Whispering in God's Ear

I've always had difficulty with the Easter story, but never the birth of Christ.  Only recently have I been able to make any sort of connection between the two. As a child growing up in the 50's, I loved singing Christmas carols and hearing the story about the Baby Jesus.  Interestingly, I learned those songs and the story of Christ's birth not at church, but at school.  Back in the 1950's, life was a little different.  The US was predominantly Christian, so it wasn't unusual to talk about Christmas in school.  I don't believe that we should do that in schools in this day and age, considering all the different faiths represented in our country today. (That's a topic for another posting.) But that's how the story reached me. As a child I was not allowed to attend church, even though my mother was a Spanish teacher at a Catholic school.  My father was a "devote" atheist and forbid me to attend church until I was "old enough to make a de

I'm not an overly patient person, though I do believe I've gained a bit of it over the years--as a wife, a mother, and a co-worker--mainly out of necessity. One area in which I still struggle with working at patience is when I am feeling an emotion whose source I can't immediately identify. I don't know if is part of our American culture or just a human trait, but I've noticed that so many of us become self-involved in needing to know why we are feeling some emotion at a particular moment. "I'm not happy today. I wonder if it is because it is cloudy outside, or because I'm facing a big challenge at work. Or maybe it's because my spouse isn't paying enough attention to me, or maybe I ate something that didn't agree with me, or (my favorite) maybe I'm just depressed." (I'm not talking about clinical depression here.) It's only recently that I've come to realize that trying to figure out through my intellect why I am feeli

Lately, I've been making a concerted effort to increase the number of times I pray during the day. To do this, I've found several books that I'd like to share with you: The Divine Hours, Pocket Edition , by Phyllis Tickle.  It is a rather traditional prayer guide with different Offices of Prayer.  This, if I understand it clearly, is in the monastic tradition of praying several times a day. All of the offices are done on the hour or half hour. The first office is "The Office of Midnight" between 10:30 p.m. and 1:30 a.m. The next one is the "Office of the Night Watch" between 1:30 and 4:30 a.m. This is followed by the "Office of Dawn" between 4:30 a.m. and 7:30 a.m. The next is the "Morning Office" between 6 a.m. and 9 a.m. Then there is the "Midday Office" between 11 a.m. and 2 p.m. After that is the "Vespers Office" between 5 p.m. and 8 p.m., followed by the "Office of Compline" "To Be Observe

As I recover from my surgery, I've been trying to find tasks around the house to do that wouldn't require me to bend. I got this bright idea that using a dog brush I could clean the rug under our bed. Mind you, I knew there was some dust and dirt under there. It's a huge, heavy bed, far too massive for one person to move it, and even tough for two. So for a long time--okay, a REALLY long time--my husband and I have just ignored the dust and dirt and dog hair piling up only a few feet below where we sleep. Well, I, with my trusty dog brush in hand, splayed myself out on the floor, crawled under the bed and began to clean the rug. It was exhausting work, but it was work I could do because there was no lifting or bending. The more I brushed, however, the more dirt showed up.   As I worked I realized that I always keep myself so busy that I never take time to do these kinds of tasks.  But being sequestered in my room for a few weeks has made me look at my room in a differen

The main struggle in my spiritual journey has always been whether or not I would commit to Christianity on a long-term basis. I have been a Christian in the past, as a Catholic, Lutheran and Methodist. At one point I was a chanting Buddhist and a follower of the Tibetan Buddhist tradition, too. All of these faiths and traditions have added to my spiritual knowledge. All have given me so much in terms of acceptance and understanding. And yet when it comes to my Christian exploration, I always "run away" from the church when the following three scenarios occur: 1) I don't agree with the way something is being done or said; 2) I feel too much is being asked of me in terms of service; and 3) I don't want to face my real self. In 2005, I walked away from the church I belonged to when some pretty serious family issues hit the fan. I felt let down by God, and deeply discouraged that even though I was what I considered a good person, that didn't seem to count in s

