WAITING FOR THE LOCUSTS

The Plague of Locusts - Holman

In my last post I mentioned that I had been diagnosed with macular degeneration, but I somewhat "hid the lead" as there is so much going on right now, I hardly know what to mention first.

A few days before my doctor appointment, I was praying, and suddenly a voice came to me and said, "You have macular degeneration." I dismissed it as a trick of the mind. I refuse to be one of those people that clings to the oddly fantastical. I will not be oohing and ahhing over the face of Jesus appearing on a tortilla, nor am I interested in becoming an oracle for the entertainment of others. I just heard this voice and dismissed it.

A couple days later, however, when I heard the same words being said to me by the eye doctor, I was stunned. I have no idea what it means that I was given knowledge of this ahead of time. It could have been God talking to me or it could have been Satan. Chances are, it was probably Satan.

We sometimes forget that Satan will offer us powers and other emoluments to get us under his spell. When some people imagine the workings of Satan, they picture ugliness and horror. They forget that the Devil was originally created as an angel and has angelic powers. Even HE knows that you get more flies with honey than vinegar, so he will offer a person the chance to be admired by others, to be special in some way, to see the future, tell fortunes, etc. I imagine this is the reason that the Christian faith is firmly opposed to Ouija boards, palm reading, and all the related attempts at divination. This is Satan's territory, and you open yourself up to demons when you play around with these things.

It is not fashionable to believe in Satan these days. Even some men of the cloth will say they do not believe, but I assure you that Satan believes in YOU and wants nothing more than to steer you away from everything holy. He is delighted that people no longer believe in him, because it allows him to move among us unseen and unrecognized.

Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

by Tracey Long

I steer clear of all mystics, visionaries and supernatural phenomena until The Church investigates and gives thumbs up or thumbs down on its origination. It bothers me that so many have thrown themselves wholeheartedly into the Medjugorje circus, as it has several signs of being a fraud, and it is going to really upset some people when The Church refuses to sanction it. Some will leave the church, probably, as they have made it their pet project. Some will defy The Church and continue promoting it. This is classic Satan side show. Give the people something that is fantastical and otherworldly, pretending to be of God, get them hooked, and then pull them away from The Church with it. I have friends who dearly love the Medjugorje thing, and I worry about them very much. I don't think they will give it up, if The Church's decision is against it.

Anyway, I digress.  Back to the macular degeneration. I really would have rather gone deaf than blind because noise really bothers me and I use my eyes a LOT in my art and my writing. We don't get to choose the crosses with which we are loaded down, however, so I must get used to this idea and try to prepare myself as best I can for what lays ahead.  My philosophy is to prepare myself for the worst case scenario, and then I will be ready for anything.

Don't think I am sanguine and all relaxed about this situation, however. I do try to look on the bright side of things and accept what comes, but I admit to being very unhappy about this latest development. My entire life, I have been overshadowed by a black cloud and have always felt an almost palpable pressure, as if a great big ugly toad was sitting on me and preventing progress. Even if I made the best decision in any given situation, I always got a bad result. The last 5 years or so has been the worst, with deaths, illnesses and financial setbacks galore. People have noticed and commented that if I did not have bad luck I would have no luck at all.

The deacon at my church suggested I may be under a family curse. On both sides of the family, we were devout Catholics.  In fact, I am descended from quite a few saints!  In the era of the great grandparents, all of them disconnected from The Church. Many divorces, alcoholism, children abandoned, and general moral decay followed.

Now, I have this disease in both eyes which will eventually blind me, and I think, "What's next? Locusts?"  There is a sweatshirt in the "Signals" catalog I received yesterday. It is black and has white lettering that says, "Oh, what FRESH HELL is this?" I don't usually buy t-shirts or sweatshirts with sayings on them, but I almost can't resist this one.

When I finish complaining about this latest news and I have adjusted myself, I plan to concentrate on getting a few things done before the sight gets worse. I need to work on memorizing a few things for which I currently rely on the written word. If I can, I need to memorize the Little Office of the Blessed Virgin Mary or, in the alternative, make some CDs for myself, which necessitates learning how to do that particular thing. I would also like to memorize all the meditations and the days on which they belong on the rosary.

Of particular importance to me is some serious Bible study. I just received a free course in the mail today. It is a small book, so I don't how thorough it is, but I will start with this one and move on. I would also like to memorize some favorite Bible passages.

There are MANY books I want to read, most especially the fathers and mothers of the church. There is a very large, complete set on Amazon which is about $400. It is on my wish list. I will be asking a Catholic friend if they would be willing to get it for me.

Painting is liable to become more and more difficult for me. I would like to get some paintings finished, particularly those of the saints from whom I descend, and some patron saints for a few friends of mine.

I have a 75,000 person genealogy database and have a long list of corrections and additions to make to it, but this is not something at the top of my priority list and I may eliminate it entirely. I have a cousin who is interested in genealogy. I may just give her editorial capacity on it so that she can take it up and keep it going.

I do not know how much work I will put into this blog. I will meditate on it and decide later.

Most important is getting myself moved into a more suitable housing situation. This has been on the menu for several years because I am far away from shopping and friends, and the apartment management is almost hostile toward disabled people. This particular task is somewhat daunting, and I could use some prayers with regard to this.

I do not really want to remain in Albuquerque, for many many reasons. The climate is not good for me, particularly for my eyes, as I have allergic conjunctivitis because of the dryness and wind, in addition to the macular degeneration. I don't care for the culture, and there are not many services for the poor and disabled. I DO, however, have a few friends here that I dearly love.

I need heavenly guidance on WHERE to go, whether to stay in this town or try to relocate to Oregon, where I have wanted to live for some time. I would go back to Northern California, except that the expense is way beyond me. I do have a lot of long-time friends and distant but lovely relatives who live in California, however, which is a big bonus.

I need help with all of this, and I would dearly appreciate all the prayers that you can send my way so that I am given the wisdom to make the right choices. Please ask for the intercession of the saints that I may be receptive to the guidance that the Lord sends me. Thanks so much.

God bless us all,

Silver Rose Parnell

THE SUPER ICKY, VERY AWFUL, TERRIBLY TERRIBLE DAY

My solace at the crescendo of my crappy

day - Home made, organic hot cocoa

with very unorganic marshmallows

As previously mentioned, I am embroiled in a long term, frustrating attempt to coax my apartment complex into giving some attention to safety and handicap access issues, instead of discounting them (and me.) They continue to allow people to block my garage, and it is a maddening battle. It isn't legal for them to do this, yet they persist. Also, there have been people parking against our only emergency exit, but I dealt with that issue in another blog.

The complex is owned by the City of Albuquerque, and I am surprised that their representatives are so unsympathetic to the limitations of the frail elderly and handicapped. Usually, government types are more savvy about discrimination issues and potential lawsuits.

I am also in shock from the nasty and unprofessional treatment I received from the new apartment manager when I questioned the advisability of having tenants and visitors block our only emergency exit with their cars. After a lifetime of living in apartments, it blows my mind that my experience with people like her is so radically different than anything I had in California. I know that, when I drove across the state line 17 years ago, I did not suddenly become a different person. Nope, it's this place. It is stuck in time somewhere.

