The Breadbox Letters

Pius thoughts and Paper

2012-03-02T00:05:00.001-05:00

I was in fourth grade when I began the postcard collection I mentioned yesterday. That was also the year I was discovered by boys. Which is amazing, considering that some of their kind claimed they couldn't see me. I was so skinny, they insisted, that when I turned sideways I was no longer visible. Nancy Noodle - too thin to cast a shadow. She had to run around in the rain if she wanted to get wet.

And then came Joseph and Pius. They were classmates, and thanks to one gangly girl who suddenly became visible without a microscope, they were rivals for a season. Each tried to capture my attention - one by buying me candy, the other by giving me pads of blank paper, colorful tablets of yellow and pink and blue. Every day a new pastel pad would show up on my school desk, and I'd turn around to see my potential suitor throwing me a bashful grin. Which gentleman won my heart? I don't remember. Probably neither. Sorry, guys - it wasn't that you weren't dashing in those oh so preppy duds.

What truly wooed me was the paper. I preferred it to chocolate any day of the week. Secret writer that I was, author of breadbox letters and essays that I penned just for the fun of it ("Heaven, Hell and Prigatory"(sic) and "Nancy's Science Facts"), I couldn't wait for the school day to end so I could get home and scribble on a brand new pad. To this day blank papers - and from the looks of things blank blog posts - cry out to me: "write!... write..! wriiiiiiiiite!"

In perhaps a burst of pre-spring fever, what I feel like writing presently is a bit of nostalgic silliness. As my other blog seems to become seriouser and seriouser, it's possible that this one will grow curioser and curioser.

Who knows? I might even tell you, one of these days, about Blue Velvet Ribbons on Purple Cake. Now you KNOW you don't wanna miss THAT....

old stamp collectors

2012-02-29T00:20:00.000-05:00

"Old stamp collectors never die," I said to a friend one evening; "they just get returned to Sender." She immediately popped back with: "Nancy, that was first class!"

I am an old stamp collector, I'll admit it, even though the collection is long gone. I suspect the fascination hit with my first postcard from an aunt vacationing an entire state away. I saved the card (after all, receiving my own mail then was a Very Big Deal). Having a great time, said aunty; the weather is good. Wish you were here... and oh, how I wished it too. Such exotic lands my relatives visited. Ohio! Peoria! Kansas! Des Moines! The very names were colorful, as were the stamps on their cards. I began a collection of both, poring over paper fragments of adventure on lazy afternoons.

I knew I loved to travel; never mind that I never did. I loved caves, too, although I'd never been in one. I loved astronomy even if my view was limited to the blob of quivery moon I tried to focus on through a cardboard cereal-premium "telescope." ("send in 3 boxtops and 25 cents"). My sense of adventure was unbounded. Actual travel? Well, that was limited by my dad's job and a second-hand Chevrolet.

My stamp collection is gone now, and I am very practical. I buy stamps I really like, then stick them on envelopes to put them to good use. I no longer have to imagine travel, I simply call it up from memories. I've gone to numerous states and well beyond.. even to the other side of the earth. Maybe I'll travel a lot more - who knows? But regardless, there will always remain one Great Adventure. I just pray for grace to look forward with anticipation to that one, and to the amazing experience of seeing face to Face my Sender. He is bigger than the earth, more brilliant than the moon, grander than Des Moines.

"And men go abroad to admire the heights and mountains, the mighty billows of the sea, the long courses of rivers, the vast compass of the ocean, and the circular motion of the stars, and yet pass themselves by..." (St. Augustine)

(photo from US postal service via Wikimedia Commons)

let all sing praise

2012-02-26T17:20:00.000-05:00

stars of heaven, bless the Lord.

fire and heat, bless the Lord.

dew and rain, bless the Lord.

ice and snow, bless the Lord.

lightnings and clouds, bless the Lord.

everything growing from the earth, bless the Lord.

you dolphins and all water creatures, bless the Lord.

Blessed are You, Lord, in the firmament of heaven.

Praiseworthy and glorious and exalted above all forever.

(excerpts from Daniel 3; space photos Nasa Esa)

sometimes a corny notion

2012-02-25T12:48:00.008-05:00

I just ran across this video and it gave me a smile. I immediately wanted to share it with you, so I asked my "resident computer expert" how to put it in a post.

Is this video corny? YOU BETCHA!!! Does it give us a "grain" of thought? You decide....

For some excellent spiritual insights into this, click on this link:

Archdiocese of Washington to read the blog post where I found it. I loved what I read there. I highly recommend that you take a minute to check out Msgr. Pope's commentary on this..

the glory on which they gaze

2012-02-23T19:08:00.000-05:00

"Eternal incomprehensible God, I believe, and confess, and adore Thee, as being infinitely more wonderful, resourceful, and immense than this universe which I see. I look into the depths of space in which the stars are scattered about, and I understand that I should be millions upon millions of years in creeping along from one end of it to another, if a bridge were thrown across it....

"But all, all that is in these worlds, high and low, are but an atom compared with the grandeur, the height and depth, the glory, on which Thy saints are gazing in their contemplation of Thee." (John Henry Newman)

erasing the board

2012-02-21T20:11:00.006-05:00

As I stand poised at the edge of Lent, I find myself reflecting upon the Sacrament of Reconciliation. Today I stumbled across this from Charles de Foucauld:

“When you want to write on a blackboard, you must first wipe off what is written there.”

Several things occur to me as I read this. First of all: chalk is not permanent. Nor are my sins. Once the “board” has been erased, the original mistakes can no longer be read.

Second: a blackboard cannot be erased unless something is done. Someone has to actually take action and clean the board.

Third: a chalkboard eraser is not a steel wool pad. It is soft. It’s made to clean the board, not harm it. If a blackboard could feel, I doubt it would cry “ouch.”

“God,” wrote St. Gregory the Great, “scourges our faults with strokes of love, to cleanse us from our iniquities.”

Strokes of love. Not lashes and paddles, but strokes of love.

Jesus wants to erase every one of my sins. He knows I cannot do it on my own. He has given the Sacrament of Reconciliation as a (gentle, loving, healing) Eraser. I pray, on the eve of this Lenten season, for the grace to “confess my sins, do penance, and amend my life." May Our Lord write what HE wants on my life; may He make it totally His own.

