Today Was An Ember Day

Today was an “Ember Day.”

The Harvest is Ready.

Pre-Vatican II, four “Ember Days” were set aside for fasting and abstinence so that we could fill our day with thoughts of thanksgiving. The Fall Ember Day focused on thanksgiving for the grape harvest – from which comes the Precious Blood.

Living in an agriculture community – and because I often write about agriculture events, families, and news – the harvest is heavy on my heart each time this fall Ember Day comes around. 

Our farmers work hard all year round. 

It is easy to think about our agriculture families during spring planting and fall harvest, but the truth is, they give their lives to serve others. They plan in the winter for the upcoming year, they plant in the spring with hopes of a strong growing season, they are vigilant throughout the summer monitoring each field, and they pray for a good yield in the fall. 

I’ve watched farming families experience the fear of a drought, the joy of a choice growing season, and all the emotions in between. I’ve learned to understand the stress that farming families undergo – particularly those family farms. 

It is family farms that I most often see taking Sundays off to allow their family and other hired hands to go to church. It is those family farms where I see children learning how to be a part of the family business and to appreciate discipline, early mornings, and togetherness. It is those family farms which impress upon me the Midwest values of hard work, devotion to family, and faith in God.

I grew up in suburbia – and agriculture was far from my daily thoughts, much less my prayers. But when I began writing for our local paper – The Woodstock Independent – I these farming families became a part of my circle. 

When the planting season comes, I take photographs of the seeding – and I get excited when I see the sprouts popping through the dirt. Throughout the summer, I watch the growth of the crops, and I get nervous when hailstorms come or when we get flooding or when we have drought. And, when the harvest comes, I pray for good yields and for peace for their families during the most difficult time of the year for them. 

*Last night, I saw them harvest with lights on their combines under the Harvest Moon.

So, as we fasted and abstained from meat today, my husband and I thought about the great blessing we have in our farmers – and in our entire agriculture community. I am thankful for the abundant blessings God bestows on them in their crops and I’m thankful for the families who never give up – the families who know how hard this life is, but who love the land and love the feel of it in their hands.

You’ll never meet better neighbors than farmers – at least in my community. They will drop whatever they are doing to help a person in need. They know there is something greater than them. They nurture the soil, and they have faith that, come harvest, God will bless them abundantly. 

Without them, we would not have food on our tables.

On this Ember Day, I filled my own hunger with prayers of thanksgiving and gratitude. 

**Ember Days are no longer part of our liturgical calendars, but I think they are worthwhile to contemplate in our family. We can all use more gratefulness in our lives!

Farmers working on one of the first days of harvest.

Last night's Harvest Moon with a Partial Lunar Eclipse.

Being Catholic and Celebrating Flag Day

Flag Day

Today we honor what our flag signifies through the Declaration of Independence and the U.S. Constitution. We remember the inalienable rights granted to each American citizen that are so aligned with the value of every human being – dignified because they were created in the image and likeness of God.

Patriotism and Catholicism can work together for the glory of God. 

In 2013, Servant of God Father Emil Kapaun was awarded the Medal of Honor for his actions at the Battle of Unsan, North Korea as a chaplain with the 3rd Battalion, 8th Cavalry Regiment, 1st Cavalry Division.

His desire to serve our nation was deep.

After being assigned duty as an auxiliary chaplain at a local Army airbase in Kansas, he felt called to serve his country and asked his bishop to allow him to enlist in the U.S. Army.

He became a chaplain in the U.S. Army on July 12, 1944, serving God and his country. He heroically and fiercely said Mass on the battlefield and risked his life to administer the sacraments to those dying. He put his own life in danger staying with the wounded in the Battle of Unsan.  While a prisoner of war in Prison Camp No. 5, he served both physical and spiritual needs of the other men in the camp. He tended to the sick, picked lice off men, washed clothes, bathed those who could not bathe themselves, said Mass, inspired the imprisoned, and prayed over their burials.

Servant of God Fr. Vincent Capodanno served as a Navy chaplain with the U.S. Marine Corps during the Vietnam War. He also was awarded the Medal of Honor for his heroic actions beyond the call of duty as he ignored his own wounds, refused medical attention, and sought to help a wounded Navy corpsman and two wounded Marines despite enemy fire.  It was there he was killed.