Aside from living in a backwards state, we also live in a very rude era, throughout the United States. Customer service people are nasty and behave as if the customer is their employee or their underling in some significant way. I suppose they are unhappy. Everyone is underpaid and overstressed. I think one of the reasons we have so many people unemployed is because everyone who works is expected to do the job of three people. That sort of nonsense was just beginning when my health became noticeably worse from inherited illnesses and the effects of old injuries. I couldn't take the stress. I had a high powered job in the legal field and, suddenly one day, I could no longer do it. That's what our modern world does to you. It chews you up and spits you out, then moves on to the next young victim. The young have contempt for the old, never thinking that one day, pretty quick, they will be old too!

If it was only for myself, I might just say, "Oh, forget it," and try to live with it until I can find another place to live, but there are a lot of disabled and frail elderly people who live here who are likewise affected by some of these shenanigans, and my inner Saint Joan of Arc just can't stand it. She has to go on Crusade.

Judging from appearances, this is not appreciated by management, for whom the bottom line is their only obvious concern. I was inspected yesterday, something that is endured by the low income people every year. According to the lady from the mortgage authority, it is to ensure that the apartments are being "kept up."

Our property is what you call a "mixed use" property, actually. One third of the people who live here are on a reduced rent, according to income. The last manager, who ran the place for 25 years, told me many times that the low-income tenants should just be grateful they have somewhere to live and they shouldn't ask for anything or expect the same level of service that the full-paying tenants receive. She was a super person in many ways, with a great personality and a feel for real community, so I am not sure if this wacky idea was her own or if she was specifically told that by her bosses at "corporate."

Of course, I have had a lot of such shocks since becoming poor.  I never had to deal with any of these apartment issues I've had to manage since moving into the low-income program in New Mexico. The complexes were run much better and the managers were very sweet and polite. There was only one incident in an apartment owned by a married couple in Burbank. The man was an alcoholic and was always trying to paw me, and I had to move out to save myself the aggravation.

My living room window. I have to keep towels stuffed in the

channel all year long because the window floods my apartment

every time it rains. I requested a new window years ago, and

management denied the request.

The inspector appeared to ignore my concern over the window that floods my apartment each and every time it rains, and a huge planter outside my bedroom window that would completely prohibit my escape if there were to be a fire, but she was very concerned that when the closet doors had been removed, the hardware was left on and nothing was done to pretty it up and make it look like the opening was intentional. She kept talking to the apartment supervisor and, even when I spoke, would not look at me or speak to me. I directed a couple questions to her and she ignored me. She avoided eye contact. It was bizarre.

The closet from which the door has been removed.

The hardware about which the inspector was concerned.

To my mind, that is a cosmetic issue I could live with, either way. I would rather have a window that doesn't flood my apartment and free access from the bedroom window without having to crawl over a black widow infested wine barrel filled with cinderblocks and dirt.

I tried to explain to the apartment supervisor that a professional window installer had already examined the living room window that leaks and that HE said that it had to be replaced with a different variety, but she wouldn't listen to me and kept talking at me as if my words had evaporated before they hit her ears. She kept saying that she would have to have a professional look at it before she would discuss it with me. This is typical of what happens at this apartment complex. We keep doing the same things over and over again, so even the smallest things get dragged out so long that employees change jobs at the main office in the middle of it, and the matter gets dropped unless I bring it up again. Then we have to start all over.

Old wine barrel that blocks the exit

The maintenance man was dispatched to take the screws off the bedroom window screen, as he had previously screwed it onto the frame, impeding access (years ago). Neither of us could remember why he had to do that in the first place, but I think the window is an odd size and he couldn't find a ready-made screen to fit, so he screwed it into place.  It isn't his fault. Management refused to have a screen made that fit the window.

The management supervisor dismissed my concern about the planter, despite my repeating that my disabilities would not allow me to navigate that planter if I needed to get out of the apartment through that window. Her response was, "It's been there for years, hasn't it?"  Well, yes, it has been dangerous for years, but are we to promote an unsafe condition simply because it has been done for some time? I kept telling her that my disabilities wouldn't allow me to get past that planter and she ignored me. (I notice today that the planter was moved off to one side, which doesn't solve the issue for me, but able-bodied people are continually trying to decide what handicapped and poor people "should" be able to deal with, and they don't know what they're talking about. If I tell someone that I can't manage it because of my disabilities, that should be IT.)

I told her that my disabilities were worsening and that I had just been diagnosed with macular degeneration, which will lead to blindness at some point. She made no comment. She just looked at me with an ugly face, then turned on her heel and walked away while I was in mid-sentence. She was visibly irritated. I suppose she didn't like it that I was bringing up issues that needed to be addressed in the apartment. I guess she was trying to get the best 'score' she could from the inspector and I was interfering. Who knows?

In addition to being treated like the scullery maid who has somehow found herself upstairs in the parlor during a grand ball, I have experienced, over the years, a continual slow-down of work on my apartment. I might as well talk into the wind when I ask for something to be done. Occasionally, it would be dispatched quickly, but usually only a portion of the job would be completed, and I would receive an email saying the job had been done! I had to contact the manager and say, hey, this job is not done, but her practice was to assign each portion of a job a separate work order so that it appeared that a lot of jobs were being completed when, in fact, nothing was completed.

Often times, the last manager would "forget" to write the work order, then forget again and again. I am astonished and frustrated at the amount of effort that it takes to get the smallest thing taken care of. This was not the case with every issue, but was true for most.  Other people, however, who ask for the same thing, were serviced immediately. I have been waiting since May of 2015 to get water in my back yard. All my plants have died, and I am STILL waiting, despite the fact that I have 2 or 3 emails from the office claiming that the job is done. Meanwhile, another resident asked for the same thing and received it immediately.

Before the old manager left, she promised me that she would get me a hose, as she had already done for the other tenant, and would attach it to the spigot, put it onto a wheel somewhat like the one they use elsewhere on the property, and then we would put it on top of a table on my patio so that I could reach it. Because my lower spine is "ossifying" bending over and performing tasks is very difficult. Of course, she did not do it.  7 months and counting...since I asked for access to the water.

dead plants and planters that have been emptied of

dead plants

dead plants

dead plants

While I was also promised two trees, of my choosing, to be planted alongside an unsightly wall that radiates heat into the yard, the only activity behind my apartment is a weekly leaf blowing in which the "landscapers" stomp all over my garden decorations and shatter them.

Yesterday, as the mob was exiting my apartment, leaving me limp as a dishrag, I quietly asked the management supervisor, "I suppose I will be talking with you at some time in the near future?" She looked surprised and scowled at me. We had spoken on the phone once during this week when she had FINALLY returned my telephone calls and emails and she had promised she would "address" the issues that I had brought up to her, but I have heard this before, and things never changed. I guess she thought that all she had to do was say she would "address it" and we were done. The apartment manager has not apologized for her terrible behavior. How is it addressed, exactly?

Back fence

Shortly after the inspection committee left my apartment, I took the dog for a hobble around the apartment complex to get some fresh air and alleviate some of the stress. A neighbor was sitting outside his apartment smoking, and I raised my hand in greeting. He studiously ignore me.

Now, what is ironic about this is that, back when that neighbor began to experience a severe downturn in health, I took his family under my wing, paying his wife $10 an hour to clean my house ($100 a month), giving them some beautiful furniture, large framed wall mirrors, kitchen appliances, jewelry, and several large and labor-intensive baby blankets and hats for their grandchild. I obtained a walker for the man and got him in touch with a disability expert so he could get some help getting disability benefits, as he seriously needs it.