(This post is part of Catholic Blog Day. Clicking on this line will take you to another site, where you can find other bloggers' reflections on Lenten penance and reconciliation)

this weekend, I missed....

2012-02-20T23:33:00.001-05:00

It's a good thing I don't believe in 'fate,' lest I be accused of tempting it. It is the providence of God that I believe in - therefore I can safely tell you that this weekend I missed snow.

It had been promised (the snow), just as it had a number of times this season. I was awaiting a whirling white visitation, splendidly cold, one to kiss my lips numb and leave them frozen. Not the sort of thing one normally looks forward to, I admit, unless the season has been uncannily mild. Or unless one happens to be a coziness addict - an appreciator of warm teas and soft blankets and the homey sense of well being that comes with thawing toes.

At this time of year, I normally feel starved for springtime. I grow weary of frozen air. I get distressed by hazardous road conditions and threatened safety and cancelled plans. But I do enjoy finding refuge from chill. I like to look out from a sheltering house upon a world gone white.

I hope I won't be writing soon to say there's been a drastic change. But this weekend, I missed snow.

(photo © 2010 N Shuman)

I kiss the faded ink

2012-02-19T00:10:00.013-05:00

Going through a few of my old letters tonight, I felt I was opening a long sealed treasure chest. What a grand gift is a letter! Some of the ones I have before me are from other people, some are copies of my own scribbles over the years. I rummaged through quite an assortment, in no order whatsoever. Every one is a gift. A precious slice of life....

April 4.. "Dear Carol, I am thirteen years and two months old, and this afternoon I went to the movie matinee on my very first date. I got dressed up and fixed my hair in a flip and I put lipstick on my cheeks to make them pink. The doorbell rang and before I knew what I was doing I’d hidden in my closet. Mother was calling me from the living room, I could not move. When I got to come into the living room, he stood there like he was blushing, but I don’t think boys blush...." Nanci

Hawaii, 1961: "Dear Nanci, When Elvis was here filming 'Blue Hawaii,' he and the rest of the cast filmed a scene across the Opaikaa Falls. This is where some of my friends and I got his autographs"...Carol

From a European pen-pal, late 1960s: "Dear Nancy, I was glad to hear from your wedding. I guess you will have a dozen funny children. Yours Friendly, Thomas"

USA:"Dear Bob and Leena, It was a dark and stormy night. Suddenly a typewriter rang out. Keys clacked. Paper inched upward under the weight of words smelling dankly of freshly inked ribbon. Gazing pensively toward the open window, The Writer typed on without thought or plan. That was okay. The writing this time was for someone with a marked tolerance for UTTER NONSENSE. On clacked the keys. On, on flowed the words, resounding like notes from sonorous saxophones, flung into the night thick with jasmine and musk and a gambler’s soured luck. 'Hark, hark,' clacked The Writer, flinging phrases to the breeze, never minding where she flang them. Suddenly nothing happened. Which made it convenient that The Writer did not try her hand at fiction..... " Nancy
(I assure you that this letter was not meant to be 'serious'!)

And my favorite? Oh, no contest. That would be the following from my husband, written while we were dating. He was twenty years old.

December 25...Dear Nancy, "Wanna know something? Last night when we were at our respective midnight masses we were twenty miles apart, but really we were together. We both heard mass and received the Christ child in communion - and that’s about the closest bond anyone can have - and the best! I’d say we’re pretty lucky!"

So would I, my darling. So would I.

"I listen and my hand thy letter presses;

I, time-worn woman, touch it with caresses.

I kiss the faded ink of its addresses."

(Susan Emory, "An Old Woman's Answer to a Letter from her Girlhood")

nearer than I can imagine

2012-02-17T17:38:00.002-05:00

Just as I rush from a busy day to a dinner out, I find myself running across the following letter:

"During your meals or during any daily duty, lift your heart up to Him, because even the least remembrance will please Him. You don't have to pray out loud; He's nearer than you can imagine." (letter from Brother Lawrence)

And now.... away I go......

true north

2012-02-15T17:14:00.000-05:00

France, 1600s: "Ships at sea have a mariner's needle which always points to the north. Although the ship may be headed south, the needle never fails to point north. It sometimes seems that the soul at prayer is going straight south, since it is greatly bothered by distractions. Nevertheless the highest point of the spirit always looks toward God, WHO IS ITS NORTH. People who are the most advanced in the spiritual life often have such great temptations, even against faith, that it seems to them that their whole soul consents to these temptations. Yet they still resist at the deepest level of their being. Even though all their other faculties and powers may be filled with distractions, their spirit is praying." (from St. Francis de Sales, emphasis mine)

my holy Valentine

2012-02-13T22:37:00.001-05:00

It's a grand time for letters. Letters, notes, valentines bursting with verse and humor and pop-up-song. I love every one of them. On Valentine's Day, give me hearts, give me roses, give me rhyme.

As a child, collecting valentines to line up on my dresser, I would count the cards and sort them and arrange. Valentines from best friends were put where I could see them readily; ones from boys I liked were given pride of place. It was not unheard of for a girl to receive two or more valentines from the same young man: a definite sign of not-so-secret love.

"The Bible is a letter from Almighty God to His creatures," wrote Pope St. Gregory. I read this today and think, if this is the case, then what a missive! The length of it.. the poetry... the repeated declarations of total and absolute LOVE.

"I have loved you with an everlasting love... I am constant in My affection for you." (Jeremiah 31:3)

"Though the mountains leave their place and the hills be shaken, My love shall never leave you." (Isaiah 5410)

"My sheep hear my voice; I know them, and they follow Me. I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish. No one shall snatch them out of my hand." (John 10:27-28)

I can turn page after page of Scripture and find such love. Love that would suffer and die for me, declaring itself over and over and over - a definite sign of not at all secret Love.

This is Love that deserves first place in my heart. This Valentine's day, I shall (anew) accept it. And I pray for grace to give love in return.