Whenever I visit a traveling Vietnam Wall, I take a rubbing of his name … wondering if someday, in my lifetime, he – and Fr. Kapaun – may be canonized.

Catholic Chaplains have been serving our country for years beginning in 1846 with Fathers John McElroy and Anthony Rey who both served in the U.S. Army.

There is something inherently Catholic about preserving and defending freedom – the freedom to live in truth.

The fabric of our country is woven into the history of the American flag and that fabric of our country was woven by God.

So, on this Flag Day, fly your flags high, and know that no one is above our Lord, but we can show our patriotism by standing for freedom: Freedom to attend Mass, Freedom to worship our Lord, Freedom to value every individual as a child of God.

Happy and blessed Flag Day!

Reflecting on loss ... Joe Kersten

Just before Christmas, I learned that a friend had passed away. 

It has been hard to think about what to say as there have been a number of difficult things in the last month -- a dear friend’s son had brain surgery, my young neighbor/friend had a total hip replacement, another friend is about to have surgery, and another has been very ill. So, this unexpected loss was hard for me to process – and I know it has been for so many others.

I met Joe many years ago while I was working on a story about Gold Star Plaques created by McHenry County VietNow for families of those who were killed during the Vietnam War. He and I took photos of the plaques and I worked with another Vietnam veteran (who eventually became one of our family’s best friends) to search the world for homes for these decades-old plaques. 

Many veterans – particularly Vietnam Veterans – don’t appreciate a reporter stepping into their space, but Joe welcomed me. Maybe it was because the other man vouched for me or because he knew the types of articles I had written, but, either way, Joe became a steadfast partner in crime in all things veteran-related.

He would let me know what was going on in the veteran community. He shared information regarding the American Legion, the VFW, and the Veterans Assistance Commission. He gave me leads and made certain that I knew who was who in local government.

More importantly, he was a friendly face in a crowd.

In the midst of Memorial Day events, Veterans Day events, and the McHenry County Fair, he was the first to come up to me with, “Trish! It’s good to see you.. hey, nice article on …,” and he would flash a big smile and give me a hug. Very few people call me Trish … Joe was one of them.

His wife, Di, was always by his side. The two of them always – and I mean always – smiled for my camera. They joked with me, but they’d smile … and it made me smile, too – because, no matter what, I knew they would play along with whatever shenanigans were going on. 

This is Joe realizing I've been
 photographing him!

This year, on Veterans Day, I snapped a lot of photos. For some reason, Joe was doing camera-worthy things, and Di was by his side. I took a lot of photos of him and Di. I even used an image of him as my FB cover photo for this page -- and I never changed it.

A month later, I was devastated when a friend texted me to say he had passed away. 

The Chairman of the Veterans Assistance Commission, Joe served in the U.S. Army during Vietnam, and spent much of his time serving the veteran community. He served as adjutant for VFW Post 5040, secretary and president of VietNow McHenry County Chapter, adjutant and vice-commander of American Legion Post 412, and founding and returning chairman of the McHenry County Veterans Assistance Commission. He truly lived a life of service to his country, his family, and his military brothers and sisters. 

Joe, I will miss your smile. I will miss the way you genuinely cared for others. I will miss the way you so passionately fought for veterans. I will miss the way you and Di welcomed me with open arms. I will miss the warmth of your personality and the way you cared for others. And, I will miss the texts that told me that you appreciated an article I wrote or told me that I did a great job covering something or that you texted just because. 

I sought your wealth of local military and community history for many an article. As my go-to, this feels like such an abrupt loss. The stories you shared with me will never be replicated. And, knowing how much I will miss you, my heart aches for Di and your family and closest friends as they navigate this journey without you, but take with them the love, the kindness, and the passion with which you set out to live this life. Your mark will never be erased – it will live on in the many lives you’ve touched.

I will miss you Joe, and so will this beautiful community that we live in. Thank you for taking me under your wing, for trusting me, and for always having my six ;)

… until we meet again ….

Gaudete Sunday ... making peace with feeling joy in the trenches of life

Today is Gaudete Sunday – the third Sunday of Advent … the start of the week of joy.