The wife began to ask for many things during this time, eyeing my furniture and other items and asking that I give them to her. She "borrowed" so many paper goods and cleaning supplies that I began to run out at the end of each month and a friend had to bail me out and buy me replacements, while the wife never made a move to return any of the items she had borrowed. The last time she asked to borrow rolls of toilet paper, I told her I could no longer afford to supply her with household goods. She was insistent that she had no money to buy it and they were out, so I felt sorry for her again and loaded her down with three bags of paper towels, toilet paper and cleaning supplies. In return, I asked her to wash a sink of dishes as repayment, as I knew I she would never return the items she "borrowed."  I was hoping that having to do my dishes would discourage her from asking again, and it did. The next time she came over, she just stole what she wanted, stashing the items in her sweatshirt, probably, as I did notice that her stomach seemed an awful lot bigger than I remembered.

I did call that woman and gently brought up the topic, at which point she began shrieking at me, shrieking at the daughter, whose baby I had given many things and who was there with her in the apartment, and generally protesting far too much. She had stolen from me. She knew she had done it. I knew she had done it. God knew she had done it, but she made sure thereafter to loudly advertise her indignation that I would dare suggest that she would steal something. Her husband has to believe her, of course, and has even gone so far as to make threatening gestures when he drove past me in the parking lot one day.

So, I walked on and had to pass the apartment of a woman to whom I had similarly devoted much time and effort to help her, driving her on shopping trips, cooking many meals for her, giving her expensive wall art she had admired as it was her favorite artist, and even helping her trim her Persian cat. She became furious with me because of my Catholicism. (She is a Protestant with some odd ideas about Catholicism and an almost complete lack of knowledge of the history of the Christian faith.)  I had tried to explain some part of history to her, as she had made a claim that was completely off the beam. She was sitting in my apartment, eating a meal I had engineered specifically for her, because she was an extremely picky eater, and began to verbally rip me to shreds in a full-on attack that nearly took my breath away. The expression on her face was like Satan has taken her over. Another person was eating dinner with us and was astonished.

This wasn't the first time she had verbally attacked me. She criticized me constantly for countless things she did not like about me, about my apartment, my religion, my driving, and I put up with all of it in an attempt to be kind and patient with an elderly disabled woman who needed some help. I realized that my desire to give love and assistance to someone in need had, once again, backfired on me, and I had to step away from association with her, as I can only tolerate a certain amount of verbal abuse in my own apartment before my PTSD kicks in and I become a nervous wreck. Immediately she latched onto another woman in the apartment complex who has a car and who began driving her on shopping trips. I passed the two of them as they walked into an apartment a little further down the path, and they both pointedly ignored me.

Then I had to walk past the apartment of the man that gossips about me with the office staff and even tried to stir up trouble over one of my blog posts. Evidently, he must read my blog, at least occasionally.  Have fun with this one, guy! Run right over to your buddy and complain about me.

Further down the line is an older lady who once told me she was lonely and wanted me to drive her to the Bible class I was attending at the time. While driving, she criticized my driving and my life choices, called me vulgar names, and used swear words worthy of a sailor.  Then, she announced in class that she did not believe in forgiveness and how, if someone does her wrong, she not only won't forgive them but she will try to get back at them if she can. That was embarrassing.

 

 

I have since been informed that I made a terrible mistake in catering to these people and their demands. Evidently, it is typical that when a new person moves into a low-income property, some of the people will


Forgiveness is one of the central tenants of the Catholic faith that she professes, which is why I have had to forgive the management staff for their callousness and petty retaliation and the neighbors who took advantage of my generous nature and abused me.  I pray for them and discuss them, at length, with the Lord.  This is why I wave benignly at all of these neighbors I have mentioned, as I pass them on my walk, despite the lump in my throat and the nausea I feel in the pit of my stomach. When you have PTSD and you must live in an environment in which people return kindness with lies, hostility, and abuse, it is very stressful.

I do not want or expect to be lauded or rewarded for my kindness, but it is surprising to be treated so poorly in return.  No good deed goes unpunished, I suppose. To be reminded of these things every day as I pass these people on the grounds saddens and depresses me. I regularly smile, wave and sometimes chat with my other neighbors, but my experience with the people I've mentioned has discouraged me from getting close to any neighbor ever again. It doesn't help anyone to give them an opportunity to sin.

As far as my dealings with the management are concerned, I will have to plug away at it and follow through with the handicap discrimination case. I have been patient for ten years. That is enough.

Many of you will wonder why I stay in this place, and it is very simple. I am poor, there are very few low-income housing facilities in this city, and this one is the lesser of all the evils. If I had the money, believe me, I would not be here. The management knows this, and takes advantage of it. There are compensations. I am closer to nature here than elsewhere in Albuquerque and occasionally see some wildlife that is unusual to be found in the middle of the city. Beavers in the creek behind my apartment, muskrats, snakes, skunks, chipmunks, cranes, egrets, ducks, geese...and the quintessential New Mexico bird...the roadrunner.  I just had to include him, as I saw him walk past my apartment while I was writing this!

I have had a very difficult life, in general, am saddled with many chronic illnesses, and now I learn I will probably go blind  in my old age. To be dealing with all that, as well as reluctance on behalf of the apartment management to cooperate with reasonable measures to ensure our safety. and to be surrounded by people who have abused my kindness, is extremely difficult.

When I got the diagnosis of macular degeneration, I asked God, "Really? REALLLY, God? What is next? Locusts? Boils? " As St. Teresa of Avila once said, "If this is how you treat your friends, it's no wonder you have so few of them" Still, I cling to Him.  I simply will not be thrown off. I'm stubborn that way.

If God is all good, and if nothing happens without the express will of God or God allowing it to happen, who am I to complain about the circumstances? I certainly can't see the good in any of it, but at least I trust that it is there, somewhere, and that God has everything in hand. I'll do my part to ameliorate the situation, of course, but God is in charge, and I just have to follow through with what I know is right and good, having faith that He is doing His part and that all is good.

Still,....I really needed a big mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows yesterday. I'm not superwoman and I have my limits.

Silver Rose Parnell
(c) 2015 All rights reserved.

DAILY MIRACLES

Saint Anthony of Padua

I frequently fall asleep in my recliner while reading, crocheting or praying. I have no recollection of dozing off. I wake a few hours later and toddle off to bed. Sometimes I sleep the whole night in the chair. Today was no different. I woke at 4 in the morning feeling very cold. The weather has turned winterish, finally, and I keep the thermostat low so as not to balloon the electric bill. Shocked awake by the chilled air, I was a bit woozy but quickly got into bed and slept until I was awakened by the infernal workmen and by my dog's barking.

When I opened the eyeglasses case by the side of my bed, it was empty! My vision is extremely bad and I cannot function without my eyeglasses. Yet, they were gone. I thought perhaps they had fallen off or I had taken them off when I was asleep in the recliner previous night. I looked there and elsewhere, scouring the apartment and every nook and cranny where I may have laid them down. I even looked in the bed, wondering if I was so woozy when I went to bed that I forgot to remove my glasses.

Finally, I speak to St. Anthony about my eyeglasses. I apologize that I only talk to him when I need something to be found for me, but I ask him to forgive me in a roundabout way and continue to talk about how crucial it is that I find those darn glasses! I began to look everywhere once more, and I open the eyeglasses case again, and my glasses are sitting there, pretty as you please.