Through prayer, through acts of charity, through aspirations of love and praise, I hope to give Our Lord a number of "valentines"... repeated declarations of a not-so-secret love.

a rose in winter

2012-02-11T19:10:00.002-05:00

France, April 1622: "Plant Jesus Christ crucified in your heart, and all the crosses of this world will seem to be roses." (letter of St. Francis de Sales)

"The sun looks at a rose, along with a thousand million other flowers, just as much as if it looked upon the rose alone. And God, though He loves a countless number of other souls, does not pour out His love upon one soul less than if He loved that soul alone..." (St. Francis de Sales)

(rose photo copyright © 2011 Nancy Shuman)

do not refuse to hear....

2012-02-09T13:08:00.002-05:00

Letter to the Hebrews: "Do not refuse to hear Him Who speaks." (12:25)

I am struck by the word "refused" used here. I mean: imagine God speaking to me and me not just missing the call - but actually refusing to hear it!

Actually, I can imagine that all too well.

It doesn't take a long memory, on my part, to see myself with head ducked, eyes downcast, pretending I don't know what is being asked of me. I've never heard a physical "voice" from God, but I have detected the gentle call of One inviting me to live as He asks, to treat others as He wishes, to give Him a moment of prayer.

But gosh, I'm so busy. Maybe later, just a little later.

If Jesus were standing right in front of me, would I say "Nice to see you, but you caught me just dashing out the door. Oh, and I meant to tell you - I had a reason for not doing what you asked the other day... after all, what would people have thought? And oh... excuse me just a minute, will you? I think I heard the phone....."

The thing is - Jesus IS standing right in front of me. Right now. He is closer than I could possibly imagine.

How will I respond?

a thank you note

2012-02-06T18:30:00.006-05:00

USA, 2012: Dear Pen Friend,

    Today's letter is from me. Just me. Not me "and" anyone; only little old me.
    I just received an airletter (the kind that's written in pen and gets delivered to a metal box outside the house) urging me to take good care of myself. Because, said the writer, "I could not bear to be without my penfriend!"
    I immediately thought back through years of correspondence. Paul was only the beginning. After him, there was a string of pen-pals. One of these sent me copies (several years ago) of ALL of the letters I'd sent her over these many years. I read them with laughter and more than a touch of nostalgia; also with the sure knowledge that only God could have turned such a scatter-penned teenager as I was into a writer. "I have heard about the British 'Beatles,'" I once told her... "I hope someday I can hear their music."   "President Kennedy was shot, tell me if you've heard about it over there." "I met a new boy he has a cool car." "I went swimming today and the dog died" (no connection between these last two events).
   I went on to write letters to friends and boyfriends. To people met through writing and travels. And now, as I thank God to have such a privilege, here I am clicking away on a keyboard to you.
   I suppose you can consider this a thank you note. Thanks for making a few mouse-clicks and opening this letter.
     I pray (I genuinely do) that the Lord will take good care of you.
     Because "I could not bear to be without my penfriend....."

   Nancy

fix your eyes on...

2012-02-05T21:02:00.002-05:00

France; 1600s: "Do not get all worked up about the future disasters of this world, which may never occur anyway; when and if they do occur, God will give you the strength to bear them. Jesus commanded St. Peter to walk on the water but Peter, frightened by a gust of wind and the storm, almost drowned. Then he pleaded with the Lord, Who said to him, 'what little faith you have - why did you falter?' And putting forth His hand, He saved him (Matthew 14:31). If God asks you to walk on the turbulent waters of adversity, do not doubt, do not fear, because God is with you. Have courage and you will be safe." ... letter of St. Francis de Sales

"Fix your eyes on Jesus"... letter to the Hebrews 3:1

castle delivery

2012-02-04T20:35:00.001-05:00

Spain, 9 September 1576: "I can truthfully say that your letters are such a consolation. When I read the one and thought there were no more, I myself was surprised by the happiness I felt when I discovered another one; it was as as though I hadn't received the first. You should then realize that your letters are a kind of recreation for me." ... from a letter of St. Teresa of Avila

Finding these words today, I was surprised (and delighted) to learn that they were written by the same woman who said, in that very year, "While in prayer one day, I felt my soul to be so deep in God that it didn't seem there was a world..." (from 'Spiritual Testimonies')

St. Teresa of Avila, as we know, was one of the great mystics of the Church. She experienced extraordinary depths of prayer and left us a map to the Interior Castle. If anyone was ever "lost in God," it was she. Yet she found happiness in the pages of a letter! Being a lifelong lover of correspondence, I am thrilled to know that this was the case.

I suppose my delight is because I am an "aspirant" to the Interior Castle. I would like it to be my home, my residence, my permanent address.

It's nice to know that even the Castle gets mail.

and the bird sings

2012-02-02T19:28:00.007-05:00

"The other day, the little birds were singing in the woods. I began to weep... I thought within myself, the good God has made you to sing, and you sing. Yet man, who was created that he might love God, loves Him not!"... from St. John Vianney

I have always loved birds. Back when I was penciling the first "breadbox letters," I had a parakeet in a cage in my room. I especially loved to watch him sleep. He would turn his head backwards and tuck beak into feathers, turn into a ball of fluff, and look like soft green velvet. Every maternal instinct I had came bursting forth at such moments, and I tried to reach into the cage to stroke this wondrous grass-green creature. But no. He would not allow it. He was always rather afraid of me, running to the other side of the cage when I approached.

When it comes to allowing God to love me completely, I wonder if I'm just a bit like that bird. Oh, I don't mean to be. I intend to love God with all my heart. I was created to love Him, and that is what I want more than anything to do. But sometimes, as I feel Him approaching more closely - could it be that I feel just a wee twinge of fear?

My Father's "Paternal Heart" ... the Heart of the One Who MADE me ... longs to hold my heart close. He wants me to experience the peace that comes from loving Him. And so, at this very moment, I make again the decision to do so. I will love Him. By His grace, I will trust Him.

And who knows? I might even sing....

