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| Little E, proudly showing off his wings. |
“Look at the castle I made, Miss Gracie!” young William Arden cried happily, tugging on his nurse-maid’s skirt.
'Miss Gracie' Sinclair pulled her attention away from her intent, but aimless, study of one of the garden’s beautiful roses. She looked down to where William was playing and smiled down at the excited little boy.
“It’s lovely!” she told him, gently ruffling his head of curly, blonde hair with her hand.
William grabbed her wrist with his small, chubby hands and pulled her down. “You have to look closer,” he said very seriously.
Grace chuckled and obliged, settling herself on the grass beside William. “Let us take a look at this magnificent castle of yours, Sir William the Great,” she said, imitating what she supposed were the manners of a lady at court.
William giggled and grinned happily.
”Ah, I see your soldiers are all out for inspection,” she commented, pointing to the little tin soldiers lined up in the loose soil. Their painted red uniforms gleamed merrily in the sunlight as they stood before William’s ‘castle.’
Grace smiled at her young charge’s handy work, impressed by William’s imaginative construction. He had levelled a patch of loose dirt and gathered small stones and twigs to construct the walls of his miniature fortress. Fresh spring leaves waved jauntily from the parapets and a strip of old bark served as the castle’s sturdy drawbridge, although a moat had yet to be constructed.
“Yes, ma’am,” William replied, beaming proudly at his youthful foray into the field of military architecture. “When the inspection’s over, they shall go out on field manoeuvres.”
“Very good, valiant knight! I am sure your leadership will do wonders for their discipline.”
“Aye! And they’ll be able to keep an eye out for any French spies lurking about,” William added, his voice lowering as he looked about as if expecting a spy to pop out from behind a rosebush at any instant.
Grace nodded solemnly. “This is a very good plan,” she whispered. “I think you had better send them off on those manoeuvres if we’re going to be safe, Sir Knight.”
William saluted her smartly and then immediately absorbed himself in the task of rearranging the ranks of his army. Grace smiled fondly at him, and then relaxed, resting on her elbows and leaning her head back.
The morning sunlight warmed her cheeks and she shut her eyes for a little while, enjoying the sounds of the light breeze rustling through the rose garden and young William quietly at play beside her. It wasn’t often that they were blessed with such lovely weather so early in the season and she intended to fully take advantage of it.
Enjoying the outdoors was a nice change from being cooped up in the nursery all winter long, as well as an escape from the preparations that busied the entire household. Everyone was in a fluster at the arrival of the Master’s sons, and although they had arrived yesterday, the activities of the house servants seemed even more frenzied. There were now two more rooms to keep spotlessly clean, two more fires to keep lit, more place settings to prepare at table, not only for the young Masters, but also for the neighbours who were sure to visit. In the country, much to do was made of sons who went away for ‘better learning,’ and the Master’s sons were no exception.
James Arden, the eldest, had contented himself with learning the ways of managing his father’s estate and so didn’t set out to be a huge success at university. He learned what he set out to learn and then returned home to be educated by his father in the particulars on maintaining the family estate.
Robert, the next eldest, held the greatest hope in the eyes of his Father, being currently a student of Divinity at one of the country’s best Universities. Master Arden, being a staunch and devout Anglican, had no greater desire than to see one of his son’s take the cloth, and Robert seemed to be fitting into his role perfectly. Master never looked half as happy as when he was speaking of his “dear son, Robert, who’s to become a cleric.”
John, on the other hand, seemed to be in the least favour with his father, his name hardly ever being mentioned at all. Grace wasn’t even sure she knew what the young Master was in university for, if anything at all.
The gentle breeze played with the edges of her linen cap and apron and she smiled to herself, enjoying the tickling sensation as the fabric brushed against her. She hoped that the good weather would hold, because secretly she was afraid of the Master’s fashionable sons. James was a regular resident, so she didn’t mind him, but the younger Mr. Arden’s were completely unfamiliar to her. She had heard the rumour from the other servants about Master John’s drinking habits, and there were whispers of other things besides.
Not that she thought she’d be worth noticing by the young master, of course, but it made her innocent soul tremble to think of spending any amount of time in close proximity to a man of his sort.
The sound of voices travelled on the wind to where Grace and young William sat. Grace opened her eyes at once, for the bark of angry, shouting male voices was unmistakable.
William looked up from his tin soldiers, excitement brightening his expression. “Is it them, Miss Gracie?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, rising to her knees and peering through the shrubbery towards the house. Through gaps in the foliage she could see three men, one of whom she recognized as Master James. They were congregated at the bottom of the porch steps, their stances unsteady, which, added to the shouting voices, indicated some trouble.
“I want to go see if it’s them,” William announced, collecting his soldiers into his hands.
