A Final Night Shift

A little Easter bonus…

Miriam walked in the dark along paths edged with budding rhododendrons, azaleas, and unspiraling ferns, beneath giant evergreens. She remembered warmly a little boy who had asked her to intercede for his mother as she lay near death after the birth of his tiny sister. Both mother and child had lived, and years later the boy, by then Father Ambrose Mayer, had built this Portland place of peace and refuge, the National Sanctuary of Our Sorrowful Mother, as a sign of his gratitude. Arriving at a stone grotto carved into a 100-foot basalt cliffside, she settled onto a kneeler before a white statue replica of Michelangelo’s Pietà that depicted Mary holding the body of her Son after His crucifixion.

Her thoughts focused on the statue and beyond it to her experience of that devastating moment. She ached anew with the anguish of holding her Son’s lifeless adult body upon her lap. But the pain didn’t stand alone, for alongside it was boundless gratitude for the sacrifice her Son had made to redeem all her children.

His was no quick death. He had suffered intensely on that final day: whipping, beating, humiliation, a piercing thorny crown shoved down upon his brow, dragging a heavy beam—not to be honed into something sturdy and functional like He and Joseph had built—but wood of torture and death, and then, oh then—she still could hear the terrible blows—the pounding of spikes to peg His hands and feet to the cross, His groans as the cross was lifted and dropped into its hole, the draining of His strength over three hours while she stayed within His gaze, before His forgiving words, His release of His Spirit, and the final thrust of a spear that confirmed He was dead.

She could feel the tears trailing her cheeks as they had countless times when she commemorated His suffering and death. She remembered following His footsteps on the Way of the Cross, or the Via Dolorosa, in order to ponder the mysteries of His death. She wept for the wounds people today continue to inflict on her Son: the commandments they break, their refusal to center their lives around the One who loves them, their selfishness that hurts the ones around them. She cried for the pain her beloved children experienced at the hands of her other, also-beloved children.

Yet, she forced herself to remember His resurrection! For as surely as He had died, He had also risen.

The dawning sun brightened the sky above the Grotto and drew her gaze heavenward. His resurrection was the culmination of those three agonizing days when her Son was lost to her.

He rose and returned to her!

At this thought, her soul leapt within her and her joy resurged. For as deep as her sorrow had been—and still was when she pondered His suffering—her joy was even greater. He lived! He had conquered not only death, but sin and evil. That was the purpose behind His suffering, and what a joyous gift it was to all who welcomed it, who welcomed Him into their hearts. The thought reminded Miriam of her countless children who do strive to follow God’s path.

Exultation encompassed Miriam, and she lifted her love to her God and thanked Him with her whole being. God—Father, Son, and Spirit—God was infinitely good. God was all Love, and she was entirely His. All her children were God’s, and she would work tirelessly for them to realize that, so they could share in her Joy.

A young priest passed behind Miriam on his way to celebrate the first Mass of the day. He had been struggling with depression and loneliness and had knelt a few feet behind the praying woman to ask God to give him strength.

He watched Miriam raise her arms and listened while she sang with great elation:

My soul magnifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God, my Savior…

for He has looked with favor on His humble servant.

From this day all generations will call me blessed,

the Almighty has done great things for me,

and holy is His Name.

He has mercy on those who fear Him

in every generation.

He has shown the strength of His arm,

He has scattered the proud in their conceit.

He has cast down the mighty from their thrones,

and has lifted up the humble.

He has filled the hungry with good things,

and the rich He has sent away empty.

He has come to the help of his servant Israel

for He has remembered his promise of mercy,

the promise He made to our fathers,

to Abraham and his children forever.

Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit,

as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever.

Amen. Alleluia!

The sun crested the grotto edge, temporarily blinding the young priest. When he shaded his eyes with his hand, the woman was gone.

Yet, such ecstasy had risen in him as he overheard her words that simply recalling the experience overcame any emergence of darkness in his mood for all his remaining years of life.

7 Bury the Dead

How fitting that we come to our final Corporal Work of Mercy, Bury the Dead, on Good Friday.

We could take this less literally and let die those weaknesses inside us that we keep alive: our anger, jealousy, bitterness, unwillingness to forgiven, bad habits, addictions, etc. However, even taken literally, the exhortation to Bury the Dead encompasses more people than our respected morticians.

We all ponder the big questions when the unexpectedness of death suddenly strikes an ordinary day. Even if we weren’t close to the one who died, we re-experience our own loss of loved ones. It’s as if grief, for a while, is cumulative. A death makes us reconsider our life. Why am I here? What purpose should I be pursuing while I still have time? What happens after death? Will I see my loved one again?