"...how much more important you are than the birds..!" (Luke 12: 24)

(painting on this post, by Henriette Browne, is in public domain)

it amounts to seeking God

2012-02-01T14:33:00.004-05:00

Segovia, 1574: “With regard to the desire you experience to cut short your prayer, pay no attention to it. Instead, praise the Lord for the desire you have for prayer and believe that this is what your will wants… It is best to use less severe means and at times relax outdoors where you can walk and see the sky; your prayer will suffer no loss because of this; it’s necessary that we bear our weaknesses and not try to constrain our nature. Everything amounts to seeking God, since it is for Him that we search out every kind of means, and the soul must be led gently.” … from a letter of St. Teresa of Avila

(Letter above from Collected Letters of St. Teresa of Avila, K. Kavanaugh OCD, ICS, 2001)

whatever the world may say

2012-01-31T22:09:00.007-05:00

Paris, 1621: "My daughter, you should be firmer about spiritual things than about temporal, whatever the world may say. Never will the Lord fail those who seek first the kingdom of God." .... from a letter of St. Jane de Chantal

As I read the above words, one phrase jumps out at me. This is: "whatever the world may say." I think of the many times when I haven't stood for the truth, just because of what the world may say. I think of very specific times... like when I didn't use an ideal opportunity to speak up for life to a lady sitting next to me on a plane. The woman and I were having a chat about the plight of the abandoned, and I had a perfect opening to appeal to her sense of compassion. The woman had stated her position that a woman had a "right" to choose abortion. "Ah," I could have said "... but babies killed in their mothers' wombs are the most abandoned children of all." Yet I did not speak. Strangely tongue-tied, I just sat there. I am deeply ashamed to admit this. Whether or not my words would have had any lasting impact, I know I should have spoken them, on behalf of those who have no voices but ours.

My choice in the past was not a good one, and I trust in God's mercy. My choice in the present is to write about it, here. My choice for the future is to take to heart the above letter from St. Jane, having courage to be firmer about spiritual things than about temporal - whatever the world may say.

"The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid. What can man do to me?"... from St. Paul's letter to the Hebrews 13:6

we have mail

2012-01-30T23:38:00.009-05:00

Did you ever stop to think about how much of the New Testament is made up of letters? Letters! In the Bible! Letters that give us personal glimpses into the lives of Paul and John and Peter... (“Get here before winter if you can”… “When you come, bring the cloak I left in Troas with Carpus, and the books…” ). Letters that weave such very human requests right in with sentiments like “I have come to rate all as loss in the light of the surpassing knowledge of my Lord Jesus Christ...” (Philippians 3:8).

While the Bible is the most important source of letters to guide us, we can also find inspiration in letters of saints. Such writings “embody an art and style of their own, an unselfconscious art that tends to hide itself, and a style that is closer to the dialogue of spoken language….with the power to be formative for both writer and reader.” (Wendy Wright and Joseph Power OSFS, Francis de Sales & Jane de Chantal Letters of Spiritual Direction, Paulist, 1988)

With this in mind, I’d like to begin probing just a bit into our legacy of letters. I’ve enjoyed the breadbox excavations we’ve engaged in so far; they’ve brought smiles and perspectives and some food for thought. I like sharing photos (and will definitely continue to do so), but my interest right now is toward diving more deeply into the Breadbox. I have a feeling its depths are beyond what I had imagined.

I hope you’re up for a bit of exploring. After all, who knows what might be waiting right behind the Wonder Bread…..?

a tiny ode to snow

2012-01-27T15:09:00.005-05:00

I am enchanted by snow when it softens a city. It's like the gentleness of God blanketing all that is sharp and angular, and somehow this is magical to me. Maybe that's because, in grade school, I rode the city bus twice a day. The bus made stops and starts along Main Street, its doors whooshing open to let in soggy passengers toting briefcases and shopping bags. I could hear sighs of relief as these weary ones fell into seats; they seemed grateful to be able to let chilled bones thaw. I watched the snow-shrouded city roll by the windows; all was fresh and white and new and clean.

I don’t spend time on buses anymore. But I still notice snow, making a decision to savor its sparkles even when it interrupts my plans. It’s there (I figure); nothing can be done to change that. So I allow it to decorate my life. I sit beside a window for prayer time. I thank God for pink and blue and amber sprinkles under streetlights. I grab a camera and stick head (if not sliding feet) out the front door. I appreciate the hush of city sounds.

Snow is, to me, the gentleness of God trumping the clamor of man. In the darkest months of the year, the ones in which we might feel starved for light - that's when snow comes to brighten our paths. Oh, I do grow weary of it; sometimes very much so. I'm the one in my multi-generational household who absolutely refuses to drive in it. Days of unceasing snowfall and cabin fever and (occasionally) undelivered mail make me feel, well… cranky. But snow is part of God’s creation.

And if it’s there, I may as well enjoy the view.

“Praise the Lord... fire and hail, snow and mist, storm winds that fulfill His word…” (Psalm 148:7-8)

(photo © Nancy Shuman)

SING!

2012-01-26T00:37:00.002-05:00

"Song is the leap of mind in the eternal, breaking out into sound." (St. Thomas Aquinas)

"Sing to Him, sing His praise, proclaim all His wondrous deeds.." (Psalm 105:2)

"Be filled with the Spirit, addressing one another in psalms, and hymns, and inspired songs." (Ephesians 5:19)

"To sing is the work of a lover." (St. Augustine)

(photo © Nancy Shuman)

a time for waiting

2012-01-24T21:39:00.003-05:00

"Worldlings... who live according to the ways of earth, as soon as they have some good thought or some idea that seems to them worthy of being esteemed... are never at rest till they have exhibited it and made it known to everyone they meet. Wherein they run the same risk as the trees which are very early in sending out their leaves.. for if, perchance, the frost surprises them, they perish and bear no fruit." (St. Francis de Sales).

"It is owing to His favor that salvation is yours through faith. This is not your own doing, it is God's gift. Neither is it a reward for anything you have accomplished, so let no one pride himself on it. We are truly His handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to lead the life of good deeds which God prepared for us in advance." (Ephesians 2:8-10)

(photo © Nancy Shuman)

a saint for bloggers

2012-01-23T21:09:00.004-05:00

Francis de Sales is patron of Catholic writers. As a blogger, therefore, I happily claim him as a patron of me. As the Church celebrates his feast on the 24th, I can easily imagine him sitting with a laptop, clicking out the good news that indeed Jesus lives.

Francis wrote voluminously. Not only is he known for his books, but for his (numerous) letters. He also composed short papers and pamphlets for wide distribution, to help clarify the faith in a time when confusion abounded. I like to imagine him patting today's Catholic bloggers on the back, encouraging us to "keep it up" as we distribute our witness to the Truth in THIS age of the Church and in the turbulence of our world.