Today is Veteran's Day, a day to honor those who have served in the military, those who continue to serve and those who have died in service to our country. I decided to post on Facebook all the Veterans in my family.  It surprised me when I started listing them.  First, my grandfather Harry A. Finney, who served in the Army in both WWI and WWII.  Next, my father, Robert R. Finney, who served in the Air Force in WWII, then my brother Jules A. Ganoza, who served in the Marine Corps and was at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, during the Cuban Missile Crisis.  I also included my husband's grandfather, Clyde Cassidy, who served in the Army in WWI, my father-in-law, John R. Cassidy, who served in the Navy in WWII, and a great uncle, Ross, who served in the Army in WWI but never saw action because he died of some illness during training.  Last but certainly not least on the list, was my husband, Ray R. Cassidy, who served in the Army in Vietnam. As I thought about the personal sacrifices al

Lest you think I'm singing "Onward Christian Soldier" and passing out pamphlets about the Glories of the Kingdom on every street corner, never fear.  I am probably more confused than ever about 1) whether I am a Christian, 2) what exactly it means to be a Christian and 3) how I'm going to make it through this faith journey in the first place. In other words, I'm confused and maybe a little disillusioned.  Clearly, there was a side of me that thought getting back in the Christian swing of things was just going to be a matter of choice.  It's so much more than that.  You know, it was going to be "find a church, sign up for a couple of committees, show up on Sundays, go to Bible study, ask a lot of questions, get annoyed at the answers because they don't make sense or they are too hard to understand, or they seem too "exclusive" of other faiths, or are too 'political' and well, just leave."  These are the types of things that have

I know I proclaimed today a day of rest, but I somehow got the energy up to attend church this morning.  I spent the afternoon wiped out, but it was worth it. There is something so important to me to be in a communal setting when worshipping God.  Alone is doable.  I pray and meditate often when alone, but there is a spark that enters my spirit when I sit in a room full of other worshippers, all coming together to open our hearts to God. The Eucharist, too, has taken on new meaning.   As I struggle to come to a greater understanding of Jesus, his story and his word, Holy Communion means communing with others who are making a commitment to "Do this is remembrance" of Him each week.  Their faith strengthens me when mine is weak, which honestly, is usually much of the time. I'm also taking a theology class taught by a priest at a local Episcopalian Church in Charlotte, NC.  His teachings are turning my world upside down, but I'm beginning to think that being turned up

I don't know if I've mentioned it, but I've been about every denomination in the book over my lifetime search for the "right" religion for me.  My joking phrase is that I'm a "Catholuthermethbuddhian."  I do find it interesting that I've always sought to be "something".  I also have been a member of a rather well-known 12-step program for the last 30 years (well, I guess that blows my cover) and for several years I tried to use that program as my "church" of sorts.  I know many people who attend that program and have found peace and the spiritual food they need to make it through this life.  I have the fullest respect for their choice, and probably a fair amount of envy, too.  I attend the program regularly to this day, and will continue to do so, but I am being led on another journey. Even though I know that my "12-step program" does not depend on a religion to keep me alive, there is something in my spirit that h

I spent the morning talking to a friend who could be a clone of myself.  I'm laid up from surgery, and she is out and about doing what I naturally do--making up for lost time, losing time by worrying about how much time is being lost, measuring herself the way I measure myself--against a ruler that is sky high, when I'm only 5 feet 4 (well, almost).  She and I both operate in survival mode because that was how we were both raised.  The adults in our lives just weren't able to cut it.  We had to, on some level, fend for ourselves.  And we're both still doing it.  Not that that's a bad thing.  It just gets plain exhausting sometimes. Right now, I'm in a wonderful position to wax eloquent on what other people ought to be doing with their lives because, well, my body has led me to a place where it has finally said (in an exasperated voice, I might add), "You have not taken good care of yourself and now you have to take care of me or you won't be around to

Welcome to my blog, "Whispering in God's Ear."  I have much to say about why I began this blog, but where to start is always a challenge. Do I start by telling you about a little girl who was not allowed to go to church?  Whose father was an agnostic and whose mother was a Catholic who taught at a Catholic school?  Do I tell you about hiding under the bed and reading the books she brought home from school that her students were forced to read as part of their religious study? I'll never forget when my husband-to-be, who was forced to attend church and Bible study most of his childhood years and into his teens, looked at me in amazement when I would quote a particular Bible story or mention some Bible verse.  "But you never went to church," he'd say.  "How do you know this stuff?"  It was then that I told him of my little cathedral under my bed where I devoured all the Bible stories I was forbidden to read. The only problem with my solitar