Grace placed a hand on his shoulder. “No. Not yet.” Something wasn’t right, she could tell. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to focus on the scene unfolding before them. One of the gentleman, his dark hair unruly and his clothes rumpled, took a step towards Master James and raised a hand threateningly.
She gasped as the dark haired man tried to land a blow on the Master.
“What? What is it?” William pleaded, tugging at her hand.
“Nothing. Just…” She tore her eyes away from the angry men and looked down at her charge, her gaze intense and serious. “Stay here, William. Do you understand?”
William knew from the tone of her voice that she meant what she said. He nodded silently, his grey eyes wide.
“Good lad. I’ll be right back.”
Leaving William amid the rose bushes, clutching his toy soldiers close to his chest, Grace moved towards the house. The voices grew louder as she approached and she held her breath as she strained to make out words.
One of the voices was definitely that of Master James, his resonant baritone carrying easily on the spring breeze. To her surprise, she heard James laughing, and her brow furrowed in puzzlement at the sound.
She peered around the hedge surrounding the rose garden, holding her skirts clear from the branches threatening to catch themselves in the folds of fabric, and looked towards the house.
The dishevelled gentleman was now seated on the ground, the force of his swing obviously having unbalanced him, and a dark scowl marred his features. Grace instantly recognized him as one of the Master’s sons, John, the family resemblance unmistakable in his high brow, strong jaw line, square shoulders, and trim form.
Fortuitously, the breeze picked up again and she could hear Master James playfully chiding his brother.
“Hah! That’s what you get for raising your hand to your elders! Don’t ask me to help you up now!”
“Stuff it, Jim,” John growled, his words slightly slurred. “If I’d had my way, you’d be the one decked, damn you.”
Grace stifled a little gasp of surprise at Master John’s surly attitude, and she was instantly sure that she wasn’t going to enjoy having this man in the house.
“Come now, you two. You’re behaving like children,” the third gentleman remonstrated gently from his perch on the steps. His words were soft, and Grace had to strain to hear them over a strange pattering sound that she recognized as that of running feet.
She quickly turned to see little William racing out from behind a nearby rosebush.
“It’s them! It’s them!” he shouted joyously, ducking neatly away from Grace’s intercepting arms as he ran past, showering tin soldiers from his arms all the while.
“William!” Grace called helplessly as the three gentlemen turned their attention to the sudden interruption.
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| The inscription from the cornerstone of Pennsylvania Hospital. I find it kind of ironic that Benjamin Franklin is who wrote this, especially considering the first, third, and fourth lines. |
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| City Hall- Philadelphia, PA |
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| The beautiful Bed & Breakfast in which we stayed. It was 1/2 a block from the hospital and the innkeeper, Kathy, was so incredibly helpful and compassionate. |
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| My cocktail at lunch to help clear up my laryngitis. LOL. |
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| When we stepped out for Mass on Sunday morning- Check out St. Paul's Parish in Philadelphia, PA! The church is lovely and the priest says a beautiful Latin Mass!- we saw this nice old Corvette on our way. We took pictures to show Dad, although I think Mom wants it more than he does! ;) |
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| Ritz-Carlton, Downtown Philadelphia |
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| A bit of nerdiness on my part- Darth Vader helmet in the window of a very awesome comic book shop. :D |
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| They had Boba Fett, too! I would have taken a pic of the TIE Fighter Pilot helmet, but my battery went dead. |
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| And finally, but most importantly, my Dad (love him SO much), as of this afternoon (only three days after major surgery!) He's already back to work!! |
Sicut-Cervus-MP3.mp3
Angelus-MP3.mp3It was Teresa's clothing day in the Carmel. Her father had come to meet her at the enclosure door, his eyes filled with tears of joy. Pressing her to his heart, he exclaimed:
"Ah! here is my little Queen!"
He then gave her his arm, and together they solemnly entered the public chapel.
His two eldest daughters had already joined the Carmel. Celine too had confided to him her wish to leave the world. His gratitude therefore knew no bounds. Where could he better pour forth the gladness of his heart than in the presence of his Eucharistic King? The ardent desire of his saintly wife, during her brief life, was now receiving its last and complete fulfillment.
"I beseech Thee," she repeatedly had asked of Almighty God, "to make me the mother of many children, and to grant that all of them may be dedicated to Thee."
Such, too, had been his own most fervent wish, though he never sought to forestall the workings of the Holy Ghost in the souls confided to him.
"Let us go before the Blessed Sacrament," he now said, "and thank God for all the graces He has granted us and the honor He has paid me in choosing His spouses from my household. God has indeed done me great honor in asking for my children. If I possessed anything better, I would hasten to offer it to Him."