St. Francis was a bishop and founder of the Order of the Visitation of Holy Mary. He was a busy man in France in the early 1600s. Still, he found time to take up his quill pen and spread the good news of Christ. As we clack away at our keyboards, often in wee hours of the morning or while a baby naps, I'd like to think our patron is praying for us.

I have a feeling he is doing just that.

and so we choose life

2012-01-23T12:06:00.003-05:00

"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you; before you were born I consecrated you...." (Jeremiah 1:5)

"My frame was not hidden from You when I was being made in secret, intricately wrought in the depths of the earth." (Psalm 139:15)

"Choose life, then, that you and your descendants may live..." (Deuteronomy 30:19)

(photo © Nancy Shuman)

a flower's invitation

2012-01-20T20:23:00.004-05:00

"Listen to the sermon preached to you by the flowers, the trees, the shrubs, the sky, and the whole world. Notice how they preach to you a sermon full of love, of praise of God, and how they invite you to glorify the sublimity of that sovereign Artist Who has given them being." (St. Paul of the Cross)

(photo © Nancy Shuman)

alleluia always

2012-01-18T23:19:00.001-05:00

"Say alleluia always,
no matter the time of day,
no matter the season
of life."
(St. Benedict)

(photo © Nancy Shuman)

home interiors

2012-01-17T20:35:00.001-05:00

"To decorate their houses with religious pictures is a custom as old as Christianity itself, for the true Christian has always considered his home as nothing less than a temple of God; and the religious pictures as means to extend and preserve the spirit of Christianity in the home." (St. John Vianney)

something fishy

2012-01-16T10:47:00.007-05:00

Temptation. It is a word that makes me remember that lies are more believable when they're built on a foundation of half-truths. With this in mind, I'd like to spend a moment with minnows....

It is true that a minnow is a fine meal for a bass. A tasty gulp of dinner that would satisfy the fish's appetite and nourish and refresh him. That is the truth. But some minnows warrant closer inspection. Perhaps a bit of discernment...for as we know, sometimes there's a hook buried deep inside.

Can you imagine the underwater conversations if fish were rational beings able to engage in such chatter?

   "...Look, Oscar! Dinner! Last one there is a rotten bass.....!"
   "... I dunno, Gil. That minnow looks to me like it's swimming a little funny. See how it's moving just a tiny bit sideways? I think maybe we'd better watch this one awhile longer.."
   "Nonsense! Everybody and his Aunt Bessie knows I am THE expert on minnows. Trust me, this one is the real deal."
   "Oh, I think it's real, all right. I just feel a sense of caution. I think this bears some watching, that's all. I know you're hungry and yes, that bit of swimming protein does look mighty tempting. Just please don't be too hasty. Remember when Bruce went for that giant minnow and was never heard from again...?",
   "Gosh, I had no idea you were so uptight! It's just a minnow, for Pete's sake!   And a tasty looking one at that. Trust, me, it's no big deal. You stay hungry if you want to. As for me, here I go...! Last one there is a rotten ba............."

"The woman saw that the tree was good for food, pleasing to the eyes...." (Genesis 3:6)

".. and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen."

(photo © Nancy Shuman)

pressed ice

2012-01-15T15:27:00.005-05:00

A recent breadbox expedition yielded the following treasure from "Jane".....

"I was feeling very discouraged with myself for not feeling a greater love for Jesus. Theoretically I knew that the 'feeling' is a gift from Him and not an indication of our actual love. But still I was concerned that I just didn't love Him enough. Then I came across something St. Gertrude had written about experiencing the same fear. She complained to Him that her heart was just a block of ice. I couldn't get that idea out of my mind. I implored Him to pick me up since I was just a block of ice and press me to His lips. In that way, I would be able to refresh Him and quench His thirst. That thought filled me with such joy, I went around all day rejoicing that I was indeed a block of ice, for as long as I am totally at His disposal, I can refresh Him. Now when I recognize that He is keeping consolations from me, I just smile to myself - knowing that as long as I trust Him patiently, my piece of ice will bring Him greater joy by my submission to His will..." (Jane)

(photo © Nancy Shuman)

check those batteries....

2012-01-14T09:01:00.009-05:00

God teaches in the simplest ways and things. I had just sat down to write this and realized the computer wasn't plugged in and the battery was down. I secured the plug and thought 'that's how it is!' I must stay securely plugged in, too, in order to be powered up to operate as I should.

Prayer is kind of like battery recharging. I must recharge daily in order to stay ready to work.....

God is here

2012-01-13T22:30:00.005-05:00

God is present.

It is a simple statement, just three little words. Yet for me these are the operative words which inspire devotion, soothe trauma, motivate me toward good, enable me to resist temptation, give me courage to carry on in the face of difficulties.

Sometimes I ask myself what I would do if Jesus Christ walked into the room where I am right now. It is a simple question and a simple thought, yet over the years I have found this to be the one thought that brings things into perspective. After all, the thought of Christ being right here is not an imaginary exercise. It is reality. God is present. He is here.

If Jesus suddenly appeared to me in the flesh, right this minute, what would happen? Would I be concerned with what others around were thinking of me? ...or would I fall on my face in utter self-forgetfulness. Would this sudden appearance change any of the behaviors in which I am presently engaged? Would such a stark encounter with Reality alter my worries, my priorities, my thoughts?

It is a worthy subject for meditation, for it is not an imaginary exercise. It is allowing myself to realize the Truth that God is present. It is reality.

God is here.

a life sandwich

2012-01-12T16:44:00.005-05:00

Dear Nancy,
What a journey my life has been. Certainly not exactly as I envisioned, but I suspect this is true of everyone's journey. Once we set out on a trip, we expect it will lead to our desired destination, but we do not see or even imagine all those interesting, delightful, challenging, painful, undesirable, hurtful, ugly, barren, surprising, exhilarating, enlightening details along the way. We only dwell on the beginning and the end, which in a way is like a sandwich. The beginning is one slice of bread, the ending is the other slice. Obviously very essential to the sandwich, but by no means the main attraction. And so it is with life. We've got to embrace all of it lovingly to our hearts, the good and the not so good. It all contributes to a wonderful life, a free gift from God... Sister Mary Elizabeth VHM

a reason for writing

2012-01-10T20:30:00.009-05:00

"I attempt to be one of those who write because they have made some progress, and who, by means of writing, make further progress."