As we lit the third candle in our Advent wreath, I felt a flood of overwhelming emotions.

At Mass today, I cried. It was as though all the difficult moments of my Advent – and, kind of, this entire year – came into focus as that third candle was lit… and, in that moment, I felt, well, not joy.

Usually, as we approach Christmas with the anticipation of the birth of Jesus, I am full of joy, but I have friends who are dealing with things. There is grief. There is illness. There is loneliness. There is fear. There is overwhelm. There is anxiety and stress and pain and unsettledness. There is darkness. 

But then there is the lighting of the candles.

Sometimes, light feels so contradictory.

I see the Christmas lights all over. When the square was lit in front of hundreds of people, the excitement was palpable, but I felt a little loneliness. When I drove long routes at night, I saw gorgeous light displays, but I wasn’t feeling Christmasy. When we put up the tree, I felt unappreciative. Light usually draws me in and calms me, but the candle today felt harder. The flickering flame felt … unreliable. It felt somber. Yet, I was supposed to reflect on joy.

I’m usually the person who can walk the journey with someone to find the joy, but my heart had been burdened this month … perhaps all year. We have five friends anticipating major surgery in the next few weeks. A friend just passed away. There has been angst and stress and too much loss in my circle this year. And today, on the day we celebrate joy, my heart was too heavy. When our priest began his homily about challenges, and tears, and dryness in our spiritual life – and how God uses them to bring us closer to Him … I couldn’t stop the spilling of tears … I couldn’t prevent the overwhelm …  You see, I knew … those words were being directed at me. And, there is joy in knowing that God’s plan is bigger than mine – and joy and all of those other hard emotions actually can live together side-by-side. We can all feel pain and sorrow and compassion for ourselves and for others, while at the same time being joyous this season. They are not mutually exclusive. 

There is one more candle to light – and that is for love. Love of God. Love within families. Love between spouses. Love of children. Love of parents. And love between friends. I’ve been known to exchange, “I love yous” with some friends. They are usually the friends who are there when no one else wants to be. They are the ones who reach out if they haven’t heard from me in a while. They are the ones who, even after some dryness in our friendship, will pick up exactly where we were without batting an eyelash. They are my people. And I am theirs. And we have chosen to love like family. How amazing does it feel when someone chooses you – not for what you wear, or what your job is, or who you know, or what you can do, but for who you are? 

So it is with God. There will always be periods of dryness in our faith life – it can be a little sand we need to sweep away or a boulder that presses heavy against our hearts. We can harbor resentment and choose to believe that God has abandoned us, or we can continue to press on … as He relentlessly pursues us. And we can find joy in knowing that we are His people.

When joy is pure, it can coexist with grief, sorrow, pain, anxiety, fear, challenge, and so many more. Joy leads us to that fourth candle... love.

So, I choose to hold fast to the love. Because, in the end, despite loss, despite grief, despite hurt or pain or anxiety, it is love that binds us together. 

And now, these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love ~ 1 Corinthians 13:13

A moment frozen in time....

September 11th harbors a storehouse of varied emotions.

One thing that strikes me, however, is how vivid that day is in my mind and how it feels like a collective memory despite the fact that an entire generation knows of the tragedy only through pictures or internet posts or books.

For those of us who have first-hand memories -- even if, like me, you were far away from the events -- there was real fear about what would happen next. There were skies with no planes. There were radios and televisions being turned on and phone calls being made. 

We lived history.

There is insurmountable sadness and agonizing loss juxtaposed with incredible courage and unthinkable selflessness flowing from the video footage that already looks dated, news broadcasts that illuminate the lack of instant communication at the time, social media clips with grainy photos, and audio recordings somehow salvaged from the day.

Yet, even though I feel part of that collective conscious that seems like yesterday, I recognize that my emotions have changed over time.

A couple of years ago, I met a Pentagon survivor whose foundation -- American Pride, Inc. -- published 9/11 Survivors' Stories; Midwest Memories.

I have written about this book before, but one thing that weighs heavy on my mind is the constant wrestling of emotion that is palpable throughout the body of work.  Eight individuals with ties to the Midwest share very different and uniquely compelling stories about their survival.  From being in the Tower to being in the Pentagon, to being on the phone, I was taken on a journey fueled by anger, gratitude, fear, and hope.

