Troubled youths unused to being asked to share their feelings find an outlet in a local priest's group therapy sessions.
To read the full story click here
By Scott Gold Los Angeles Times Staff Writer
August 16, 2009
http://www.latimes.com
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
My Life as a Dog
Soon it will be time for all the joyous noise and activity that is part of the annual "Blessing of the Pets" and so here is a posting from Dana Jennings' blog about his experience with prostate cancer on nytimes.com, as well as some hard-to-resist photos.
No cats I'm afraid- looking for volunteers to contribute feline postings..
September 15, 2009, 10:40 am
My Life as a Dog
By Dana Jennings
Our creaky miniature poodle, Bijou, and I spend a lot of time together. We both like to curl up in the den at the end of the day, and we both have the uncanny ability to take a nap anytime and anywhere.
I realize now as I take care of Bijou that I even became a kind of a dog myself as I went through surgery, radiation and hormone therapy for advanced prostate cancer. We don’t look anything alike, though. She’s black, snarly and curly. I have a buzz cut.
But after surgery, you’re reduced to a helpless animal state. I needed to be fed and watered. And, when you’re walking the hospital, your I.V. pole is effectively a leash. Bijou and I have both wrestled with issues of incontinence – though I never peed on anyone’s foot.
When I got home from the hospital my wife, Deb, and my sons took me for walks, just as they did Bijou. I managed, however, not to bark and growl at the other dogs in the neighborhood or scarf up dessicated worms off the sidewalk.
During hormone therapy I literally was as hungry as a dog, which gave the two of us plenty of culinary common ground. We both shared an unhealthy affection for Cool Ranch Doritos, and Bijou taught me that if someone is eating something you like – an Italian sub, say – it never hurts to ask: “Are you going to finish that?”
I also learned that cancer time and dog time aren’t so different. We know that our dogs’ lives are compressed into 10 to 15 years, that their brilliant flames burn even more quickly than our own. Time is compressed, too, when you have cancer, and even after. You can’t take 10 years from now for granted, or next year for that matter.
During all of this, Bijou has been a kind of accidental canine Zen master. The more I watch her, the more I learn. And the more I learn, the more I understand my inner dog.
I have learned from her to nap in the sun whenever possible. And if you need to bark and howl, bark and howl. Dogs don’t keep their feelings buried inside. Thus, they rarely take Zoloft.
Another lesson from Bijou: sigh when the spirit moves you, because a sigh is sometimes better than a prayer.
Bijou sleeps later than she used to these days. Instead of waking me up, I’m the one who rouses her. But she’s always ready to go, always happy to see me, when she hears me come downstairs.
We ease outside and troll the sidewalk. She likes to poke along because there are trees and bushes to sniff for new messages, dew to lick off the grass, and Loki, our neighbor’s Halloween of a black cat, with whom to share inscrutable stares. As Bijou does her business, I sniff the air and ponder the weather, fetch my neighbor’s newspaper and toss it onto her porch, and also share inscrutable stares with Loki. Afterward, Bijou takes her pills (snugged in mini-pepperoni), then I take my pills (gulped with orange juice).
As I said, we spend a lot of time in the den. I like it at night, as I’m reading, when Bijou wakes from a nap, stands up, shakes off the sleep, then hobbles over to me. She brushes against me a couple times, as if to make sure that I’m awake, then rests her chin on the cushion of my chair, asking to be scratched on the head.
So often, we — dogs and humans — just need to be near each other. We need the presence of another heartbeat, the inhale and exhale of another soul. Dogs understand the healing power of having your skull kneaded, and constantly raise their heads toward our hands, the way plants turn toward the sun.
We humans like it, too. I never say no when Deb or the boys want to rub my fresh buzz cut — good dog that I am.
No cats I'm afraid- looking for volunteers to contribute feline postings..
September 15, 2009, 10:40 am
My Life as a Dog
By Dana Jennings
Our creaky miniature poodle, Bijou, and I spend a lot of time together. We both like to curl up in the den at the end of the day, and we both have the uncanny ability to take a nap anytime and anywhere.