(St. Augustine)

a small grand opportunity

2012-01-09T23:03:00.005-05:00

"God asks us to mortify ourselves in small things rather than in big ones because the big occasions are rare, whereas the small ones are continuous."

(Teresa Valse Panetellini)

Linus and Lessons

2012-01-05T14:55:00.019-05:00

Being a "homeschooled grandma," I continue to appreciate the lessons I'm taught by three pint- sized tutors. Funny: I missed such lessons when my own children were small. But of course that isn't funny at all.. it's understandable. I was busy with "At this moment everybody at once needs to be fed clothed diapered bathed held bandaged corrected inspected collected and perfected."

Not being the person responsible for getting everyone everywhere anymore, I take these years of grandma-time to listen for the lessons. I have found they are all around me. "Linus," for instance, gave me a lesson on new year's day. I've long called this little one (now age 3) our "little Linus" because he has been a thumb sucker since birth, and for nearly two years he dragged his beloved blankie everywhere (to church, to the grocery, fishing on a muddy riverbank with Daddy..). I suppose it's only appropriate, therefore, that little Linus has a streak of the philosopher within him. I can easily imagine him marching onstage to explain what Christmas is really all about, Charlie Brown.

On New Year's day, Linus offered the grace before dinner. His prayer was a string of thank-yous.. Thank you for Mommy and Daddy and Grandma and Pop and Mimi and the dog. Thank you for food, and Christmas, and turkey; thank you for toys and fishing poles and my new game and snow. And thank you God for cheese.

We all sat with heads bowed, the aroma of cooling food reaching our nostrils, and patiently listened. Every now and then someone would interject an "amen," which Linus saw not so much as an ending, but more of an "Amen, Brother!!!!!" as he continued on.

The lesson for me? Primarily it was one of thanks. I didn't look on Linus' grace as merely something cute; I joined in his thanksgiving, for I saw it as a real prayer. I am sure God saw it that way, too.

I wonder. What if I were to go through today thanking God for everything I think of, everything I see, everything in nature in which I see His hand? Would this please Him? Oh, I know it would. Do I want to please God today? Indeed I do.

So thank You, God for Linus and Lessons. Thank you for Linus' sisters. Thank you for sunshine and snowflakes and trees and gravy and lamplight and my family and a furnace and a house. And thank You God for cheese.

("My Linus" photo © Nancy Shuman)

a cough, a fever, and a smile

2011-12-30T23:00:00.008-05:00

My one and a half year old granddaughter has been ill with a virus. She spent most of today in my lap, at times nestling close to me as if she wanted to burrow inside. Certainly she didn't want me to leave her, even for a moment. We didn't talk, we didn't play; we just sat all day in a chair together. For three hours at one stretch, "Doodlebug" did nothing but sit with me and sleep. I claim to be a "homeschooled grandma," and today my littlest tutor taught some powerful lessons.

For one thing, Doodlebug (being good natured) has spent this week with "a cough, a fever, and a smile." I would have understood if she'd been fussy; after all, she surely feels rotten. I would have held her regardless, for I love her and want to comfort her. However, I will admit that a child who grins broadly even when bleary-eyed with fever is a child who makes life easier for those around her. It can be pure pleasure to care for such a one.

When I have "a cough and a fever" ... or a leg ache or a headache ... can people describing me add the words "and a smile?" Hmm. Highly unlikely. So - lesson one: even though I don't have Doodlebug's easygoing nature, I'm certainly old enough to exercise my free will and MAKE THE DECISION to smile even when I don't feel like doing so. It would surely make life easier for those around me. It would be an act of charity.

The other major thing I learned more deeply today was the value of being with God even without words. Sometimes there just aren't words for prayer, or sometimes they don't seem necessary, or sometimes my mind is distracted. I was touched just knowing that Doodlebug was comforted by my presence....that she wanted to be as close to me as possible. It gave me, perhaps, the tiniest glimpse of how it must touch the Heart of Our Lord when we want to linger close to Him. Doodlebug would look up at me sometimes, as if remembering I was there, and she'd touch my face with her hand. And she would smile.

I admit to being tired and physically drained from my day of comforting and being tutored. I think it appropriate, therefore, that my bedtime prayer be to simply sit with Jesus, letting Him "hold me" in my tiredness. I have a feeling He is pleased every time I take a second to remember that He's here, and that I'm being held by Him.

I have a feeling He's pleased every time I reach out for Him with a word, with my presence, with my smile.

(photo © 2012 Nancy Shuman)

the love letter

2011-12-28T20:11:00.004-05:00

"The Bible is a letter from Almighty God to His creatures." (Pope St. Gregory the Great)

the tragedy of warm frogs

2011-12-27T23:58:00.006-05:00

While on a recent "breadbox excavation," I came across the following letter from several years ago....

Dear Father Andrew, Have you heard the analogy of the frog in hot water? The story goes that if you place a live frog in a pan of boiling water, he will jump right out. But if you put him in water that's his own temperature, he'll happily stay there while you place the pan on the stove and slowly turn up the fire under it. The frog, it is said, will cook to death without even noticing that the water is getting hotter. Lately I've been reading about how partial birth abortions are done, and about such things as goddess worship in church services, and I think 'are we really so blind?!' Can it be that people are not aware that the water all around us is almost boiling already? It can feel pretty lonely to notice that the water is steadily growing hotter while so many around seem to be saying that this is exactly how the water should be and 'isn't it good that finally there is a bit of a warming trend'.... Nancy

sowing peace

2011-12-26T23:04:00.001-05:00

"Peace begins with a smile. Smile five times a day at someone you really don't want to smile at... do it for peace." (Blessed Teresa of Calcutta)

(photo © Nancy Shuman)

joy!

2011-12-15T22:48:00.012-05:00

One word we hear at this time of year is "joy." It sings to us from carols, calls to us from cards, marches across banners in the mall.

Someone once said that JOY is found by putting one’s focus and priorities in the proper order:

J esus

O thers

Y ourself

Is this "priority of focus" how St. Paul could write, in the face of persecutions, "I am filled with consolation, and despite my many afflictions my joy knows no bounds." (2 Corinthians 7:4)..?