We bury the dead when we:

• Attend memorial services, where we honor the memory of the one who has passed and support the families in their recovery. It means so much to a grieving family to see the number of people who attend as a living memorial to their loved one, or as a sign of promised support to themselves.
• Send a sympathy card with a note, perhaps including a happy memory of the deceased.
• Provide a simple service to the grieving family. I’ve heard of one person delivering a case of toilet paper to a home in preparation for visiting family. Another gave a book of stamps, anticipating the thank you notes that would be written and mailed. One woman offered to babysit the youngest children during the funeral. Another offered to sit in the empty home during the service to ward off burglars who see the announcement in the paper.
• Call when travelling visitors have returned home and the grief stricken is suddenly very alone.
• Or, sit with the newly aggrieved and listen to their reminiscence about their loved one…

Night Shift

A middle-aged man sat on a boulder near a hiking trail gazing at a panorama of night sky. As the moon began to rise, he spoke aloud.

Thank you, heavenly Father, for all your gifts to us.

For the stars above us, the galaxies, and our solar system with its sun, moon, and planets.

For this earth and its beautiful oceans, mountains, forests, rivers, and waterfalls.

For our country and its dedication to freedom and justice.

For our ancestors, especially those who chose to uphold their faith and those who left their homes to make new homes here.

For our grandparents, aunts, uncles, and all the people we loved who have left this life. May we see them again in heaven.

For our parents who sacrificed to give us the life we have now.

Thank you for our siblings and our friends who helped make us the people we are today.

Thank you for our children, who make us proud as they grow into good people. Please draw them ever closer to you.

Thank you for my spouse, my beautiful wife, one of your greatest gifts to me, who loved me as deeply as I loved her…

“What a beautiful prayer!”

The man startled at the woman’s voice.

“May I sit down with you?”

He scooted to one side of the rock.

“You’ve chosen a lovely place to pray.”

He stared straight ahead, hoping if he didn’t answer she would leave him to his solitude. She didn’t move or speak then, but simply regarded the starry heavens as he had been doing. Finally, he gave up. “It was my father’s prayer. I used to only hear it when we were camping together. It was how he ended our conversation when we were lying in our sleeping bags under the stars.”

“You were close.”

“On camping trips, yes. At home we were both busy with our lives—his work, my studies—but out here was something else.”

“Your mother had passed on?”

“When I was in high school. He never remarried, or even dated that I know. They were devoted to each other, and I doubt anyone else could have filled her void.”

“And your father? You said it was his prayer.”

He looked at her then, and saw a serene woman, middle-aged, with amazing compassion in her eyes. “He died today.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat.

She rested her hand on his. “I’m sorry for your loss and sadness. He must have been quite a man.”

“He was.” He nodded slowly. “He hasn’t said a word for over a year. Last night, I visited him in his care center, and he was talking to Mom. She wasn’t there, of course, but she was real to him. He was the happiest I’ve seen him in a long time. Then this morning he was gone. It was as if…”

“As if she’d come for him?”

He drew in a quick breath, for she had known just what he was thinking. He looked at her. “Do you think it’s possible?”

“I know it is,” she said. “And now they are both watching over you. They are together in the next life, and together in loving you, so proud of the man you’ve become and so grateful for how you took care of your father in his final years.”

“I wish I could have kept him at home with me.”

“He knows. And he knows you did what was best for him. Be at peace, Jonathon. All is well.”

She stood and continued down the trail before he wondered about her walking without a light, and before he realized he hadn’t told her his name.

(Excerpt from my Miriam’s Joy!, but the prayer was first spoken by my husband, George.)

May God bless your Easter and protect your health.

6 Comfort the Sick

How might we comfort the sick, especially now that we must maintain our distance?

• Send flowers or fruit or candy.
• Write the ailing person a letter. Send a card.
• Bring soup, or a meal for the rest of the family.
• Donate for research to the Cancer Society or a similar foundation.
• Phone someone who is sick. Try FaceTime on a smart phone so they can see you, too.
• Or, when it is allowed, sit with them and offer comfort and encouragement.

Night Shift

Martha was a bit confused. Feeling muddled struck more and more often lately, but it certainly seemed that her favorite statue of Mary had climbed down off its shelf and was now sitting with her on her bed.

“What are you looking at?” Asked Miriam, pointing to papers in Martha’s hands.