I can tell you with absolute certainty that the eyeglasses were not there when I first looked for them, and suddenly they WERE there, thanks be to God.

Sometimes I fret that I have no family or monastic community to help me, that I am alone, battling the world, the flesh and the  Devil all by myself. Then something like this happens, and my mind is ordered aright once more.

Thanks be to God.

Silver Rose Parnell
(c) 2015 - All rights reserved

SAND HILL CRANES IN THE MORNING

Early Winter landscape

I heard the distinctive crackling cries of sand hill cranes toward the end of our morning constitutional and looked up to see a large flock of these giant birds sailing in a wide, lazy circle over the trees. Migration time. A bit late in the year, compared to earlier days when I would see them traveling in October, around the time of the balloon fiesta. They are going South to Bosque del Apache, the nature reserve a couple hours south from here by car. There, they will have a field of corn, grown just for them, that has been threshed and left to dry on the ground. They will mingle with the fat white snow geese and smaller varmints that cannot resist the sweet fresh smell of high quality food that is spread across the earth just for them, an incredible banquet.

Across the wide viewing path and boggy wetlands, the raptors will perch in giant trees. I saw a bald eagle there once, and many goldens. The memory of a brilliant male pheasant, arrayed in the height of his glory with gorgeous glistening plumes of bright feather, has stayed with me for more than 14 years. Glimpses of the timid are treasured.

Though I usually try to keep moving on my slow, shuffling walks around the property, I stood for several minutes, leaning on my cane, watching as the cranes slowly formed themselves into three parties of about 25 each. In beautiful "v" formations, following one another, they flew out of their orbit around the patch of cottonwoods and headed south.

These infusions of natural life sustain me and speak to a spot in my soul that is unnamable but gives me a deep sense of satisfaction. On the other hand, a wild sorrow grips me each time a bit of access to nature is eaten away by the dictates of government types for whom the bottom line is the ONLY priority, and the beauty of nature is irrelevant, inconvenient, or allowed only for the wealthy.

No sooner did I get inside my apartment, than the "landscapers" showed up with their infernal, roaring instruments of torture, otherwise known as leaf blowers. They blasted my front door with the vengeance, with me sitting just two feet away. The powered air forced dirt into my apartment through every crack between the door and the sill. After they covered every surface in my apartment with all the fine bits from the parking lot, they blew leaves and detritus into my garden and left me sneezing in fits, another tortured city asthmatic.

As soon as they were finished, a large machine on the golf course began chewing up the air with its artificial noise, mowing or sowing or who-knows-what. It continued for quite a long time, causing me to begin the now too familiar battle to calm nerves that have been jangled by the chaos of modern life.

Soon, the workmen that have been spackling the ceilings of the outdoor spaces will return with their ladders, their loud laughter, and their yelling to one another from one building to another. Hovering outside the windows of the many retired tenants, and slopping white spackling material all over the sidewalks, in the dirt and on the glass of the windows, they have been a constant presence for weeks now.

The building has gotten to the age where numerous repairs are required and, because the building was constructed so poorly to begin with, and the repairs are done in a slap-dash manner by non-professional, untrained laborers who do not speak English and are probably not even legally in this country, the repairs have continued for a couple of years now.

Every year, the activity in this complex becomes more and more intrusive, noisy, inconvenient and not conducive to the life of silence and contemplation of a hermit type person. Imagine, if you will, sorting oneself out so that the soul is in silence and ready to receive the Lord, and, suddenly, the place is overrun with jabbering, clueless workmen who are clanging pails and scrapers and paint brushes and thermoses in a cacophony of disorganization.

A few quiet moments of watching the sand hill cranes was a blessed (and rare) break from the mayhem of the majority of the rest of the day. I will be grateful for it and cling to it, thinking back to when life was much more like the former than the latter and how the balance has shifted so dramatically that I hardly feel as if I live on the same planet as I did in 1970 or 1980.

How will I meditate on God and say my prayers in the midst of this grotesquerie? How can one established sacred space when noise and the constant presence of strangers invades my privacy and seeps in with the dirt from the parking lot? All the icons in the world can't keep out this sort of invasion.

Please pray for me, as I pray for you.

Silver Rose Parnell
Copyright (c) 2015, All rights reserved

THREE GOOD THINGS

My pink Christmas tree

As an introvert often saddled with a certain ennui and melancholy, in addition to a righteously earned case of well-managed, but still ever present, PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) I was thrilled to hear from a Catholic psychologist on Immaculate Heart Radio that everyone is born with a certain set-point for happiness, where the psyche naturally rests. The happiness quotient is on a continuum. He kept saying, "It's not your fault." After a lifetime of people blaming me and finding fault, here is this man who really knows something, and he kept saying, "It's not your fault."

He also said there are some things that we can do to naturally improve our moods, no matter what we are dealing with, whether born with a melancholy temperament or having earned one through a brutal childhood or other traumas. I am all for that, being a naturally pro-active person, so I was all ears.

The recipe he proposed was very simple. Every day, think of three good things that happened for you that day.  That's all - just three. He said that one would find (and it is true) that, once the brain starts to look for three good things, scores of good things come to mind and it becomes hard to pick just three! 

What this does is to train the brain to seek out positive things, things that make us happy, give us joy, a sense of accomplishment, etc. The brain will develop new habits, new neural pathways, and the happiness level will be raised.

I have been doing this now for a few weeks, I think. I post my 3 good things every day on Facebook and I ask my friends to chime in with theirs, if they want to do it, and I have found that some of my most sincere religious friends who have time to play on Facebook, are also keeping up this practice.

I highly recommend giving this a try, even if you are the most ebullient person, because it brings epiphanies in its wake and, best of all, a continuous stream of feelings of gratitude, which leads into praises to God throughout the day.

Give it a try. Keep up the practice for a few weeks and see how you like it. The effects may be subtle at first, but, after a while, you may find that your way of doing things has shifted slightly, your mental orientation is slightly different, and your mood may be, generally, much better.

This practice hasn't stopped bad things from happening in my life. It hasn't prevented me from becoming upset when the logistics of life work against me at every turn. I still get mad or frustrated, but I am easily distracted from it by something good. My mind is gradually changing its operation. It is always on the lookout for THE GOOD, and we know where ALL GOOD COMES FROM, don't we?  Yep.

My three good things for the day:

(1) I found some DEEPLY DISCOUNTED yarn on Amazon that is perfect for some warm and snuggly hats and neck warmers for the poor and homeless this Christmas, as well as a discounted yarn to complete a small project for myself.
(2) I had a lovely romp in a big pile of leaves with my little service dog. (He actually did the romping, since I am on a cane, but I enjoyed seeing his joy.)
(3) I got to eat pizza today. I hardly ever get to eat pizza because it is expensive to have it delivered, and I really don't go to restaurants, but every once in a while I relax the rules and have a treat. Chicken, pineapple and jalapenos. Delicious!

What were YOUR "three good things" today? Let me know. I will love to hear about your happiness.

God bless us all,

Silver Rose Parnell
(c) 2015, All rights reserved.

