Times: Person of the Year Journalists killed or jailed

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When a journalist becomes the story, it’s not good news. That’s what happened to Daphne Caruana Galizia, the best investigative journalist in Malta, killed by a car bomb. Her name is not mentioned in Times: Person of the year. I … Continue reading

Filling the hole in our heart.

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They say dogs love you, cats own you. Maybe so. Cats are just as loving as dogs. They are love, oozing with so much love to give and receive. With their love, we become captives. I had two cats, Maurice … Continue reading

Last Impression

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The Empty Chair spoken by Tyrone Siglos for Josh Siglos So strange to hear this spoken at the church service tonight. Beside my bed is an empty chair. Lucy my cat and I were in bed, suddenly something fell from the … Continue reading

Memory

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THERE ARE TWO WAYS of remembering. One is to make an excursion from the living present back into the dead past. The old sock remembers how things used to be when you and I were young. The faraway look in his eyes is partly the beer and partly that he’s really far away.

The other way is to summon the dead past back into the living present. The young widow remembers her husband, and he is there beside her.

When Jesus said, “Do this in remembrance of me,” (1 Corinthians 11:24) he was not prescribing a periodic slug of nostalgia.

~ Frederick Buckner

The Gift of Prayer

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We have just finished our third night of prayer for our dearly beloved, Lorena when her sister’s mother-in-law followed Lorena’s footsteps. Now, we have to remember the mother-in-law in our prayers as well. Tonight will be the sixth evening that is extra … Continue reading

Respectful Woman – a Superhero

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  I suppose for a child, adult seems to be larger than life and that’s how my nephew, Carlos, drew his mom. Tall, colorful clothing with beautiful red smiling lips. As for the arms, I don’t know why they turned … Continue reading

The Calling

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It was there calling to serve and now they are both called in the afterlife. First Barb on September 2015, then Brenda on February 2016. The call becomes important to them not to save the world, solve all problems and … Continue reading

The Power of Gratitude

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The letter of thanksgiving written by a grieving husband is a wonderful story in celebrating a Canadian Thanksgiving Day. After his 34-year-old wife suffered a devastating asthma attack and later died, the Boston writer Peter DeMarco wrote the following letter … Continue reading

In Praise of Mother: A Legacy of a Selfless Person

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I really do not know much about Mother. My siblings have asked her numerous times to write her story. If she can’t write maybe, she can record her memoir. They gave her a recorder. Thinking that she might do it, … Continue reading

Because We Are Girls

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Because we are girls Father wants us to stay home Because we are girls Mother wants us to be free Because we are girls Father does not want us to go to school Because we are girls Mother wants us to … Continue reading

Mary Magdalene

Head of Mary Magdalene by Leonardo da Vinci (1452–1519), charcoal on paper Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence, Italy / Alinari / Bridgeman Art Library

Head of Mary Magdalene by Leonardo da Vinci (1452–1519)

The bride speaks of her beloved:

Upon my bed at night
I sought him whom my soul loves:
I sought him not;
I called him, but he gave no answer.

So, I said to myself,
I will rise now and go about the city,
in the streets and in the squares:
I will seek him whom my soul loves.

I sought him, but found him not.
The sentinels found me,
as they went about in the city.
I asked, “Have you see him whom my soul loves?”

Scarcely had I passed them,
when I found him whom my soul loves.

Songs of Songs (3.1-4a)

Memorial day for  Mary Magdalene, a person of generous love, a holy woman, a disciple of Jesus, and an apostle of the resurrection. She was the first person Jesus appeared to after his resurrection and then ordered her to “go and tell my brothers!”

I rise, I rise, I rise

maya

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Maya Angelou
In Memory.  Via Parabola