“Results from a memory test I took,” Martha answered. “My children arranged it. They are arranging a lot of things lately.”

“They love you and worry about you. What do the results say?”

“Moderate dementia.” Martha shrugged. “I suppose it’s true. Lately I show up for things either at the wrong time or on the wrong day. I can’t remember all my grandchildren’s names, let alone the great-grandchildren. My son says I have four great-great grandchildren, but that can’t be true. I’m not that old.”

“What a Godsend to see your family grow!” Miriam said to the elderly woman. “One of the blessings in the Bible is to see your children’s children. Very few get to live long enough to see as many generations as you.”

“But now it seems I am outliving my mind. Losing important memories. And I suppose it will only get worse.” Martha set down the papers and removed her reading glasses. “Who am I, if not a collection of the memories of my life? Who will remember my story when I can’t?”

“The diseases of this life that slowly take away a person’s memories are certainly a sorrow. But you know the Father can turn even this to good.”

“What good can it possibly be to slowly stop knowing all I worked so many years to learn? What worth is there in the remainder of a life like that?”

“Martha,” Miriam said softly, “isn’t a newborn’s life a precious treasure, even though he or she holds no memories?”

Martha scowled, suspecting where this line of thought was going, so Miriam continued. “That little bundle of joy and demands can teach a parent to discover what it is to love unconditionally, even though the newborn gives nothing in return, not even a smile until it is older.”

The statue-now-woman looked intently into Martha’s eyes. “We don’t understand all God’s ways, or how He works all things for good, even devastating things like this, but perhaps He is giving your family and friends and caretakers a gift by allowing them to serve you.”

“I don’t want to be a burden to anyone! I want to continue to be useful, to help people!” Martha would have stomped her foot if she hadn’t been sitting on her bed where her feet didn’t reach the floor.

“And bless you for that desire. But believe me, as difficult as the time ahead may be for everyone, eventually your family will look back and count your final days with them as a blessing. Yes, they will be sad if you reach a point when you don’t know who they are anymore, but they will know you! They will carry the memories of you as precious gifts. And have faith; you will rise whole and healthy again in the next life. This suffering is temporary, and your reward will be immeasurable and permanent!”

Martha sighed. “Aging seems to be a tiresome series of letting go, one thing after another. I miss my own home, and yes, I’m grateful, of course, that my son has taken me into his home, but I miss my healthy, flexible body. I miss being able to eat whatever I wanted before I had to start watching my salt intake, my cholesterol levels, or my blood sugar. I miss driving! Must I really let go of my memories, too?”

“Only God knows what lies ahead, but I promise you, He is good: all loving, all merciful, all wise. He will be with you.”

Martha nodded. Yes, there was comfort in that, knowing He would be with her, even if she no longer knew Him. She bowed her head—and her will—and did what she had done many times before. She placed herself in His hands and her life at His disposal. With that came peace.

When she looked up again, she laughed to see her Mary statue back on the shelf, with the same serene face she always wore. Had her statue truly climbed down and joined her on her bed? Maybe it didn’t matter. Her future might not always allow her to tell what was real and what wasn’t, but Martha knew that tonight’s message touched her heart with profound truth.

(Excerpt from my Miriam’s Joy!)

May God bless your week and protect your health.

5 Shelter the Homeless

How might we Shelter the Homeless?

• Donate to safe houses.
• Host a foreign exchange student.
• Sponsor a fundraiser for shelters.
• Volunteer for Habitat for Humanity.
• Become a foster parent or consider adoption.
• Offer to do repair work for a neighbor in need.
• Welcome a person in transition to live with you for a while.
• Or, drive someone to safety…

Night Shift

In a different part of town, Miriam parked a borrowed minivan in front of a house, just as a young woman fled out its door, carrying a baby about six months old. An angry man was not far behind the woman, raising a crowbar and screaming, “You get back here, or I swear I’ll kill you both!”

Miriam reached across the seat and opened the passenger’s door and called, “Tiana, jump in!”

Tiana did, slammed the car door behind her, and Miriam sped away, leaving an irate man screaming in the street. He threw the crowbar like a javelin, but it missed its target.

After several turns, and when both women were sure they weren’t followed, Miriam parked long enough for Tiana to strap her daughter into the baby seat in the back. As soon as she was back in the minivan, Miriam began driving again.

Tiana said, “Thank you, Jesus, for putting as much distance between me and that man as we can.” Then she really looked at Miriam. “Who are you? I thought you were my mother. Your voice sounded just like hers, or I might not have jumped into your car. How did you know I needed you right then?”

