The Gift of an “Unhardened” Heart

Look at your heart!  It tells the story of why you were made.  It is not perfect in shape and contour, like a Valentine heart.  There seems to be a small piece missing out of the side of every human heart.  That may be to symbolize a piece that was torn out of the Heart of Christ which embraced all humanity on the cross.

“I think the real meaning is that when God made your human heart, he found it so good and so lovable that he kept a small sample of it in heaven.  He sent the rest of it into this world to enjoy his gifts, and to use them as stepping stones back to him.”

–Venerable Fulton J. Sheen

I find this meditation hopeful.  Do you agree?



A RE-BLOG POST – Daisy in the Forest

Daryl, my sentiments exactly, so well articulated that I wish to re-blog here, thanks so much for the delightful daisy.


Upon a walk
A blessed sight
A holy breath
Of sacred light

A streaming ray
Shone from above
Through forest thick
Of touching love

Its destination
Now be known
Upon the ground
A daisy shown

This grand display
Why should it be
In beauty blessed
That God loves me

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My mother and moi had the privilege of carrying a replica of the holy cross through the old Jerusalem streets for the 8th station where Jesus met the Women of Jerusalem.  While holding the front of the cross on my shoulders, I trembled at all the grief I had given my dear Maman.  I wondered what she was thinking holding the end of the cross.  After that impressive experience, we continued to love each other more deeply in silence and celebrated our mutual forgiveness of each other over a delicious Jewish meal.

To the Women of Jerusalem, Jesus said:

“Do not weep for me; weep instead for yourselves and for your children.”

We did.  I still do.


The Lavender Fields of Provence


Recognizing your roots.  Recognizing a special person in your life is a good thing.  For me that person was my French grandmother who nurtured all the “French” in me besides my Maman Cherie.

Mame Jane saw life changing from horse and buggy to cars, plumbing and electricity to TV and seeing man walk the moon. No more than 5 feet tall, slightly rotund in the middle with her black hair spun in a thick bun, she dressed in black or violet – her faithful armor of widowhood – and an apron with pockets, one full of bonbons, the other a purple stone rosary.  She gently took me under her wings, cheerfully showing me how to love everything – her cooking par excellence, praying silently, laying flowers on our family grave after Sunday Mass.  I never heard a harsh word or seen an unkind deed from her.  My grandmother shared her faith in silent reverence.  I became her shadow.  She’s the one who watered my roots as a child, while years later my mother Denyse rooted my maturity in her last hill of dreams.  How blessed my roots encourage me every day.

In recognizing your roots, who is the special person who watered your roots as a child?