I saw so much more through their eyes. 

It moved me differently.

Reading personal accounts of those whose lives were forever altered, who lost friends, who felt anger toward the media, and who needed to use the experiences to help others has changed me.

It has been 22 years since that day, but I remember it clearly. The events of that day are etched in my mind -- frozen in time. I have been molded by the emotions of that day, yet life and experience has molded those emotions, too. 

I know how I felt that day when my students were scared and we were getting piecemeal information in a pre-internet-accessible classroom. But because of books, because of newspaper articles, because of interviews, because of survivors who courageously tell their stories, and because of victims' families who keep their loved ones' memories alive,  I have a deeper awareness of the still-gaping wounds, unspeakable grief, unparallelled courage, deep gratitude, insurmountable hope, and incredible forgiveness.  

************

It seemed fitting, then, that when we were driving home last night on the eve of 9/11, we happened to stop at a place we'd seen time and time again along the road. For four years, I'd meant to stop, but, last night, we did. I was moved by the newly lit candles carefully placed around the first responder memorial plaques I didn't know were there. As I thought about the gentle light burning so intensely in the cool breeze, I prayed. I prayed for those who rush in when others rush out. I prayed for those who selflessly walk into danger to bring others to safety. I prayed for those who care for others putting their own lives in peril.  I prayed for those who quietly harbor the difficult memories -- who walk among us never speaking of their experiences, but, knowing how fragile live is, protect it with the very same intensity with which these flames burn. And I prayed for those who bring light into the dark places with their words, their actions, and their presence.

************

When we are overcome with despair or grief or anger, I pray that we are able to find a way to let light in -- no matter how small those cracks may be. Because light, once it gently breaks through, has a way of spilling into the darkest of spaces -- just like the light of these candles.

************

Today, I will

Never forget those who protect life.

Seek hope.

Love endlessly.

Be a light in the darkness.

Allow light to seep into the desperation.

 

Memorial Day means carrying on the stories that keep legacies alive

Memorial Day walks in on the heels of graduations, weird Midwest springs, the planting season, and end-of-the-year excitement. 

But I’ve come to know Memorial Day as one of the most difficult days and one of the most important days … a day to remember those who have lost their lives in service to our country.

As a writer and photographer for various publications, I’ve written military-themed articles for years. 

My writing about veterans began with a Marine that I wrote about for VFW Magazine  and was quickly followed by my piece in Leatherneck Magazine 

It was writing those two pieces that changed the course of my writing passion.

While many veterans are reticent to talk about the loss they endured or the injuries – both visible and invisible – they sustained, I have been incredibly blessed that a vast number of veterans have trusted me enough to tell me their story – and, subsequently the stories of those who never made it home – stories of anguish and guilt.

That heavy weight presses deep on my heart.

But, in so very many of these stories, I am privileged to share hope. Loss is not the end. These men and women are the links to the stories that need to be shared. They can impart the meaning of sacrifice and they can impress upon us the legacy of those who paid the ultimate price.

I just wrote a piece for The Woodstock Independent that will come out Wednesday about a Woodstock man killed in Pearl Harbor. That name is known on Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam, yet I had never heard of him. I set out on a journey of 36 hours to gather enough information to tell his story. But it has been nearly 82 years. First-person stories have long since vanished, and those who are left remember the man’s brothers – not much about a man named Joe who gave his life on December 7, 1941 as he knelt on the altar preparing for Sunday Mass. 

I worked through scores of World War II articles and clippings found in scrapbooks at the library – thank you to whoever took the time to piece them together, and, again to whoever graciously donated them to the library instead of tossing them. I reached out to the McHenry County Historical Society who knew my very short deadline and got me some information pretty quickly. I used databases to collect articles written in other locations. I reached out to a sweet friend who works with the military on Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam who then reached out to another friend to take some photos for me. And, when I met with Joe’s great-nephew, I held artifacts this man had on his body when he was killed. 

His death was significant. 

Today we remember those who have lost their lives in service. I also remember that, on Memorial Day, some veterans are struggling with the pain of loss and horrific memories that haunt them. They remember those who did not come home with them. And they remember those whose lives were cut short due to physical and emotional injuries. 