Miriam, with skin darker than Tiana’s and dressed like older women from the islands, smiled a bright white smile. “Child, my name is Miriam, and I guess I was in the right place at the right time, praise God. Was that your husband?”

“Well, he’s my daughter’s father. He’s not that bad most of the time.” She sounded defensive and then softened her voice. “And I love him.”

“Mmm hmm,” Miriam said, and her tone spoke volumes.

“I do, God help me, I do,” said Tiana.

“Love is one thing, and safety is another,” said Miriam. “Men can forfeit the right to be with their families by hurting women or children. Your little Jayda, there, depends on you to keep her safe.”

“I’d never let him hurt her!”

“You wouldn’t mean to, but his anger seems unpredictable and out of control.”

“Usually I can see it coming, but not always,” she admitted. “Sometimes it isn’t me he’s angry with at all, but I’m the one who’s available.”

“Tiana, you would give your life for this baby, am I right?”

Tiana turned to check on her daughter in the backseat. “Absolutely.”

“Then for now, you need to sacrifice your feelings for her daddy and protect her. He’s wounded and you can’t fix him, but it’s possible that losing you two might be just what he needs to make him get help. Promise me you won’t go back to him until someone professional assures you he’s done the work and can control his temper. Will you promise me that?”

“But where will I go in the meantime?”

Miriam pulled the minivan in front of an ordinary looking, but large house and parked. “Promise me?”

Tiana looked back at her baby, who was now sweetly snoring in the car seat. “Yes, ma’am. I promise.”

This is a safe house. They are expecting you and will help you both along the way.”

“But…” Tiana shook her head in confusion. “How did you know?”

“Your mama’s been talking to me, child. Now scoot! Off you go.”

Tiana climbed out of the car, lifted Jayda out of the car seat, and hesitated before closing the door.

“Know you are very, very loved,” said Miriam.

“Thank you,” said Tiana with a nod. Then she closed the car door with a quiet click, straightened her back, and walked up to the home. Before she even knocked, the door swung open to her future.

(Excerpted from my Miriam’s Joy!)

4 Visit the Imprisoned, Ransom the Captive

How appropriate to speak of the imprisoned during this week when many of us “shelter at home” or self-quarantine. Though enjoyable for the first few days, we may all feel a bit imprisoned before the virus is overcome.

In Jesus’ time, people could be imprisoned until they could pay their debts. I assume this required friends or family to ransom the captive.

How might we visit the imprisoned (beyond the obvious jail call) or ransom the captive?

In this time of the COVID-19 scare, people might feel isolated in their homes.

• Visit through a phone call to stay connected.
• Write letters and bring joy to mail delivery time.
• Share what is in short supply.

Regardless of COVID-19:

• Teach children about the dangers of debt.
• Encourage and support those held captive by their fears or addictions.
• Send a hand-written note to a loved one who is isolated by distance.
• Pray for those countries who still don’t know freedom.

After the virus scare calms down,

• Visit the elderly in residential care facilities. Join with others to entertain them.
• Donate your old DVDs, video tapes, or books to group homes.
• Check on and offer to run an errand for the homebound.
• Or, visit someone in the hospital who must adjust to what they see as imprisonment…

Night Shift

Miriam settled into a chair next to the bed of a 16-year-old boy. The hospital noises were subdued, for most patients were fast asleep at 2:00 a.m.

“Who’s there?” the boy asked, his voice giving away his fear.

“Hi, Matthew. My name is Miriam. I’m a volunteer, and I work the night shift.”

“Yeah, I figured it was night. The halls are quieter.” He had relaxed a little.

“You’re having trouble sleeping?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Since the accident?”

“Yeah.”

“Your uncle, Father Dave, tells me all about you. He says you’ve lost your sight. I’m very sorry. And yet you are being so brave.”

“I guess.” He turned toward her voice. “It’s confusing, not being able to see whether it’s day or night. I’m always awake. At least, it feels that way.”

Miriam laid her hand on his. “And you’re terribly bored when everyone else is asleep or busy?”

He sighed.

“Do you like dogs?” she asked.

“You mean, do I want a seeing eye dog?” His voice assured her he didn’t.

“No, I just mean dogs in general. Do you like them?”

He nodded. “I miss my dog, Midnight.”

“What kind is he?”

“Mostly Labrador, I think. Maybe something else in the mix.”