I realize now as I take care of Bijou that I even became a kind of a dog myself as I went through surgery, radiation and hormone therapy for advanced prostate cancer. We don’t look anything alike, though. She’s black, snarly and curly. I have a buzz cut.
But after surgery, you’re reduced to a helpless animal state. I needed to be fed and watered. And, when you’re walking the hospital, your I.V. pole is effectively a leash. Bijou and I have both wrestled with issues of incontinence – though I never peed on anyone’s foot.
When I got home from the hospital my wife, Deb, and my sons took me for walks, just as they did Bijou. I managed, however, not to bark and growl at the other dogs in the neighborhood or scarf up dessicated worms off the sidewalk.
During hormone therapy I literally was as hungry as a dog, which gave the two of us plenty of culinary common ground. We both shared an unhealthy affection for Cool Ranch Doritos, and Bijou taught me that if someone is eating something you like – an Italian sub, say – it never hurts to ask: “Are you going to finish that?”
I also learned that cancer time and dog time aren’t so different. We know that our dogs’ lives are compressed into 10 to 15 years, that their brilliant flames burn even more quickly than our own. Time is compressed, too, when you have cancer, and even after. You can’t take 10 years from now for granted, or next year for that matter.
During all of this, Bijou has been a kind of accidental canine Zen master. The more I watch her, the more I learn. And the more I learn, the more I understand my inner dog.
I have learned from her to nap in the sun whenever possible. And if you need to bark and howl, bark and howl. Dogs don’t keep their feelings buried inside. Thus, they rarely take Zoloft.
Another lesson from Bijou: sigh when the spirit moves you, because a sigh is sometimes better than a prayer.
Bijou sleeps later than she used to these days. Instead of waking me up, I’m the one who rouses her. But she’s always ready to go, always happy to see me, when she hears me come downstairs.
We ease outside and troll the sidewalk. She likes to poke along because there are trees and bushes to sniff for new messages, dew to lick off the grass, and Loki, our neighbor’s Halloween of a black cat, with whom to share inscrutable stares. As Bijou does her business, I sniff the air and ponder the weather, fetch my neighbor’s newspaper and toss it onto her porch, and also share inscrutable stares with Loki. Afterward, Bijou takes her pills (snugged in mini-pepperoni), then I take my pills (gulped with orange juice).
As I said, we spend a lot of time in the den. I like it at night, as I’m reading, when Bijou wakes from a nap, stands up, shakes off the sleep, then hobbles over to me. She brushes against me a couple times, as if to make sure that I’m awake, then rests her chin on the cushion of my chair, asking to be scratched on the head.
So often, we — dogs and humans — just need to be near each other. We need the presence of another heartbeat, the inhale and exhale of another soul. Dogs understand the healing power of having your skull kneaded, and constantly raise their heads toward our hands, the way plants turn toward the sun.
We humans like it, too. I never say no when Deb or the boys want to rub my fresh buzz cut — good dog that I am.
Friday, September 18, 2009
The Scene at Nativity on Sunday, September 13
The Scene at Nativity on Sunday, September 13 was one of joy, celebration and welcoming. It was Nativity Homecoming Sunday. The music was provided by Reavis Graham, Al Jacquez and Phil Spradlin, and provide it they did! Tunes included, Early in the Morning, Just a Closer Walk with Thee, Peace in the Valley, and the concluding song, This Little Light of Mine had all singing their hearts out to the Lord. The choir provided backup voices for Rev, Phil and Al. Let’s just say all were very moved by the Spirit during the service. Thanks to all the wonderful musicians!!
Vicar Diane Morgan provided us much food for thought from lessons for the day regarding the idea of the tongue and our need to check our words before we speak lest we allow it to be used as, “a restless evil, full of deadly poison… and with it we curse.” (James 31-12)
Following the service all gathered outside for a family style picnic with hotdogs and tea provided by Rick Smith and dishes to pass provided by the members. Steve Bai was chief grill master. Rick Smith ran around doing so many things I couldn’t keep count! Thanks for all your hard work, Rick.
The children played, the adults sat and talked and all went home well fed and content.