THE CHAIR OF PETER, MODERNISM, AND THE LAITY

the chair of St. Peter in Rome

I would like to take a moment to clarify that, just because I have written lately that modernism has infected the Holy Catholic Church and we DO have a number of clerics spouting heretical ideas, and some living in luxury in palatial mansions, this does not mean that I think we should abandon Holy Mother Church. To the contrary, as Michael Voris recently said, we need to "step it up." What is meant by that? We can't sit around mooning about how much we looooove Jesus, batting our eyelashes and sighing over our great love for Him or, in the alternative, stomp out in a huff because the administrators of the faith are not protecting it and propagating it.

The Church is in crisis, and we have to get busy. Yes, we have to be busybodies. We have to actively energize our own faith and the faith of others. We have to study, pray and preach The Truth until Jesus comes again. We can no longer sit back in the pews and soak up the holiness and knowledge from the guy at the altar. There are some fabulous priests in the Catholic Church, probably some very holy ones, but there are a lot of guys at the altar whose Catholic education is faulty, or who disagree with aspects of the faith, or who have just lost their zeal. Some are struggling with ill health that would sideline someone working in the secular world, but they keep plugging away, delivering lukewarm homilies because they're exhausted.

Some priests work long past retirement age, pouring themselves out for the church because we aren't getting enough priestly candidates and/or the candidates that we ARE getting, many of them, are homosexuals intent on changing the church's teaching about this type of sin. Holy priests see this state of affairs and can't bear to remove their orthodox voice from the mix, and I am grateful for them.

The congregation is not an audience. Mass is not another piece of entertainment. We are participants in the mass, just as much as the guy at the altar. We are responsible for the faith and for our own education in it. We can't turn it off like a television show that gets boring. We don't change the channel for another faith because this one is too taxing. We don't throw up our hands in despair because "it's not our job" to help correct the errors in the church. It IS our job. We just have to do the right things in the right way. Most of all, we have to be prepared for backlash, and a lot of it.

We are not alone, however. The Holy Spirit is with us. The current batch of schismatic, heretic, and/or greedy prelates will be taken care of by Christ's church, in time. Sometimes it takes a long time, but I trust The Lord's Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church, established by Jesus Christ himself upon "the rock" - Saint Peter - the first Pope. I will not leave it, even when the behavior of some of its ersatz leaders is alarming. Their behavior is not the fault of the religion, which is perfect. It is perfect because it came from Jesus Christ.

Christ infused His Church with authority, responsibility for souls, and with grace. He transmitted something real when he gave his breath upon the disciples. The faith came directly from Jesus. The church is administered by sinners like you and I. Of COURSE some of them are going to fall off the rails and land in a ditch on occasion. They're human. We have to lift them up, not stand at the sidelines saying, "Tsk, tsk, he had such promise!" They need our prayers and our voices, but we must have informed, educated voices that ring with the Truth of Christ.

Satan has always attacked the Catholic Church, from both within and without, yet it has endured for 2,000 years. The Catholic Church will prevail, even against the "gates of Hell." Jesus promised he would be with us until the end of time. Time has not ended, so He is still here, and I take comfort in that. I pray for his guidance in the steps that I take.

As long as I continue to study and practice my faith, I should be inoculated against the erroneous messages that come from some of the clergy. I will know my faith and I will recognize when I am hearing something else, and I can simply dismiss the crazy talk and stick to the Truth, while I pray for the church and for these misguided men. Sometimes I write about this process on this blog, but I wish to be clear that my intention is to be completely faithful to the Holy Mother Church and her magisterium and that I recommend that we remain respectful to the positions that these men hold while at the same time ordering our minds to the True Faith.

Yes, The Church may be in crisis at the moment, but it has always fought Satan in one guise or another. Satan would love nothing more than for us to become discouraged and abandon the faith because the discord and disobedience of those that should know better has reached a crescendo, but that isn't right. We, the true believers, are faithful to the church that Jesus started and we will not abandon it. We will study, pray and preach the Truth until Jesus comes again. We are to participate in the work of keeping the True Faith alive.

In order to know the faith, what it teaches and why it teaches it, I have previously recommended that we study as much as we can. There is so much misinformation flying around the media and in the parishes, you pretty much have to conduct an independent course of study, unless you are lucky enough to have access to a good educational system. I am poor and disabled, so I have to do what I can within the boundaries of my abilities.

In service of this goal, I am giving you a link to a list of recommended books to read and to keep in one's library as resource material. These are in addition to The Holy Bible, The Catechism of the Catholic Church, and Papal Encyclicals that are available on the Vatican website. This list includes the early fathers and mothers of the church, the doctors of the church, and some saints.

I have read many of these books, years ago, but do not currently have them in my library and wish to read them again and to make use of them when writing my blog, which is why I initially started this list.  I would like to share it with you, in case there are any offerings on it that you've not heard of. Perhaps some of us can read these books together and compare notes. Let's see how it goes.

You may find this list HERE

God bless you,

Silver Rose Parnell
(c) Copyright 2015
All rights reserved

AMERICA'S THUG CULTURE

Cars blocking emergency exit

I have recently noticed that people are regularly parking in front of the only emergency exit on the property where I live, placing their fat, toadish SUVs right on top of the red cross-hatching and directly in front of the signs that say NO PARKING - FIRE EXIT.

When I first approached the new apartment manager about this safety issue almost a month ago, she was outside with her dog, which was not on a leash and which was wildly chasing after my little poochon who, though normally quite calm and dog-friendly, was cowering and trying to escape. She said she didn't know who was parking there, but I was later told that several of those cars belonged to her family and/or friends. Indeed, the very next morning, those same cars were lined up on the OTHER side of the parking lot, this time blocking all of the garages of the residents, giving the distinct impression that she had, indeed, recognized that the cars had been noticed and she had told her family and friends to block the residents' garages instead of the emergency exit.

I tend to be someone who follows the rules and I am civic minded. I won't typically make a big fuss over an issue that is strictly personal to myself, but if the matter is one which affects a class of protected persons, such as the elderly or the disabled, I am more inclined to speak up.

Reporting a problem that impacted the health and safety of all the tenants seemed a natural thing to do. Several weeks went by, however, and the cars continued to park there, night after night.

One morning, I happened to see the owners of one of the vehicles, with husband and children in tow, climbing into one of the little SUVs, and I respectfully asked to speak with her, telling her that it was not legal to park in the fire lane and was dangerous. In a colorful, coarse and loud manner, she told me off and claimed that the office manager had given her permission to park there.

[It is ironic that I recognized her as the daughter of one of our residents who stole from me when she visited my house, despite my having been incredibly generous toward her. That daughter has been sleeping on an expensive day bed and sheets that I gave her mother a couple years ago, and now she was giving me the ugly face, yelling at me like a fishwife. I never have believed in that adage that "what goes around, comes around." Usually, the opposite is true.]

Safety issues have become important to me since becoming disabled. I always need to know that I can GET OUT if I need to do so. Having tried to handle it with the woman directly (and failing), I made a detour to the apartment office to follow up with the manager on our previous conversation.

The first thing I noticed was the manager's sullen expression when I walked into the office and gave her a cheery "good morning," using her name and smiling. I asked her, "Remember a few weeks ago when we discussed the people parking in front of the emergency exit?"

She strongly asserted that we definitely did not have any such conversation.  This comment came just a few days after her telling me that an email I sent her asking for a work order was not received. I was beginning to see a pattern of lies from this woman. Not a good sign.