“I have a friend with a black lab mix. He’s a real character. In fact, one time,” Miriam settled back in her chair and chuckled. “Well, let me start at the beginning. As a pup, he loved to steal socks and play with them. He’d growl and shake them, probably imagining they were great enemies. Then he’d toss them up in the air and pounce on them once they’d landed. Now my friend didn’t appreciate finding her socks wadded up, soggy, and often quite holey, so she bought tennis balls for the dog and kept her socks hidden away.

“But the Lab wasn’t disappointed, for now he had a prey that could roll and bounce. All the better, I’m sure he thought. And before long the dog had concocted all sorts of games with his tennis balls. One that my friend couldn’t quite understand involved a laundry chute. You know what those are? Kind of a hole that lets you drop dirty clothes down to a laundry room below. Fascinating invention.”

The boy nodded, and smiled, just a bit.

“The Lab started dropping the tennis ball down the laundry chute, watching it land, then tearing down the stairs to retrieve it!”

“My dog loves tennis balls, too!” Now the boy was grinning.

Miriam giggled. “But once on his way back up the stairs with it, the ball slipped out of his mouth, and of course, bounced all the way down. The dog’s ears went up, and I think you could almost hear the gears in his head turning. For the rest of the day he would run up the stairs, drop the ball, nudge it if needed, and then chase it down the stairs.”

The boy chuckled.

“But wait, that’s not all!” Miriam said, laughing quietly, not wanting to wake anyone. “Yesterday I walked with my friend and her dog to the park. You aren’t going to believe this, but it’s true! When we got near the play structure, she let him off leash, and I figured she would toss him a ball, but no! As soon as the dog heard the leash unbuckle, ears flapping and tongue flopping, he sped towards the slide, ran up the steps as if he’d done this a thousand times and then hunkered down and slid down the slide!” Here she laughed so hard, still trying to be quiet, that she wrapped her arms around her sides to keep them from aching.

The boy too, couldn’t keep his laughs in, whether from her story, or the sound of her trying to control her giggles.

When they had calmed, she explained, “My friend said it only took once watching his ball roll down the slide, and he was hooked. Now he doesn’t even need the ball. He runs up the steps, glides down the slide without a moment’s hesitation, and then does it all again as fast as he can. She doesn’t dare take him off his leash if children are playing. She’s afraid he’d bowl them over!”

The boy smiled broadly now, looking up at a ceiling he couldn’t see, but clearly imagining the scene for himself. “I’ll have to try that with my dog,” he finally said.

Miriam chatted with him for another hour until he drifted off to sleep. As she left, she stopped at the nurses’ station. “Hello, Meagan,” she said to one, who didn’t look surprised since she wore a nametag.

Her eyes did widen a moment later, however, when Miriam said, “You know that little electronic music keyboard that’s in your car waiting to be donated? I bet Matthew, your patient in room 231, would love playing around with that. He could use the headphones so that he doesn’t disturb anyone. It might help him be less bored. Oh, and thank you for the work you all do here with the children!”

Miriam walked toward the elevators, leaving one big-hearted nurse still at a loss for words.

(Excerpted from my Miriam’s Joy!)

May God bless your week and keep you healthy.

3 Clothe the Naked

Welcome back! I am praying you and your loved ones avoid the corona virus. If you are self-quarantining, let me distract you…

From the Old Testament:

Is not this the fast that I choose: [   ]to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin? Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up quickly; your vindicatorshall go before you, the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.

Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer; you shall cry for help, and he will say, Here I am.

Isaiah 58:6-9 (NRSVCE)

And the New Testament:

“He who has two coats, let him share with him who has none and he who has food must do likewise. [Lk 3:11]

How might we Clothe the Naked?

• Clean out our closets and donate used clothing to Goodwill or another charity.
• Contribute diapers to shelters or safe houses.
• Buy new coats for foster children during their annual drive.
• Sew, knit, or crochet hats, gloves, or scarves for those in need.
• Keep socks in your glovebox to give to homeless who are asking for money.
• Or, in an emergency, give what you are wearing…

Night Shift

A young, frightened teen couldn’t believe it. Until tonight, she had hidden her pregnancy for almost nine months. Luckily, she wasn’t like those slim, blonde cheerleaders who would have shown within the first weeks. She had donned baggy sweats once she realized what was happening, and no one had guessed. Not many really looked at her, anyway. But then, tonight, her mother must have noticed, or maybe she finally saw how her “stepdad” ogled her. Before she knew quite what was happening, her mom had thrown her out of the house. Well good. She’d never have to avoid her mother’s boyfriend and his roving… everything… again. But where would she go right now? She had no close friends to ask for help, no teachers who made her feel seen, let alone special.