The heavy cost of war is great.

Our freedoms were fought for by our military. Today, I remember the sacrifice – and I will remember those who have returned carrying with them the greatest burden of all … keeping the memory of those who perished alive. To the many men and women who have trusted me to share their stories and the stories of their fallen family and friends, thank you. 

It's Planting Season

It is planting season here in the Midwest. Ten years ago, I might have never thought about it, but, now, I feel like I’m immersed in agriculture.

Why?

I write for a local paper – which has led to a busy freelance career. But it has been writing for the local paper that has instilled in me a love of farm fields and pastures.

Through that I’ve come to meet so many wonderful people who are living a life that many of us may never experience. Through their stories, I have learned to appreciate the challenging but rewarding life of a farming family.

I don’t want to downplay the hard work that farmers put in day after day – they are out in the field planting, monitoring, testing, and ensuring that the crops are thriving … every. single. day. They study the most efficient way to plant. They treat their seeds to help protect them as they grow. They work on equipment, plan for the season, and spend countless hours in the fields between planting and harvest time. It is often-times grueling and stressful work. Their income is decided by that hard work and planning, but it is also at the mercy of nature. 

I want to be very clear that I recognize the challenges and hardships woven into this lifestyle, because I have a tendency to over-idealize it. 

One thing I admire about the farm families that I know is how close-knit they are.  They are bound like the rows of seeds – relying upon one another. They are the sun and the soil and the rain for one another. No one is ever planted on sandy ground – they are rooted in the love of family and friends, and, often, grounded in the heart of faith.

I’ve watched as farmwives deliver meals to their husbands in the middle of a farm field. I’ve witnessed the care with which husbands treat their wives – so appreciative of the sacrifices they make and the steadfast strength they provide. I’ve seen children learn the value of hard work and know the joy of raising an animal or watching a corn stalk grow from a seed they planted.  I’ve listened to the stories of adversity, and I’ve heard the stories of legacy farms with rich histories. Most importantly to me, I’ve seen many a farmer spend Sundays at church – even when they could be out harvesting or planting – because they thank God for the harvest and they thank God for the land, animals, and crops that He provides. 

So when a farm friend of mine mentioned a Rogation Day at a Lutheran church in the area, my research-driven brain kicked in.

As it turns out, the Catholic Church long celebrated Rogation Days as an opportunity to bless the fields that are about to be or are already planted – and to ask God for His mercy over all creation.

Beginning in the year 598 A.D., part of the day would include a procession over fields and ploughed land.  It was met with fasting and litanies as the community would ask for God’s blessing and mercy for clement weather and crop deliverance from destruction and concluded with Mass. 

While the practice has fallen to the wayside, I recently found some beautiful prayers in Kendra Tierney’s Catholic All Year Prayer Companion for The Major Rogation Day celebrated on April 25th. 

I love this prayer for a Sprouting Seed

To you, O Lord, we cry and pray: Bless this sprouting seed, strengthen it in the gentle movement of soft winds, refresh it with the dew of Heaven, and let it grow to full maturity for the good of the body and soul. Amen. 

 

How beautiful is this?! You could use it with your toddler as you plant a seed and water it, anticipating its bloom. You could use it when you start your herb garden. You can use it as you plant your farm field sprinkling seed across the many acres. 

But I think it is more universal than that. We have souls waiting to sprout. As we travel on this journey, our souls grow, learn, and yearn for purity of heart. We are tiny seeds in God’s beautiful farm field. As we begin to germinate and eventually to bloom with all the radiance of spring, we are sometimes tossed in the wind – sometimes we are shaken so hard that it takes some extra support to straighten us up once again, but sometimes we find courage in the gentle breeze as it tenderly guides us in the direction we need to grow. As God’s mercy washes over us like dew, we begin to take solid root … and we thrive. As we do, we support those around us, and our purpose becomes clear. We are perfectly created -- unique in His farmfield.

I encourage everyone to embrace the growing season. When you find the solid ground on which you are to plant your roots, do so firmly knowing that, despite drought, despite clouds, despite the cold, you will flourish – because God has placed you on that solid ground and He will give you what you need.

Get rooted. Sprout. Grow. Bloom.