Is this "priority of focus" what enabled some of the Church's greatest saints to endure adversities with joy? "Every torture, even death itself, will be a pleasure to me if only He may reign." (St. Margaret Mary).

May we all burst forth with "the joy of right priorities" at this holy time of year. “Rejoice in the Lord always! I say it again: rejoice!” (Philippians 4:4)

(photo on this post by Linda M)

the great expectation

2011-12-14T22:05:00.007-05:00

"Like a secret told by angels,

getting known upon the earth,
is the Mother's expectation

unpacking worlds

2011-12-12T21:03:00.013-05:00

The Christmas tree is a place where all my worlds converge. Long forgotten worlds, ones scented with cedar and eggnog and juniper and pine; I’m always surprised to find them. I open a box of ornaments and out the years tumble, jumbled together world upon world, as if some unknown weaver has been working to string them together in the dark. A dough reindeer unrolls and suddenly I’m in bell bottoms, flour in my hair as I bake and paint. A paper chain plops a blonde haired son back in my lap, with his proud announcement that this is “for you, Mommy!” There are needlepoint squares made by a relative. Vintage glass artifacts from my husband’s parents. Treasured ornaments from my childhood trees: bells and stars and my favorite blue ball with the painted word “Noel.”

Things around the tree have come and gone through the years. Gifts left under the tree have come and gone; the trees themselves have come and gone. Even the people hanging ornaments have changed. But I can sit in front of the Christmas tree and, in effect, watch all the phases of my life flash before me. It is not a bad source for meditation, and certainly it can be an opportunity for prayer. “Thank You, Lord, for coming. Thank You for family. Thank you for everyone I'm remembering; I pray for grace upon them. I ask for the repose of souls...

"O come O come Emmanuel. How greatly Your world needs You. Touch us with Your mercy and Your love....."

(photo © Nancy Shuman)

through the looking glass

2011-12-08T22:48:00.008-05:00

They're starting to arrive: the cards, the notes, the updates from friends who cannot visit. "I can't pop in for a quick cup of tea," the cards imply; "so I'm sending this in my stead. Here's what's happening with us..."

It's one of my favorite things about Christmastime. Hearing from people who take a few minutes to remember those who've been part of their lives. Perhaps the years have separated us, maybe responsibilities have called us apart; in some cases we're victims of the "tyranny of distance." But during the weeks surrounding Christmas Day, we reach out to one another almost as if time has stopped. For me it does stop, if only for a few seconds, as I sit in the "lettered presence" of a friend....

"The accidents of life separate us from our dearest friends, but let us not despair. God is like a looking glass in which souls see each other. The more we are united to Him by love, the nearer we are to those who belong to Him." (St. Elizabeth Ann Seton)

(stamp on this post from Wikimedia Commons)

behind each light, the reason

2011-11-28T21:47:00.005-05:00

Advent has only begun, and already Christmas decorations surround us. In the Church, it's time for purple and pink. We watch quietly, our spirits hushed, as light dawns slowly with the softness of sunrise.

It is quite a different story in the red and green clamor of the world.

I once spoke about this to a friend. So much hubbub, and so soon! Carols blaring, shoppers rushing... and already so many lights.

My friend looked at me with a wisdom born (I suspect) of having lived 25 years longer than I. "Did you ever think," he asked gently, "that every one of those lights is because Jesus came to us?"

Well, yeah, I said. "But not everyone putting lights on their houses is doing it specifically to honor Jesus." I was being very logical. "Some may not even believe in Him."

"Whether they believe in Him or not," said my friend, "they would not be putting up lights right now if Jesus had not come to the world." There would be no Christmas, no decorations, no special songs, no shoppers and gifters, no strings of lights on trees and houses - if Jesus had not come.

My friend went on to say that he prayed when he saw Christmas lights. He thanked Jesus for coming to us. I'm sure he seldom forgot this practice, for he was a man of prayer. This friend has now gone Home to God; he needs no more reminders. I, meanwhile, think every Christmas of his simple wisdom. I think of it with every display I see.. "This would not be here if Jesus had not come." The decorations, the cards, the lights - all trumpet out the news that Something Really Important happened on this earth over 2000 years ago.

O come O come, Emmanuel, for the world is dark and in need of you. O come, Emmanuel, and flood us with Your Light.

(thanks to Linda M for the photo... and thank you to R Grachek for the lesson of the lights)

what happens next...

2011-11-27T00:15:00.008-05:00

The trees are now bare. We feel like burrowing down into blankets and resting by a fireplace. After all, the whole earth has fallen asleep. Nights are long, and one morning we awaken to a covering of white on ground and trees, and on that day even the dingiest parts of a city seem somehow touched with beauty. We look one night into ice covered branches under moonlight or streetlight and the whole world has gone magic! The ground sparkles and we think of jewels...

(thanks to Linda M for the use of her "Snowy Pumpkin" photo)

fresh bread

2011-11-19T21:13:00.018-05:00

I feel a change coming on for these letters. Not a major one, but maybe a return to the original idea. I’m feeling drawn away from breadbox “excavations” and more toward FRESH letters, written today. Written to YOU.

A bit like fresh baked bread? One likes to hope so. Half baked? Oh, you can count on it. But maybe that’s part of the adventure of blogging. I find out what I’m thinking as I write it. On my other blog (thecloisteredheart.org), I have at least a sense of where things are going. I like doing that blog, but I enjoy this one too. I like being surprised to find myself talking about nature, and letters, and "four dwarf colds." I would like to write of winter, and autumn, and wind….

Autumn came in fast this year, just as I’d settled in to summer. I sat outside to enjoy July fireworks and three hours later (slight exaggeration, but it felt that way) there was a sudden freshness in the wind. Now the air is tinged with woodsmoke, leaves crunch underfoot, and nights are long and deep and brisk. Candles against a darkened window seem somehow cozy and necessary, and my oldest grandchild checks our supply of hot chocolate. I don’t know why I’m surprised that the trees are all bare.

Next Thursday is Thanksgiving, with Advent just after. It's a time for writing cards, and updates, and letters. It's a time to sit inside (when possible) and write of the season's treasures. I once heard that writing is a “kind of double living.” During this time of holy anticipation, I would like to doubly live.