She had walked about a mile in the dark—the Portland’s spring rain feeling colder than usual—simply wandering, trying to figure out where to go. Suddenly she felt her first, but terrifyingly strong contraction, and with that, her water broke. “Oh God! Oh God! Jesus, Mary, Joseph! Help me!”

It wasn’t supposed to happen this fast. She’d read about deliveries in the school library. She figured it would take hours, but instinct told her she would give birth in a matter of minutes. Her back had been aching all day; could that have been the beginning? She scanned her surroundings, realizing that she couldn’t make it far in this condition. She wasn’t in the best part of town, the rows of apartments around her were in the same disrepair as the one her mother rented, but then she spotted shelter beneath some stairs that led up from the sidewalk to a building’s front door. It gave her enough seclusion and cover that she might remain hidden, if only she could stay quiet. If this baby came without anyone else knowing, maybe she could take it somewhere safe, leave it, and go back to her normal life. She slipped into the dark, bumping into a bicycle locked and stored there.

Another contraction nearly laid her flat. She squatted and panted like in the movies she’d seen. She gritted her teeth and allowed only a whispered, “God, help me!” to escape.

Who was she kidding? Her life would never be normal again, and she could never go back to her mother and the creep she let live with them. She felt hopeless.

Suddenly she realized she wasn’t alone under the stairs. Of course not, she thought. Houseless people know all these makeshift shelters. However, another contraction kept her from being able to move.

“Shh, don’t be afraid. You’re going to be all right,” a woman’s voice whispered. “I’ll help you.”

Who was she to argue? She’d asked God for help. Maybe this was His doing.

The woman took off her coat and motioned for the girl to remove her pants. She covered the girls’ naked legs with the coat, tenting it over her raised knees, and slid newspapers under her. From the little light that made its way to them, the woman seemed surprisingly clean, considering she probably lived under these stairs.

“Thank you, ma’am,” the teen offered between pains.

“I’m Miriam. And you?” She stroked the girl’s forehead, calming her.

“Shasta.” Dang, she shouldn’t have used her real name. This had to be done without anyone knowing who she was. But the lady radiated calm and smiled so nicely. Maybe she could be trusted. Another rising pain cut off any other thought.

“You’re doing fine, Shasta. Your little one is in quite a hurry. I see the head already. You can push with the next pain.”

As if she had any choice! Though her body was young, it knew exactly what to do, and push she did! She thought her teeth might break with the effort of clenching back the screams that seemed to rise from her deepest insides and demand release.

Another push and she felt the child slide out between her legs. Such relief she’d never known!

“A little girl, Shasta, and she’s beautiful! Just like you!”

No one had ever called her beautiful before, but she set that thought aside and reached for the now crying child. Her child. Her own.

Miriam cut the cord, then swaddled the baby in her headscarf, and handed her to Shasta. Her little daughter quieted immediately, as if she knew her mother. After she managed one more contraction and push, Miriam wrapped the placenta in something Shasta couldn’t see. Miriam cleaned her gently and lovingly, which brought tears to Shasta’s eyes. She felt completely loved by this stranger.

Giving the baby to Miriam, who wrapped her in her coat to keep her warm, Shasta pulled her pants back on. Taking her little one back, she stroked the child’s cheek and gazed into her dark eyes. The baby seemed to look back at her with complete trust. How could she leave this little one anywhere? She couldn’t even bear to have her out of her sight.

“What am I going to do?” Shasta asked.

“Your grandma has been praying for you. We could go to her.”

Shasta didn’t think to ask how Miriam would know this. Such things seemed minor on a night of miracles like tonight. She wondered aloud about it later, though, once safely welcomed into her grandmother’s home.

Her grandma simply smiled, as if she knew a secret.

(Excerpted from my Miriam’s Joy!)

2 Give Drink to the Thirsty

Where do we get the corporal works of Mercy? Here’s one of the sources from the New Testament:

Then the king will say to those at his right hand, ‘Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’ Matthew 25:34-36 (NRSVCE)

How can we give drink to the thirsty?

