November 18: Languishing, Sister, Prayer for Health

"Maybe," said Charlotte quietly.  "However, I have a feeling I'm not going to see the results of last night's efforts.  I don't feel good at all.  I think I'm languishing, to tell you the truth."

Charlotte isn't just languishing at this point in the book.  She's a couple of days away from dying.  She has created her egg sac and secured Wilbur's safety.  Basically, she has expended the last ounce of her energy.  In a couple of pages, she's too weak to even move any of her legs.


I have a sister right now who's languishing.  She was just admitted into the hospital this afternoon.  Tomorrow, she will be undergoing surgery for a seroma of soft tissue and bone.  I'm not exactly sure what that exactly means.  I know it's a serious, life-threatening infection.  My sister had back surgery last month.  Her surgical wound is not healing.  It's sort of festering.  The infection might have reached her spine.

I am so tired of this year.  So much has gone wrong in 2014.  My jobs.  My brother's death.  Two sisters with terrible health issues.  Money issues--always.  As this year winds down, it seems to be going out with a huge thunderclap instead of a whisper.

A Capuchin monk named Solanus Casey (who's on his way to canonization), once said, "In the crosses of life that come to us, Jesus offers us opportunities to help Him redeem the world.  Let us profit by His generosity."  I suppose that's a comforting thought, that all the storms of life are opportunities of redemption.  When you are out in the boat in the storm, however, it's sometimes difficult to see the shore.  At the moment, I'm looking for the shore.  For my opportunity to redeem the world in my sister's situation.

My sister's worried about a lot of things right now.  Her health.  Her job (and whether she's going to have a job to return to--she's already taken a great deal of time off for surgeries and recuperation this summer).  She has many crosses.  I'm asking you to pray for her.  Please.  Pray that she finds her opportunity for redemption, whatever form it may take.  She is suffering a great deal, physically and mentally.  Tomorrow, she goes into surgery again.

Saint Marty is a little tired of crosses at the moment.  A little salvation would be nice.

This is what I'm looking for

November 4: Fern and Avery, Sister, Prayer for Healing

One evening, just before Christmas, snow began falling.  It covered house and barn and fields and woods.  Wilbur had never seen snow before.  When morning came he went out and plowed the drifts in his yard, for the fun of it.  Fern and Avery arrived, dragging a sled.  They coasted down the lane and out onto the frozen pond of the pasture.

Fern and Avery are pretty typical siblings.  Fern, the older sister, gets annoyed with her little brother's antics.  Always responsible and sensitive, Fern saves Wilbur's life at the beginning of the book when Mr. Arable is about to "do away" with him for being a runt.  Avery stuffs his pockets with snakes and frogs.  At one point, he tries to capture Charlotte for his bug collection, much to Fern's horror.  Avery doesn't see animals as companions.  He sees them as slimy and hairy and creepy.

Yet, for all their differences, Fern and Avery are always playing together.  Swimming.  Swinging.  Sledding.  There is a palpable sense of love between the two of them.  They care about each other deeply, even if they annoy the crap out of each other.

Being the youngest in a family of nine brothers and sisters, I know a thing or two about annoying my siblings.  It's inevitable for the baby of the family.  It's in the job description.  My sisters have always been really good to me, even if I lost their favorite swimming goggles or wrecked their just-paid-off cars.  Yes, we get on each other's nerves.  Yes, most of my sisters vote Republican.  Yes, they know I voted for President Obama twice (and would vote for him again).  Yet, like Fern and Avery, we care about each other deeply.

One of my sisters is facing a really significant health challenge right now.  She recently had back surgery, and now, three weeks after the fact, she is battling a raging infection.  She went back to work this morning, threw up three times, and went home.  It doesn't help that she's diabetic and was just diagnosed MRSA positive.  I have a feeling that she has a long recovery ahead of her.  I'm worried for her.

I'm asking my disciples to pray for my sister tonight.  Send thoughts of healing and health her way.  She's struggling, mentally and physically.  I'm sure she's not seeing a whole lot of light in her life at the moment.  Fern needs a miracle.

Saint Marty is looking for "Some Hope" in Charlotte's web tonight.

Prayer and hope are needed

January 24: Busy Night, David Shumate, "Teaching a Child the Art of Confession"

I've had a busy night.  Lots of running around, getting things done.  Bought a new battery for my garage remote.  Dropped my daughter off at ballet practice.  Corrected quizzes from my film classes.  Recorded the grades in my grade book.  Finished up my lesson plan for Monday.  And now, for my final trick, I will type my second blog post of the day.

I've heard nothing new about my sister's condition.  Nothing about her heart test or discussion with the facial surgeon.  She was also supposed to see a neurologist today, as well.  I guess they're not sure if the infection has affected her brain.  Haven't heard anything about that, either.  It's strange, but I really have this feeling that she's going to be fine.  I don't know why.  Perhaps I'm simply not willing to entertain any other alternative.  Maybe it's faith.

I have a prose poem for you from a poet named David Shumate.  It's about confession and forgiveness.

Saint Marty was drawn to it for some reason tonight.

Teaching a Child the Art of Confession

It is best not to begin with Adam and Eve.  Original Sin is baffling, even for the most sophisticated minds.  Besides, children are frightened of naked people and apples.  Instead, start with the talking snake.  Children like to hear what animals have to say.  Let him hiss for a while and tell his own tale.  They'll figure him out in the end.  Describe sin simply as those acts which cause suffering and leave it at that.  Steer clear of musty confessionals.  Children associate them with outhouses.  Leave Hell out of the discussion.  They'll be able to describe it on their own soon enough.  If they feel the need to apologize for some transgression, tell them that one of the offices of the moon is to forgive.  As for the priest, let him slumber a while more.

An apple sounds pretty good to me tonight