First, I tried to see if I could disarm her obvious hostility by expressing concern. I asked her if the new job was stressing her out. She just got more irate. There was no saving the conversation, which went downhill, with her lobbing sarcastic, demeaning and insulting comments at a very puzzled little hermit. She was talking very fast, interrupting every sentence I tried to get out of my mouth, and acting like an obnoxious teenager on the playground...the kind that used to rat their hair up really high on their head so they could hide knives in it.

Her perspective was that (a), it was none of my business; (b) she didn't think it was any big deal (she called it "petty"); and, (c) there aren't enough parking spaces for the number of cars people own (and therefore it was OK.)

The woman got nastier and nastier, and I could see there was no sense in continuing the interaction. I had run up against someone highly influenced by America's thug culture once again. 

Thug culture has a "value structure" that is completely narcissistic and runs counter to Christian values. Thugs will never admit to doing anything wrong and will go to great lengths to cover up any error they may have made. Apologies are simply not in their wheelhouse, and lies are their stock in trade. They use high levels of hostile behavior to mask their own crimes. They are highly prejudice against religious folks. They may tattoo huge pictures of our blessed mother on their bodies or even claim to be Christian, but these are cultural constructs and are not reliable indicators of any faith in the theology of the Christian church.  Rather, they employ religious imagery as magical talismans meant to get them what they want out of life. Praying to escape punishment for crime would be typical, not prayer for assistance in giving up crime. Their God is a vending machine, and prayer is the currency. If they don't get what they want, they'll get mad at God also because even God is supposed to revolve around them, like a satellite. In the more extreme cases, a member of the thug culture will go on the attack against someone who has discovered some wrongdoing of theirs. It is all about them.

How did this culture evolve?

The first thing I think about when the topic of thug culture comes up, aside from nearly everyone having a chip on their shoulder, is the incredible difference in music from my generation to theirs.  The music of my youth was all about peace and love, respect and gentleness, which is a far cry from today's disgusting thug music. It can't even be rightly called music, since the snippets of videos I have seen feature men talking to a beat while mostly naked women pose and dance in revolting positions meant to simulate sex acts. The words are primitive, violent and offensive. Women are called whores, and enemies are meant to be shot and killed. The imagery is filthy, dark, and depressing.

The "fashions" are the next thing that come to mind.  Men who wear their pants below their rump, with their underwear showing, are dressing in a style originally adopted in prisons where it was code for "I am available for anal sex." The women wear clothing that is as tight and revealing as possible. The DO dress like whores, who likewise are advertising sexual availability like animals do. I can tell you, I am just fed up with having to see mammoth exposed breasts and skin-tight clothing sticking to every roll and crevice whenever I go shopping in one of the local stores. It offends my eyes.

I think back to my childhood and to the months I spent in "charm school" which was the poor woman's version of finishing school. They taught us how to be ladies, how to walk and talk, how to improve ourselves and aim for the highest standard of carriage and behavior. I even learned to model on a catwalk, as a practice for developing grace of movement.

We did not learn how to twerk, pole dance, or lap dance in the charm schools, finishing schools and cotillions.  These dances, that have their origin in the sex trade and strip clubs, are being widely taught these days. Whereas we were encouraged to better ourselves, elevate our minds, and refine our behavior, thug culture directs the mind to the most venial, base and animalistic strata.

Instead of turning out refined, elegant, cultured and intelligent ladies, thug culture turns out grotesque, damaged and empty women. These women, who live on the plane of anger and hostility, have plenty to be angry about. They must compete with other women for who can be the raunchiest, in order to capture the attention of a male and avoid spending the rest of their lives alone. They know that if they do not give sex soon and freely, the men will quickly move on to another woman who will. Even if they DO pony up the sex on demand, the man may still leave them, since thug culture encourages men to put a lot of notches on the bed post.

The dismantling of the structure of moral life that was a natural part of society for thousands of years is, in large part, responsible for the rise of thug culture. When the protestant church abandoned its traditional stance against contraception in 1930, it was the beginning of the destruction of the family, which is the beginning of the destruction of society as a whole. Shortly thereafter, when the birth control pill began to be distributed, all connection between sex, children and the family was severed. This perversion of the intent of sexual activity has resulted in a perverted "culture."

This perversion of the structure of society caused the entire edifice to collapse. The perception of the purpose of one's life shifted from an awareness of one's place in and responsibility to the larger community, to one which encouraged selfishness and the pursuit of sensory pleasures and comforts.

In America's thug culture, everything is backward. The safety and welfare of society at large has taken a back seat to the individuals' personal convenience. It is perfectly OK to cause a dangerous situation that could result in the loss of lives to other people, if blocking the only emergency exit gets you closer to your apartment, or the apartment of your friend or relative. Parking in front of someone else's garage is also perfectly OK because your needs take precedence over the needs of anyone else. (I can't tell you how many times I have missed a doctor's appointment, missed mass or some other appointment because some idiot has parked their car in front of my garage, around which are multiple, blaring signs that say "NO PARKING" and "RESERVED FOR GARAGE NUMBER 6."

Thug culture has no compassion for anyone else, unless that compassion serves a purpose that benefits the individual. Thug culture is the more mild version of straight up sociopath.

Thousands of people are using their dead grandmother's parking placards so they can take handicap parking, rather than having to use their perfectly good legs and walk, thus causing the legitimately handicapped people to have to go home without getting their shopping done because they CAN'T walk that far.  This has happened to me. On the rare occasions when I have caught the culprit in the act, no one has the good sense to be ashamed of themselves.  Nope. The thug culture rules, and I am treated to the most disgusting language.

Not long ago, here in Albuquerque, a number of employees of the Department of Transportation were caught on camera by one of Larry Barker's "stings", as they parked in handicapped parking spots in downtown, where parking is very expensive in the lots and very scarce on the streets.  Imagine - the agency that is supposed to administer this kind of thing is full of people who flout the law, using phony, stolen or "borrowed" placards. When this intrepid journalist confronted them, they behaved as if HE was doing something wrong.

This attitude of personal entitlement has seeped into every part of our culture. Even the people whose job it is to help others less fortunate actually rob from them on a regular basis. I will never forget taking a car load full of high quality household items, jewelry and clothing into one of the local "charity" thrift stores, only to find out that NONE of it ever made it onto the floor.

When I called them on it, even the administrator refused to do anything about it, defending her employees despite being notified of the theft. In fact, the administrator was nasty toward me.  I was the bad person because I had brought it to her attention.  Perhaps the administrator was part of it.  I can picture her, rifling through the boxes and bags, claiming all the nice things for herself instead of putting it in the shop where customers would notice that good items were stocked and where business would improve as a result.  It is practically Dickensian.  I am reminded of various scenes in Victorian novels in which the dead are practically stripped naked so that their shoes, their jewelry, their money, and anything else of value can be taken right off the still-warm body.

Without exception, every time I try to report something that is illegal, dangerous, and/or criminal, the persons who SHOULD be saying, "thanks for letting me know. I will take care of that," instead defends the practice and finds fault with me in a hostile and often vulgar way.

Many people will participate in the crimes of others by actively hiding the actions of criminals. In the last apartment building where I lived, one of the women told me she had seen someone bury a handgun in the garden beneath her window and then come back for it a few days later. She didn't call the police, even though this guy could have gotten into the apartment and held us all up or killed us. She told me that to call the police just wasn't done.