• Donate water to a shelter or during an emergency.
• Contribute to a charity that provides clean water (wells, filters) to those in need.
• Invite new neighbors for tea.
• Offer cold water on a hot day to the solicitor at your door.
• Pay for the coffee of the person behind you at coffee shops.
• Or, bring a beverage to share while you visit with someone who is lonely…

Night Shift

The spring evening felt unusually warm. Miriam walked down the sidewalk carrying a bag with two bottles of lemonade from the convenience store, remembering how much she had enjoyed the lemonade Yosef had shared with her. It was dusk, but she passed several couples who were out for a walk, hand in hand. She stopped in front of a house with a particularly attractive garden.

“Your daffodils are lovely,” she called to a middle-aged woman who rocked on the porch. “And I bet your roses will be breathtaking in June.”

“Thank you. They really are at their best then,” she answered. “Are you a gardener?”

“I love flowers. Do I see hyacinths and tulips in bud, too?”

“Come into the yard. I’ll show you more.” The woman walked with Miriam around the side of the house, pointing to hydrangeas still leafing out, and rhododendrons with their shiny ever-green leaves. In the backyard she listed what her raised vegetable beds would hold this year, once the ground was warm enough to plant, and what the fruit trees would bear.

On the far side of the house, the woman gestured to what she called her Marian Garden, complete with a statue of Jesus’ mother with down-stretched arms. “All the flowers in this area are mentioned in the Bible, or named for Mary, or symbolic of Mary’s life, or figure in stories that have something to do with Mary’s life. You can’t see them all yet, but I grow Rose of Sharon, marigolds, lilies, of course, reminiscent of her purity, and iris whose long blades remind us of the sorrows that pierced Mary’s heart. Some people say the lavender bush first grew fragrant flowers when Mary spread Jesus’ clothes on them to dry.”

“This is truly touching,” Miriam said. She ran her fingers over last year’s rosemary and awakened its aroma. “It’s a beautiful tribute.”

As they circled back to the porch, she invited Miriam to sit with her a while.

“I happen to have bought two bottles of lavender lemonade,” said Miriam. “I’m new to lemonade, and I’ve never tasted it flavored with lavender before. Will you try some with me?”

Before long, the women were rocking together on the porch in the dark, while deepening their conversation.

“You seem a bit sad,” observed Miriam.

“Ah, does it still show?” She took another sip from the bottle. “This is delicious, by the way. Thank you.”

Miriam simply nodded and waited.

“I have twin girls who are busy with school functions tonight. They’ll both be leaving for college in the fall. Then my nest will be empty.” She paused as if deciding before she continued. “You see, I was widowed a few months ago.”

She met Miriam’s eyes but continued before Miriam could offer her condolences. “My husband had a heart attack, totally unexpected. I worked in his dentist office as his bookkeeper and receptionist. I received a call at the office from a woman who obviously didn’t know I was his wife, telling me ‘Dr. Spencer’ had collapsed at her house and was on his way in an ambulance to the hospital.” She paused. “I don’t know why I’m telling a stranger this. I guess I’ve kept it to myself too long. You have an openness about you that makes me feel safe.”

Miriam encouraged her with another nod.

“He was supposed to be at the gym. He scheduled his workout for every Tuesday and Thursday after lunch. I had no idea that was a lie. So, on one very normal day, I lost my husband, my job, our income, and my self-respect.”

“You weren’t the one who did anything wrong. You have no reason to be ashamed,” Miriam said with both reassurance and understanding in her tone. “Do your daughters know?”

The woman sighed. “They loved their daddy so much. I wouldn’t take away their admiration for him. No one else knows but the woman on the other end of the phone. Most of the time I’m doing okay. The first shock is over. Now I’m simply dreading September when it feels like my purpose in life will be over, with the girls gone and my marriage and job gone, too. To top it off, today’s my birthday. I hit 50.”

“A Jubilee Woman!” Miriam said, raising her bottle of lemonade to the woman, as if to toast the happy occasion. “Congratulations. Our Father proclaimed in Leviticus that each 50th year should be one of liberation, forgiveness, rest, and mercy. I hope it is a jubilant year for you. A new start.” She grew more serious. “What would your ideal day look like, if you could spend it any way you wanted?”

“That’s easy. I’d spend it in a garden. Every day at the dentist office I wished I were outside planting.”

“So why don’t you? You certainly have the green thumb. You could look for a gardening job, or if you don’t need the money, you could volunteer at one of Portland’s beautiful gardens.” She ticked off on her fingers: “The Rose Garden, the Rhododendron Garden, the Japanese Garden, or the Chinese Garden.”

“We do have some beautiful places to choose from, don’t we? Do you think they’d hire an amateur like me? I suppose I could take some courses to learn more.”

“You could be a Master Gardener before long!”

