January 17: Mary Oliver, "The Uses of Sorrow," Let the Perpetual Light Shine Upon Her

In the Catholic Church, there is a prayer that is said for a person who has recently died.

Tonight, Saint Marty says it for poet Mary Oliver:

Eternal rest grant to her, O Lord; and let the perpetual light shine upon her.  May her soul, and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.  Amen.

The Uses of Sorrow

by:  Mary Oliver

(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)

Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.

September 24: Still Pretty Early, My Son Holden, a Prayer

It was still pretty early.  I'm not sure what time it was, but it wasn't too late.  The one thing I hate to do is go to bed when I'm not tired...

Holden sounds a lot like my four-year-old son in the passage above.  My son hates bedtime.  He will stall sleep any way he can.  He asks for a cookie, a piece of string cheese, a drink of water.  He gets up and goes to the bathroom.  He says he's not feeling well or that the bed is moving by itself.  Even if my son is exhausted, bed is the last place he wants to be.

I think my son is Holden Caulfield.  My son told me this evening that he "wants to be bad" to everyone in kindergarten.  I could almost hear him saying that his teacher is a big phoney.  He's being difficult simply for the sake of being difficult.  And he's only in kindergarten.  He can be a good student.  He was a good student for the last two years.  A leader, even.  Suddenly, he's the Holden Caulfield of his class.  Picking fights.  Calling people names.  Getting closer and closer to expulsion.

I pray every night and morning my son will behave.  The problem is that, once he's on that bus, he's on his own.  He makes the choices all day, and the choices he's been making have been pretty poor.  I don't expect or want him to be a conformist, but, for God's sake, I'd like him to at least not commit any felonies when he's out on the playground.

And that's what my prayer is about today.

Dear God,

Hi.  It's me again.  How's Your Son?  I hope He's doing well.  That whole crucifixion thing was a real shame.

Speaking of sons, I'd like to ask You a little favor.  Tomorrow morning, when my son goes off to school, could You please help him stay on the straight and narrow?  I don't expect him to be perfect.  That's impossible.  Well, maybe not for Your Son, but You know what I mean.  I just want him to maybe listen, follow directions, not kick the girl at the desk next to him.  I don't think that's too much to ask, is it?

I'm giving my son up to You tomorrow.  Watch out for him, please.  He's a good kid.  He really is.  And he has a good heart.  Help him.  Guide him.  Keep him safe and happy.

Let go.  Let God.  That's going to be my motto.  He's all Yours tomorrow.

Your loving child,

Saint Marty

My son's motto

January 10: Three Inches of Snow, Pretty as Hell, Blessings

It was nice, though, when we got out of the dining room.  There were about three inches of snow on the ground, and it was still coming down like a madman.  It looked pretty as hell, and we all started throwing snowballs and horsing around all over the place.  It was very childish, but everybody was really enjoying themselves.

I love this moment in The Catcher in the Rye.  Holden and his friends finish dinner in the school's dining hall, and they go outside and do what all kids do in a snowstorm.  They play like three-year-olds.  Throwing snowballs.  Probably chasing and tackling each other.  This morning, while we were waiting for my son's school bus to arrive, my son started a game of hide-and-seek.  He was stomping through snowbanks and laughing his head off, his breath fogging in front of his face.  That's  what Salinger is describing in the above passage.  Pure and utter childish joy.

I don't think I get enough times like that in my life.  I allow myself to be ruled by schedules and commitments.  If I step outside and it's snowing, I don't usually stop to admire the beauty.  I usually curse and start clearing the snow from my windshield.  I certainly don't start up a game of hide-and-seek.  Snowstorms are a blessing, though.  They remind us to slow down, to remember Who's in charge of things (note the capital "W").

While I was making my breakfast this morning, I stood by my kitchen window and looked out at my backyard.  The sun was just cresting over the roof of my garage, and a blade of light splashed across the snow.  The white flashed and sparked.  It was completely and totally tranquil.  A moment of true beauty. I just stood there, in my pajamas, staring, for a couple of minutes.  It was like looking out at a prayer.

Saint Marty needs more moments like that in his life.

Take a moment.  Say a prayer.  Enjoy a blessing.

October 4: Little Bob, Don't Be Grieved, Hurting Person

She hurried out to meet him; and little Bob in his comforter--he had need of it, poor fellow--came in.  His tea was ready for him on the hob, and they all tried who should help him to it most.  Then the two young Cratchits got upon his knees and laid, each child a little cheek, upon his face, as if they said, "Don't mind it, father.  Don't be grieved!"

Poor Bob is grieving the death of Tiny Tim in this little passage.  Scrooge watches as this father comes to terms with the loss of his little boy.  It's the saddest moment in the entire novel, one that caused readers a great deal of distress when the book was first released.  Tiny Tim was so beloved that Scrooge had to add a line at the end of the novel to assure his audience that Tim survives:  "...and to Tiny Tim, who did NOT die..."  Even so, Bob's sadness at this juncture in the narrative is very difficult to face.

I have a person in my life who is really hurting this morning.  He's struggling with some job issues.  I gave him a phone call just before he left for work to offer some words of encouragement, and he got quite choked up.  My heart broke for him.  If I could have given him a hug over the phone, I would have.  Instead, I just had to offer verbal support.  The whole conversation left me feeling quite helpless and angry.  After I hung up, I said a little prayer for him.

I'm asking anyone who reads this post to say a prayer for this person.  He needs love and positive thoughts.  Like Bob, he needs the uplift of family and children and friends.  When someone close to me is hurting, I feel powerless.  I wish I could reach in and fix the problems that exist.

However, Saint Marty is going to leave that up to Someone Who can make a difference.  Amen.

Say a prayer for my friend