Mary Lou Johnstone
Vicar Diane Morgan provided us much food for thought from lessons for the day regarding the idea of the tongue and our need to check our words before we speak lest we allow it to be used as, “a restless evil, full of deadly poison… and with it we curse.” (James 31-12)
Following the service all gathered outside for a family style picnic with hotdogs and tea provided by Rick Smith and dishes to pass provided by the members. Steve Bai was chief grill master. Rick Smith ran around doing so many things I couldn’t keep count! Thanks for all your hard work, Rick.
The children played, the adults sat and talked and all went home well fed and content.
Mary Lou Johnstone
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
"The aim of receiving God is to become more human"
The aim of receiving God is to become more human, not to arrive at some transcendent state in which the difficulties if being human are not present.
The Instruction Manual for Receiving God, by Jason Shulman
“The aim of receiving God is to become more human.” I wonder if you’ve ever thought the aim of receiving God is to become perfect. I did. Actually, I still fight that demon from time to time, O. K., maybe more than I’d like to admit and much less than I used to engage in the conflict. The good news is that I’m more conscious of those thoughts of the need for perfection so I can now stare those thoughts in the face and accept them. I can admit I’m human. Somewhere in me is this ego that has a goal of keeping me from really accepting me warts and all and one way to do that is to keep me thinking God won’t accept me unless I’m perfect.
Shulman is saying, and I believe, God wants you to accept yourself, accept your humanness, stare your fears straight in the face and accept them as well as what you see as your positive attributes. I’ve been reading a book about introverts. I never really got into the whole introvert/extrovert readings. I had a general understanding of what they were and had always labeled myself an extrovert, I realize now mainly because that was what I heard from everyone. I mean really who is always taking charge heading up various projects both at church and other groups I’ve belonged to over the years…me. This in spite of the evidence on The Myers Briggs that I was an introvert; talk about the ego taking charge and hanging on for dear life. I took the Myers Briggs a couple times and one time the results came out I was an extrovert but very close to being an introvert and the next time I took it was the exact opposite and both times I measured very close to the middle line so that techniquely I figured I was in the middle. I know I know it’s hard to believe. The thing is it’s a perfect example of how the ego can get hold and have you thinking you’re perfect or in this case balanced; I was both, how much better can you get! I also couldn’t get more human. Where was my brain during all this? I would guess controlled by my ego and not my heart.
The fact is I never really took the test seriously, I think because it ruined my ego’s need to be thought of as an extrovert, I mean in society they are the ones who are thought of as the winners. I also know it got mixed up with my need to take care of everyone. O. K., enough confessions for the day, I can only batter my ego so much. Suffice it to say I’m learning and accepting a lot about myself in this round of “wake-up, Mary Lou, and smell the coffee!”
So, what is here for us in this story? For me, I became more human. I faced my fear of not being perfect with this experience. Shulman says, “How my ego longs for ease...My real Self longs for ease too…It knows I cannot always be composed and clear…it only wants my humanness.” God does not want perfection God, wants us to be who we are.
How does one go about being human? My first response is taking a deep breath. I’ve learned that whenever fear is starting to grip me the most important thing I can do is take a deep breath and allow the spirit of God to fill me. It clears my head and allows my heart to take control. With my heart in control I can remember that in God’s eyes I am already perfect and loved. William A. Barry, SJ sees God as hopelessly in love with us. So, whenever that shadow side, the side of me that I don’t want people to see because, of course, they will think less of me, shows up in my thoughts I need to remember that is part of my humanness and God loves all of my humanness. We are who we are. We are the parts of ourselves we are comfortable with, proud of, in love with and the parts of ourselves that we want hide and see as not nice, negative, or evil. God doesn’t just love us; God is hopelessly in love with us.
So, another thing we need to do is cut ourselves some slack, realize our responses to life are human. It’s O. K. to lose our temper on occasion or make a mistake or not be so perfect. God loves us anyway; in fact, God is hopelessly in love with us.
Finally, accept the difficulties of being human. I find one of the easiest ways to get beyond what I consider a mistake is to laugh at my humanness. So, I spilled the water on the counter and it soaks my favorite recipe and drips on the floor and causes all manner of chaos in my day. I take a deep breath see the folly of rushing, laugh at my humanness and clean up the mess secure in the knowledge that I am loved just the way I am.
What a joy to be loved for who we are warts and all!
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