“You know, I could be, couldn’t I?”

A quiet enthusiasm in the woman’s voice made Miriam smile. She stood then to go, and the woman rose and gave her a warm embrace.

“Thank you! I’m so glad you stopped by and brightened my birthday! Maybe my girls won’t be the only ones returning to school this fall!”

(Excerpt from Miriam’s Joy!)

Corporal Works of Mercy 1- Feed the Hungry

Welcome to (or back to) our 4 Minutes 4 Growth Lenten posts. This season we will explore the Corporal Works of Mercy and focus on one per week through an excerpt from my novel, Miriam’s Joy!, where the Virgin Mary visits Portland incognito as Miriam.Only after I had published it did a friend surprise me with the observation that the “Night Shift” portions of the story illustrate corporal and spiritual works of mercy.

Ideas to consider for our first Corporal Work of Mercy, Feed the Hungry:

• Donate to or volunteer at the Food Bank.
• Help with meals for the homeless.
• Carry a dinner across the street to a neighbor recently home from the hospital.
• Rethink the “chore” of cooking for your family as a work of mercy
• Or, provide a feast for the lonely…

Night Shift

A woman named Esther sat alone in her room, her first evening in the new “senior living home” her children had chosen for her. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted her own house, her own bed, and her own walls that contained 50 years of memories. Realizing she was courting resentment and determined to stay positive, she decided to explore some of the building’s common areas in order to distract herself.

A Catholic organization ran the home. She and all her family were Jewish. She knew they’d chosen this arrangement because it was equidistant from her children’s homes, but Catholic? How would she ever fit in?

She noticed quite a few residents were entering a little in-house theater. “What’s playing?” she asked.

“The Cardinal,” answered one lady who wore a large crucifix around her neck. “It’s old but a classic.”

And Catholic, Esther thought. Like everything else here but me.

She walked toward the sound of a lilting hum and found a woman alone, rocking in a small parlor with two or three tables and several easy chairs. She seemed young for the home, but one never knew what type of illness might require assisted living. She wore a long skirt and a modest veil around her head. It reminded Esther of the hair coverings that some of her more conservative friends wore. The woman saw her and smiled, while motioning Esther into the room.

She liked something about her smile and joined her. “I heard you humming. It sounded like a song from…” She was going to say synagogue but didn’t know if she wanted to identify herself as an outsider just yet.

The woman grinned. “Sing with me! If there are any like us, they’ll come. And if they don’t know the songs, they’ll come for the food!” She gestured toward one of the tables, and Esther couldn’t believe her eyes. Four different desserts filled the table, and not just any desserts, but pastries identical to what her mother used to make for Passover or Hanukah years ago. There were crescent-shaped rugelach, cinnamon braided babka breads, triangular hamantaschen cookies, and Esther’s favorite, sufganiyot, little strawberry-filled donuts.

“I’m Miriam,” the younger woman said. “I’m a visitor, but I think we will find there are residents who will enjoy our treats.” She began to sing then, and Esther was amazed to hear the same accent her mother never had lost, even though she had emigrated as a teenager and spent almost 70 years in America.

Esther sang along, quietly first but then, encouraged by the joy and strength of Miriam’s voice, she sang Hava Nagila with gusto. Next Miriam began Dayeinu, one of Esther’s favorite songs from Seder celebrations.

Two women peeked into the room and, after their eyes widened at the sight of the treat table, entered and joined in the song. They were quite a choir now, and someone in the theater across the hall closed the door to keep out their noise. Laughing, they kept singing as first one, then two more men shyly entered and joined their voices to the group. They sang songs of faith and family and difficult times. They connected through their sung history, their eyes saying, “You, too? I didn’t know.”

Miriam changed to a soft, reverent Shema Yisrael and her little choir responded with tears in their eyes and emotion in their voices. When the song ended, the group began to introduce themselves or tell their tales. They were still visiting when the movie across the hall finished, and they invited other friends to come enjoy some delicious treats with them.

What had been quiet, unshared backgrounds now emerged as points of pride and opened the way for telling treasured stories. The Jewish elderly became a small community, welcomed within a larger community. The residents raved about the evening so much that the chef promised to try the recipes found under each serving tray. Soon cultural singalongs and desserts became a regular event.

Esther made many new friends that night, but somehow Miriam had slipped away before she was able to thank her. No one else seemed to have noticed her or knew which resident she might have been visiting.

(Excerpt from my Miriam’s Joy!)

May God bless your week and keep you healthy!