More than ever the Little Flower was henceforth to bloom and spend herself for her Beloved, and draw, in ever greater measure, from the Divine Sun of Love the sweetness and beauty which were so to entrance the world in after years and turn men's hearts to God in new and fuller dedication. Many, indeed, were the lessons she was to learn during the moments of sublime intimacy that were to pass between herself and that hidden Bridegroom of her soul, speaking to her from behind the lattice, in the silence of the Tabernacle.
In her masque, "The Angles of the Crib," she makes the Angel of the Eucharist fly to earth to seek Christ's Altar Throne. She herself might now sing with this celestial Guardian of her Eucharistic God:
In the Holy Eucharist she beheld the completion of Christ's profound self-abasement: the Divine King of Glory submitting Himself in wondrous humility to all His priests. They may have less or greater fervor, they may advance or delay the hour of the Holy Sacrifice, yet He is always ready to come down from His high Heaven at their call. The Faithful, too, may heed His invitation. They may hasten to Him with the utmost frequency and affection, or they may delay to follow His invitation and approach Him only with coldness and indifference. Yet He gives Himself to all alike.
"O my Beloved," she exclaimed, in a prayer composed by her for a novice, "under the white Eucharistic veil Thou dost indeed appear to me meek and humble of heart! To teach me humility Thou canst not further abase Thyself, and so I wish to respond to Thy love by putting myself in the lowest place, by sharing Thy humiliations, so that I may 'have part with Thee' in the Kingdom of Heaven."
But years passed, and Teresa too, like Our Divine Lord, "advanced in wisdom, and age, and grace with God and men." But never did she lose the simplicity and sweet charm of her childhood days. If then she delighted to cast her flowers before the Eucharistic King, and her heart leaped with joy as her petals touched the sacred Monstrance, she now continued each day to scatter her blossoms before God, but hereafter these flowers were to be her sacrifices and prayers, her joys and sufferings of life, all offered up in the trusting spirit of childhood, with the utmost love and self-abandonment.
"But how should I show my love, since love proves itself by deeds?" she asks, and her answer comes: "Well, the little child will strew flowers. She will embalm the Divine Heart with their fragrance. She will sing Love's canticle in silvery tones."
Well may we fancy her words as joyously reminiscent of those Blessed Sacrament Processions of earlier days, the happy memory of which clung like a perfume to her heart. How redolent with these odors are the thoughts that follow!
"The only way I have of proving my love is to strew flowers before Thee-- that is to say, I will let no tiny sacrifice pass, no look, no word. I wish to profit by the smallest actions, and to do them for Love. I wish to suffer for Love's sake, and for Love's sake even to rejoice; thus shall I strew my flowers. But not one shall I find without scattering its petals before Thee. And I will sing, I will sing always, even if my roses must be gathered for amidst thorns; and the longer and the sharper the thorns, the sweeter shall be my song."
How beautifully Eucharistic, then, the entire concept is! How it reminds us of those ranks of little, white-clad children, with innocence beaming upon their bright and happy faces, as they solemnly strew their blossoms in the path-way of the King, as He is borne aloft between them in His golden Monstrance! And how often, too, the Little Flower scattered those petals of her roses before that Altar Throne in the Carmel's silent chapel, where her soul found its sweetest resting place. "This fragrant shower, these delicate petals of little price, these songs of love from a poor little heart," she knew were pleasing to Jesus, refreshing to His Heart, like as the rose-leaves strewn by children's hands.
"Trifles they are, but Thou wilt smile on them. The Church Triumphant, stooping towards her child, will gather up these scattered rose-leaves, and, placing them in Thy Divine Hands, there to acquire an infinite value, will shower them on the Church Suffering to extinguish its flames, and on the Church Militant to obtain its victory."
Such were the results in large part due to that Eucharistic devotion practised by her from childhood and constantly intensified with the years, until from the shelter of the Carmel she might melodiously sing:
"My Heaven within the Host safe hid and perfect lies,
Where Jesus Christ abides, Divinest, fairest Fair;
From that great fount of love shall life eternal rise,
There night and day my Lord gives heed unto my prayer."
Parents should learn to stimulate in the hearts of their children, even from their tenderest years, those Eucharistic longings and affections which worked so mightily within the soul of little Teresa, and which helped so greatly to keep it always pure, holy and beautiful. Let us not deprive out little ones of their sublimest heritage, the love of Jesus in the Eucharist.
Little Teresa, it may be a consolation for some souls to know, was not "popular" at school. Nor did she find it possible even later to enter into long, familiar conversations with her teachers, as others of the older pupils did, or to win any special tokens of favor from them, though she led in her studies. That was God's particular blessing in her regard. It drew her nearer to Him. It made her realize, with her vast capacity and desire for love, that He alone was her true and lasting Friend. If at times it produced within her a natural depression of spirit, it nevertheless taught her in consequence to appreciate more highly the consoling Presence of Our Lord in the Holy Eucharist. His love alone could never fail her. Others might forget or overlook her; He would always have His Heart wide open for her. To us, too, let us remember, that love is extended, and to all who wish to come to Him.