In thug culture, you are supposed to protect the criminal.  If you follow the rules, respect the police, and report crime, you're a rat, the one who is "wrong" in this scenario. The "wrong guy" is the person with a sense of moral and ethical responsibility. The "wrong guy" cares about the health and safety of other people, including the disabled, the poor, the baby in the womb and the frail elderly. It is just crazy.

In thug culture, there is no moral imperative. No standard. Whatever the thug has to do to "win" in any situation, they will do, without any regard for the condition of their soul. Lie, cheat, steal...whatever. 

As far as I can see, thug culture spreads across all socio economic boundaries and is not limited to any ethnic group.

The religious leadership is certainly not free of this dark tendency to sacrifice others at the altar of one's own satisfaction and convenience!  Even in the rarified upper echelons of the Catholic hierarchy, I am learning that some bishops and cardinals are living like princes in exclusive, luxurious residences crammed with fine art and jet-setting around the world while scores of parishes are closing for lack of funds. They're living in luxury, thanks to the nickels of the poor being thrown into the collection plate. It is not what Jesus had in mind when he told the young man to sell all he owned, give it to the poor and follow him.  He did NOT say, "Call the moving men, have all your possessions packed up, and hire them to follow us all over the Holy Land while I preach...and make sure you've got the wine and cheese in a refrigerated compartment. I may get a bit peckish."

Cardinal Donald Wuerl

In a religion that is, supposedly, a religion of the poor, started by God who came into the world as a poor person with no entitlement, where the tradition is one of poverty, chastity and obedience, prelates like Cardinal Wuerl who lives in the penthouse of a building on Embassy Row, the most expensive neighborhood in Washington, D.C., might as well be in one of those rap videos where the gangster is peeling off dollar bills and bragging about how he's "gonna make it rain up in here."

Cardinal Wuerl lives in the 3rd floor penthouse of this

exclusive building that is valued at 43 million dollars

(photo from Churchmilitant.com)

http://www.churchmilitant.com/news/trending/category/14/cdl.-burke

The taxes ALONE for Cardinal Wuerl's residence were more than $67,000 in 2013. My entire yearly income in 2013 was less than $18,000, and I used to fret about not contributing more to my church.  I have a different perspective now.

Cardinal Wuerl's previous home, where he lived for nearly 20 years when he reigned over Pittsburgh, was a 39-room Morewood Heights mansion that "was filled with antiques, sacred art, Oriental rugs and elegant furniture from the 17th, 18th and 19th centuries." (quote from Church Militant)

39 room Mansion - home to Wuerl for almost 20 years

Thanks to the Vatileaks scandal, we now know that Cardinal Burke's residence is more than 4,000 square feet and Cardinal Turkson's is more than 3,000 square feet.

I am just flabbergasted at these numbers. Americans, who tend to lionize the rich and hate the poor, often have no problem with these religious "executives" living like kings while the peasants scramble for bread.  I admit that, when I first heard of the flack about the expensive residences of some bishops and cardinals, I dismissed it, not realizing how extreme is the problem. I live in a 675 square foot apartment, so I imagined that the prelates were being criticized for a 5 bedroom house or something like that. When I learned the extent of the problem, I was more than a little upset.  First of all, the damn unfairness of it; to suck the life out of the church while we are going downhill financially and parishes are closing all over the place is just awful. I am quite sure that Jesus is NOT pleased about this situation.

I want to make it clear that I have no problem whatsoever with a beautiful, grand church building. I love them.  Churches are accessible to everyone. We can ALL enjoy the beauty of the place, the architecture, the fine paintings and statutes. This is a form of public art that lifts the spirit and sets the mind on the highest plane. A cardinal's personal residence is another thing entirely. Unlike a church, where I can become a member and sit and enjoy the surroundings during the mass and at other times, none of us will have access to the cardinals private residence.  Unlike a church, where I can just walk into it any time I like, I can't walk into the Cardinal's private residence and enjoy his artwork, comfy couches and delicious food. It is for his personal enjoyment.

So, I have wandered from cars blocking emergency exits, to handicapped parking, to stealing from the poor in small and great ways. What is the unifying factor in all this?  I will tell you what. SELFISHNESS. We have enshrined selfishness in our culture and have made graven images of ourselves which we worship daily. From the moment the Christian world gave up the high ground on morality, some time in the early 20th century, Americans have rapidly slid down that slippery slope of virtue, landing at the bottom of the heap, a bunch of malignant narcissists, a mere 85 years after the protestants reversed their position on contraception. It only took one generation to become a pagan nation and hand the whole thing over to Satan.

What is the solution?  As for myself, all I can do is write my little blog and pray, but I have an idea as to what is needed, and that is for the church to return to its authentic self. We started this whole mess when we let go of the moral reins and let the whole thing slide into a muddy ditch. I am kind of mad about it, on a personal level, because I was born into this insanity and it took me years to shake off the self-centered and promiscuous culture and recognize it for what it was. I had been raised by two religion-hating hedonists and then walked out into a world similarly inclined. How was I supposed to learn about Jesus and His church?

We have to go back to where we started. We need to preach and live and believe in the faith that Jesus gave us, which is the OPPOSITE of selfishness.

The very first thing that needs to be done is to de-Protestanize the faith. Something happened somewhere along the line where the Catholic Church began to copy the protestant church for some reason I cannot fathom. Some people blame Vatican II, but I can't render an opinion on that, since I wasn't around when Vatican II came down the pike, and I have not studied it in detail.

All I know is that the churches here in Albuquerque, many of them, look like Baptist meeting halls or empty Protestant churches. Statues, kneelers, and beautiful art and architecture has been replaced with some of the ugliest buildings I have ever seen. Some look like convention centers or theatre in the round. It is appalling. The music is dreadful. The atmosphere lacks reverence. The reserved host has been shuttled away from the altar. I could go on and on.

Most important, however, is that the Catholic Church is chock full of people who do not believe in the faith and, as such, should go elsewhere until and unless they experience a conversion of heart and mind that results in a sincere belief in the Catholic Church and the recognition that Jesus instituted it and gave power and authority to the Apostles to help them bring forth what he taught them and that Jesus, true to his promise, is with us "until the end of time."

Those who will not or cannot believe in the faith should go elsewhere. All those protestants in Catholic clothing, should just get out instead of trying to bend the faith to their sinful desires. Anyone, whether professional religious or lay person, who has decided that they know better than the doctrines of the church, and the Code of Canon Law, should rethink their position with great humility and, if they cannot repent, they should leave the church and go to the church they can believe in. Don't get me wrong. I am staunchly Catholic and I pray EVERY DAY that all people will become converted to Jesus Christ and to His Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church, but it does no one any good to ensconce non-believing heretics in the pews or the pulpit, and especially not in the hierarchy. You're just putting the wolf in the hen house when you do that.

When Pope Benedict was Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, he predicted that our church would have to become small again. It would have to become poor. I rather agree with him, because having a poor church is the only way to shake off the leeches that have attached themselves to it and are sucking it dry of all earthly resources.

The only salvation for the world is the Catholic church, but we cannot save the world if we do not believe and behave as authentic, faithful Catholics.

Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, before he became Pope Benedict XVI

Cardinal Ratzinger prophesies:

"The church will become small and will have to start afresh more or less from the beginning.  She will no longer be able to inhabit many of the edifices she built in prosperity. As the number of her adherents diminishes...she will lose many of her social privileges...As a small society, [the Church] will make much bigger demands on the initiative of her individual members...

