burning
is a symbol of life and death.
To provide light and heat,
the candle must burn itself out.
So with us - to provide inspiration and love,
we must burn ourselves out.
The difference, however, between
ourselves and the candle is,
that having burned ourselves out,
our inspiration and love live
in those we have touched.
This is our hope - to respond to
Christ's challenge to touch others.

- Prayer of an Augustinian monk

Reluctantly I agreed to attend the class reunion. Scrambled to finish work beforehand. Long journey half way across the globe. Many meals shared, many tales told, many songs sung. How is it possible that we have all changed so much yet still remain so similar as in the old days? Has time played a trick? Returned after a brief stint, feeling a bit lost yet content to have been. Who knows where we will be five years from now?

Arrived three days after their first wedding anniversary, Sebastien was healthy and strong, with all his toes and fingers. Dawn gave him the second name Thomas, after the doubting nature of this apostle. I only visited them for about 30 minutes, both parents were very tired. Every new life is a miracle, a total gift. I am just very grateful, day-dreaming into the future........................

In his dying he has shown us the courage and communion made possible through suffering. In his death he has sent out a final message, loud and clear, to the whole world: the seed of unity is sown and flourished in love. Regardless of colour, culture, age, belief, life experience, people are connected by this final send-off. Whether they agree or disagree with John Paul II they are stirred to reflect and respond.

Joseph Ratzinger's moving homily is at once a teaching using Karol Wojtyla's life to encourage all of us to respond to the "Follow me" invitation of Christ, to listen to the His dying request and entrust ourselves to Mary.......the dawn, she who leads us to Christ the rising sun.

It is important that we do not focus only on the finger that points to God, or John Paul II would have lived in vain.

Not so long ago, you took the risk to come our way to bring Lazarus back to life. Now you are planning to go even further, all the way into Jerusalem, for the Passover. The high priest and scribes have already given specific instruction for people to watch out for you so that they can make the arrest. In the past you rarely passed by without dropping in. So again you are making a stop here in Bethany. May well be the final stop before your fateful journey into the dangerous unknown. By this stop you have made me feel very special.

Martha is, as usual, busily directing the preparation of meal. Dear Lazarus, still a bit pale, sits among your gang. It is just like any other meal we have shared, yet you seem troubled, not quite your normal self. How I long to hold and comfort you, just to tell you how much I love you. Yet, so much is going on.

The servants begin washing the feet of the guests, one by one. An impulse overcomes me, this is the perfect moment. I suddenly remember the expensive pure nard ointment that Simon bought from the Persian merchants a while back. It is contained in an alabaster jar with a narrow neck, designed to be poured out sparingly. I grasp it and rush over to you. The ointment is flowing too slowly I decide to break the neck of the container. Now that's more like it, beautiful. You deserve it, all of it. First I pour some over your head, then all the rest over your feet. Still, this can hardly express my love for you. The soothing scent fills the whole place. I wipe the excess off your feet with my hair. Sharing the ointment makes me feel closer to you. Yet, I wish I could share what seems to be bothering you. Your followers start murmuring. Finally I hear Judas reprimanding me for being so extravagant. I look up and see your piercing gaze, with a touch of sadness, ever so subtle. Then you rebut him, "Leave her alone. Let her keep the scent for my burial." My Love, sounds like you are anticipating your own end! No more word is necessary. You are determined, you are speaking with your eyes. Nothing will ever stop you from following your Father's will. You have often told us so.

Goodbye my Love. Yes, I will keep the scent left in my hair and my hands. It will be my only consolation when you are gone............. My heart is bleeding with sorrow.

Today a different thought comes to me while reading the parable of the good Samaritan (Lk. 10:25-37) in relationship to the great commandment.

This has always been a parable that contrasts the compassion of the Samaritan to the aloofness of the priest and the Levite. Why does Jesus seem to pick on the priest or the Levite? Well these people are bound by the written laws of Moses (Lev. 21:1-2). As priests they have been told specifically not to touch the corpse of one of their people. The Samaritan, however, is less observant of the written law but listens rather to the Law written in his heart.

There are many more examples of how the Pharisees follow the written laws to the fine prints and hence become blind to the goodness beyond them. They see Jesus breaking the Sabbath rather than healing the sick. The seed of persecuting and killing Jesus is thus germinated.

Yet, as Thomas Moore put it. Laws are necessary. They protect us, as well the the evil. If we remove the laws one by one, one day the evil will be able to get at us directly. What protects also restricts. The laws have made the priest and the Levite unfree to follow and blind to the Law of their heart.

Some years ago I published a letter in the newspaper in defense of a priest who had to be let go by the Bishop because of some remote history of misconduct from 20 years before. This priest had moved from another province to our area and worked diligently. He was an inspiring priest, but was accidentally recognized by someone from the past. This person reported him to the local Bishop. It was during the height of the sex scandal. After that letter I had many phone messages and cards of thanks from total strangers. He was obviously loved by many. Finally I was asked by our pastor to attend a public fund-raising dinner for the pro-life group. The Bishop came over, out of the blue, to our table and shook my hand. No word was said, it was not necessary. His eyes told me that he too, was grateful for my defense of that priest. Yet his hands were tied.

There are many Church bashing going on. Much anger has been driving in this direction for good reasons. However,we need to look at more, in depth and in width, but more so from the perspective of time. Both the written laws and the Law of our heart are important. We constantly fluctuate between the two because we are both a communal and an individualistic being. The Church need both the priest and the lay people. We serve different purpose. Wisdom is when we know how to follow the written laws but willing to go beyond and follow the Law in our heart. The Law written with love can only be observed to perfection with love.

I have accompanied sick friends and family members to their end. With or without pain, those who live a fruitful life seem to die a beautiful death. Like falling stars some radiate brilliantly just before they disappear. Others are like sunset, mellow and gentle with a warm glow, declining as we gaze. Still others who pass like a puff of smoke, a night watch, a breath. It is a privilege, an honor, to be by someone during this passage. It is sacred time.

To me the most charming part about Venice is the hourly tolling of bells from different churches, close and far. They are in different paces, at different pitches, and with different tonal qualities. Together they form a chorus that makes me pause and brings my spirit to a different level far above the delightful existential scenes of water canals, gondolas, colourful lights, people and pigeons. Even the Italian coffee does not have this effect. I open the windows at night just to catch their last serenade after sundown and be waken up by the first early morning chimes.

We have been given the most beautiful Christmas present! Not only nature is covered with abundant fresh snow, overnight, everything has been glazed with ice sparkling gloriously in the sun and glistening in the moon.
Standing in the cool night on my street after midnight mass, I can almost hear the chorus of angels singing...............
Glory to God in the highest, peace on earth among those favoured. You have come to your own again. Are we really ready to accept you?

I am not sure I can answer positively most of the time. There is more to Advent preparation than spiritual preparation, along with all the other preparations such as music, food, decorations etc. Going to mid-night mass is a tradition for my family. Calling or sending paperless notes to loved ones is another good tradition.

Ah, but when I encounter difficult personalities, usually not the poor or the marginalized, it's pretty hard to empty my previous experience or preformed opinions of them and start opening to them like a blank canvas, making a conscious decision to love them. Now that is really ready to accept the incarnate Jesus. Ummm, I often fail that one.