Referring to a period in her life when twice a week she went to take lessons in a convent, just for the sake of being admitted into the Sodality of the Blessed Virgin, she writes:
"So I worked in silence till the end if the lesson, and then, as no one took any notice of me, I went to the tribune in the chapel till Papa came to fetch me home. Here, during this silent visit, I found my one consolation; for was not Jesus my only Friend? To Him alone could I open my heart."
What graces must have been granted to her by her Divine Spouse in these trysts of love! She applied to herself in their fullest sense those words of Our Lord: "If you ask the Father anything in My name, He will give it you." Nor was she ever disappointed, for she sought always to bring her will into complete conformity with His. Truly, therefore, could she sing:
"All things my love can gain when, heart to heart, I pray,
Alone with Jesus Christ in speechless ecstasy.
Beside His altar blest with Him I gladly stay:
O, this is heaven for me!"
It was here that in later years she was to pray so earnestly for our Holy Mother the Church; for those entrusted to her care; for friends, relatives, and her own Sisters in Religion; for every soul, that God might enter in and establish there His reign of love, but especially for priests, that they might truly be "other Christs." Here, too, could she plead, like Moses on the mountain, that God might multiply vocations and send ever greater armies of workers into His vineyard and His harvest field.
But neither was the Church Suffering forgotten by her, the souls confined in Purgatory, for whom the Heart in the Tabernacle is moved with such tender affection. She herself tells us how her rose-leaves, made precious by the touch of the Divine Hand, were scattered by It upon those holy sufferers to extinguish their flames.
It is precisely in connection with the Holy Eucharist that so many indulgences can be gained by us for the Poor Souls. The one familiar prayer alone which is to be said after Communion before an image of the Crucified, enables us to gain a Plenary Indulgence each time we receive Our Divine Lord, provided some additional prayers-- e.g., five "Our Fathers," and five "Hail Marys" are recited for the intention of the Holy Father.
A loving zeal to aid these souls in God's prison house, is a devotion which the Heart of Jesus has intimately connected with the Sacred Presence, with Communion and the Holy Mass, as also of course with the Rosary and the Way of the Cross. Our Lord seems to say: "If you love Me in My Sacrament of Love, help the souls whom I love, that you may hasten the day when I can clasp them to My Heart of Love."
I believe in the existence of kindred spirits and the power of true friendship. There is something wondrous and beautiful about meeting a person and instantly feeling like you've known them for a lifetime; that you have similar thoughts and feelings on a broad variety of subjects; that there is mutual interest and sympathy, creating an almost instantaneous bond. It's a bond that seems to bridge individual identity- yet still retains it- creating a feeling of one soul in two bodies. It bridges age as well as distance, social position and religion. I have been blessed to experience this bond several times during my life, and every time I learn something new, not only about other people, but also about myself.
Through my best friend, who I met at summer camp in 2001, I discovered the beauty of J. R. R. Tolkien's writings and that it was perfectly acceptable to nurture my imagination. She was an avid writer of fan fiction, something I had wished that I was brave enough to do, and with her gentle nudging and enthusiastic encouragement, I finally allowed my creative side some room to grow. From her I also learned the value of listening, rather than monopolizing the conversation as my talkative nature made me wont to do. Over the years, our friendship has grown deeper and closer, despite our physical distance growing apart (she now lives in California.)
Most recently, and with an even greater distance between us, I made the acquaintance of a gentleman in Scotland. We were complete strangers until our mutual love of Star Wars and writing fan fiction brought us together on an Internet forum. Even then, we were anonymous people hiding behind clever screen names, but appreciative of the other's wit and writing ability. Finally, a question about some obscure point of continuity led to a series of private messages. It quickly became apparent that we were very similar people and, after more emails and chat sessions, kindred spirits. Our acquaintance has quickly bloomed into friendship, leaving me amazed at how different we are (he's a DPhil candidate in Medieval studies and loves complicated, obscure arguments- I'm a Vocal Performance undergrad, and I put much emphasis on clear, simple logic), yet similar at the same time. Our similarities are profound, relating mostly to subjects like faith, loyalty, and the true meaning of love. And despite the thousands of miles between us, he's been able to help me in meaningful ways. Our conversations, while often times light hearted and Star Wars-centric, easily slip into deep, profound topics. He is a gentle encourager and is able to help me tease out the answers to personal conundrums, without solving them for me. His insight and respectful advice has shed light on issues I never thought I could resolve. More often than not, our dialogue leaves me joyfully contemplative and motivated to better myself.
Truly, I believe in the strength and love that this true friendship can lend. It is humbling to know that one person can affect so much good in another, and I can only hope that I can do the same for those who have touched me.