"It will be hard-going for the Church, for the process of crystallization and clarification will cost her much valuable energy.  It will make her poor and cause her to become the Church of the meek...The process will be long and wearisome as was the road from the false progressivism on the even of the French Revolution - when a bishop might be thought smart if he made fun of dogmas and even insinuated that the existence of God was by no means certain...But when the trial of this sifting is past, a great power will flow from a more spiritualized and simplified Church.  Men in a totally planned world will find themselves unspeakably lonely.  If they have completely lost sight of God, they will feel the whole horror of their poverty.  Then they will discover the little flock of believers as somethign wholly new.  They will discover it as a hope that is meant for them, an answer for which they have always been searching in secret."
"The church will become small." from Faith and the future (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2009).

Please pray for the church and all its members, and remember that the Bible specifically speaks to this situation and tells us many times to warn the wicked:

"Son of man, I have made you a watchman for the people of Israel; so hear the word I speak and give them warning from me. When I say to a wicked person, "You will surely die," and you do not warn them or speak out to dissuade them from their evil ways in order to save their life, that wicked person will die for their sin, and I will hold you accountable for their blood.  But if you do warn the wicked person and they do not turn from their wickedness or from their evil ways, they will die for their sin; but you will have saved yourself." Ezekiel 3:17-19

In 1 Corinthians 5:9-13, we are urged to "Purge the evil person from your midst:"

"I wrote you in my letter not to associate with immoral people, not at all referring to the immoral of this world or the greedy and robbers or idolaters, for you would then have to leave the world.  But I now write to you not to associate with anyone named a brother, if he is immoral, greedy, an idolater, a slanderer, a drunkard, or a robber, not even to eat with such a person. for why should I be judging outsiders? Is it not your business to judge those within? God will judge those outside. Purge the evil person from your midst."

It is time for us to get serious about our Catholic faith and realize that it is not our own little personal faith and our own little personal club with lovey-dovey Jesus at the head of a small table. Those of us who actually believe in the faith and who do our best to follow the commandments of Jesus, form the body of Christ. Each of us is not a little island on which our individual interpretations of scripture and tradition rule. This is why it is called the "Catholic" church. It is UNIVERSAL TRUTH.

We must overthrow this thug culture and save the world. We must do some hard things and stick to the definitive teachings of the last 2,000 years, even if the rest of the world hates us. We have let the world sink into this morass of debauchery, lies and selfishness. Now we have to resurrect the moral life of our people and drag them to high ground, if necessary. Take the high road, speak strongly, and don't let the thugs convince you that right is wrong and wrong is right. Resist Satan.

Silver Rose Parnell
(c) 2015 All rights reserved.

UPDATE:

On Friday, the 27th of November, one of the neighbors who lives near the emergency exit and had, apparently heard about the great fence flack, evidently had visitors. They were parked in front of his garage, where he customarily parks, and he decided to block the emergency exit on the other side of the parking lot.

 

That same evening, at 11:30 p.m., there was an SUV I had not seen before, parked in front of the emergency exit and, I kid you not, it was a FIREFIGHTER'S CAR. New Mexico license plate number 1017. It was too dark to take a photo. Even a firefighter doesn't give a crap about fire safety. This world is ridiculous.

SRP

COVER THE NAKED

"Naked, and you covered me: sick, and you

visited me: I was in prison, and you came to me.

Matthew 25:36

I have great sympathy for those who lack proper clothing, decent clothing, appropriate clothing that fits well, serves the appropriate function for the appropriate body part, and all that entails.

My mother was insane, and when I was a little girl, she announced that she would not buy me any clothing until I "lost weight." I was 7 years old and had no idea what this meant. The only food to which I had access was whatever she gave us when she remembered to feed us. She would leave us alone for days at a time with nothing but a sack of potatoes in the refrigerator. Once, her sister came to visit us from thousands of miles away and, even though she was expected, my mother did not bother to meet her when she arrived. My aunt found us half naked, hungry and filthy.

I remember laying on my bed when I was 7, staring into my empty closet, save for one sweet little blue plaid dress with a built-in apron and puffy short sleeves. It was 2 sizes too small for me and I could no longer wear it, but I loved that dress. It was the only one I had. Other than that, I had one pair of shorts and a few ratty tops. I prayed every night that I would wake up the next morning and "be thin."

When I was about 10 or 11, my mother was having clothes tailor made for herself, but she forced me to wear either one of two old cocktail dresses to school, along with a pair of oxfords she had painted pea green. I was blind as a bat and wore glasses. She refused to let my hair grow and, instead, took scissors to it now and then and chopped at it until it was short enough to comb without any trouble. I looked like a horror show. I was routinely picked on and beaten up. Once an entire gang surrounded me on my way home from school. Two girls beat me while the crowd hooted and hollered and contributed kicks and fists when I tried to escape that diabolical circle.

To this day, I am extremely picky about my clothes. I will not wear used clothing, and I have learned how to assemble a nice looking wardrobe on a tight budget. Except on those days when I am physically unable to get out of my pajamas, I dress, even though I will not leave my apartment, except to walk my dog and no one but the neighbors will probably see me. It isn't for them. It is for my own sense of personal dignity. It helps mitigate the damage of my brutal childhood that gave me post traumatic stress disorder.  It is a coping mechanism.

I have seen the looks on people's faces when the homeless come begging, with their long ratty hair and their dirty and ill-fitting clothing. It reminds me of the stares and hostility of the other kids, when I came walking onto the playground in an old pink polyester cocktail dress and pea green oxfords. I didn't have a friend in the world.

Except for other homeless people, I imagine the homeless have no one either. I have this feeling that I desperately want them to have some nice things to wear, at the very least a warm hat to help preserve their health and their comfort. I don't want to give them some hand-me-down or some machine made, flimsy thing from China, as if they only deserve to have the cast-offs of other people or the very cheapest of goods.  I want to give them something made with love and prayers, from good yarn, made well, and attractive, because these are things I want for myself and I am to love my neighbor as much as I love myself.  These people ARE my neighbors. I live in an apartment in an area that is saturated with the homeless and the poor, and I can't leave the apartment without encountering at least one such person.

The only way I can produce hats and scarves for the homeless is to ask for donations of yarn vis-a-vis my Amazon wish list. I currently have enough yarn to make another 2 or 3 hats, and that's it.

A typical hat made from super chunky yarn,

knit for the homeless. (The color is MUCH

prettier than what you see here, but I had

trouble with the camera. I am no photographer!)

If you have the wherewithal to donate some yarn, you can contribute by ordering from my Amazon wish list for this purpose. Please remember that it is very difficult to make anything from only one skein of yarn, so please pick one color and purchase as many skeins of that color as you feel you can afford. The web site will require you to enter that number before checkout.  Amazon has my address and will ship directly to me.

You can find the Amazon wish list HERE.

THANK YOU for your generosity.

[PLEASE NOTE: Since writing this post, my carpal tunnel and arthritis have ramped up and I am having a hard time knitting the hats. Thus, I have plenty of yarn for this purpose, and it will take me some time to use it all up.

On the Amazon list you will find some different colored CROCHET THREADS that I could use for my lace making. I donate hand-made lace Bible markers to my parish for special occasions, and I also make chapel veils.  Sometimes I make ribbons of lace to attach to the bottom of skirts or the tops of blouses to convert them into more modest attire.]

Silver Rose Parnell
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