(photo © Nancy Shuman)

I sorry

2011-11-10T20:42:00.011-05:00

Some breadbox finds are uncovered at the moment I need them. Like this one, written by me several years ago. I rediscovered it just as I was realizing I’ve been much too complacent about gifts God has given me:

    “A few days ago I was putting a bowl of soup on my two year old granddaughter's high chair tray and she (having decided that she wanted nothing to eat) yelled ‘NO!!’  She slammed the bowl off onto the floor.  Then I knelt and proceeded to silently clean up the mess as she sat there in silence.  It took me several trips up and down to get more towels.  I worked matter-of-factly.  She sat very, very STILL.  She tried giving a little giggle, and I did not respond or look up.  Then she said, very meekly, ‘I sorry.’  I stood up and kissed her swiftly on the forehead and said ‘I forgive you.’  She watched me very soberly as I got her down, and we went on about our evening as always and all was well.  

    I keep thinking of that very sweet ‘I sorry,’ and it touches my heart.”

As I read this, I can almost imagine my heavenly Father saying: “I forgive you. I have heard your ‘I sorry.’ And it touches My Heart.”

fighting fit and full of beans

2011-11-08T20:13:00.012-05:00

I went on another breadbox dig and discovered something. That is: adventures in communicating bring smiles just when I need them. Sometimes they even chase my grumpiness away.

USA

Dear Leena, 
You said Minnie was ‘fighting fit,’ and I’m afraid this is an expression I do not know.  Oh dear.  Does this mean she’s not well? - Nancy

AUSTRALIA
Dear Nancy,

I am sorry I did not allow for the fact that you might not know what ‘fighting fit’ means.  It means very well and ‘full of beans.’ Full of beans does not mean that one has devoured a can of Baked Beans for dinner, but it means that one is ‘on top of the world,’ which doesn’t mean one is sitting on the North Pole, but means that one feels as if one is ‘sparking on all fours,’ which doesn’t mean that one is a dog, a kangaroo, a squirrel or a chipmunk, but that one finds there are not enough hours in the day to achieve all one wants to achieve, so one becomes so frustrated that she goes in search of a toy to play with and discovers a yo-yo which is a thing on a string that one has to learn to ‘kinda bounce.’ Kinda bounce is a bit like ‘kinda dumb,’ which is what a favourite husband (namely yours) says when a car turns into his path and visiting Aussies gasp with ‘American fright.’ American fright is what Leena looks like when she gets out of bed every morning while visiting friends in the USA.

I had better go and slam up a sandwich for lunch - Leena

(stamp on this post from Wikimedia Commons)

battling grumpy

2011-10-27T21:34:00.005-04:00

Over the last few days, I’ve noticed rain-soaked leaves, the comfort of a warm home, the cozy sense of winter coming on. And today I noticed that I have a cold. Not just any cold, mind you, but a genuine four-dwarfer.

My husband and I began long ago to weigh our colds on the dwarfiness-scale. Snow White (we decided) was not the only one who spent time with seven little guys. Sneezy arrived at my house this very morning! Sleepy is here as well, and throughout the day I’ve been more and more aware of Dopey. And lo and behold, even as I write this, I’m feeling Grumpy pounding on the door. Yep, I have a four dwarf-cold, all right. I just hope it doesn’t go into a five-dwarfer, meaning I’ve had to call in the Doc. But of course, it will all be over in a few weeks; then I should be Happy enough.

And I really should be Bashful admitting this to you.

In a letter from (the real) Paul, I read: “We even boast of our afflictions! We know that affliction makes for endurance, and endurance for tested virtue, and tested virtue for hope.” (Romans 5:3-4) Now, a cold is usually no huge deal in the grand scheme of things – not like the afflictions Paul had to endure. But sometimes, when the throat burns and the head pounds and muscles cry out for rest, the tasks of daily life can feel a bit…. challenging. I am helped in times of physical hassles when I remember how Paul and Silas acted in prison. Remember? They’d been dragged, beaten, thrown into chains. Their muscles must have throbbed with pain, their skin would have been scraped and burned. Then, “about midnight…Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God…” (Acts 16:25). Chained, imprisoned, sore, they were praying and singing hymns. Their fellow prisoners listened, and an earthquake opened the doors and shook off everyone’s chains.

I think of this tonight and realize I have a challenge before me. I have a cold and several other “aches and pains.” Am I letting Grumpy get the upper hand? Sneezy, Dopey and Sleepy come whether I want them to or not. Grumpy knocks, but he can’t settle in for a visit unless I open the door. I am not the only person in my household, and as grumpy as I may FEEL, I can make the choice to be as kind (or at least as silent!) as I am able. I can pray, and in my heart I can sing hymns of praise to God.

If I do this, I have a feeling Grumpy might just limp on away…..

noticing

2011-10-20T22:38:00.009-04:00

Several of my breadbox treasures speak of what a friend calls the "gift of noticing." This woman and I are both nature lovers, and we've learned that we don't have to flee to woods or seashore or mountains to find touches of God's amazing handiwork. A marvel may be right before our eyes, if we only look out a window and notice what is there. Raindrops shimmering on a leaf. The coo of a dove nearby. Crisp autumn leaves blowing across a city sidewalk....

One autumn when I was in a time of personal sadness, this friend wrote: “You notice the way the sun sets earlier these days and how it reflects nicely on a window at a certain hour. You and I, we are fortunate to have this gift of observing the constant giving of nature, because in a way it sustains us. I often think that God gives us nature to observe so as to learn from it. How things bounce back… how spring always returns after winter, how there is always something beautiful even in the midst of the coldest winter day, like a sparkling icicle, the quiet glimmer of a winter moon, or holly berries covered in snow. Even in our suffering, it seems that we tend to ‘see’ some beauty in life; it is part of who we are. It is a great gift.”

A great gift, indeed. It is my belief that we all have this gift, a present from our God Who gave us a colorful, ringing, singing world.... and senses with which to notice. I hope we can take a moment, today, to notice and be thankful for something God has made.

(photo © 2010 Nancy Shuman; all rights reserved)

some breadbox excavations

2011-10-18T20:20:00.011-04:00

Going through “the breadbox” these last few days, I’ve been touched all over again by correspondence I’ve received.

Some letters illustrate truths. “During the earthquake, a friend’s crucifix fell off the wall over her bed as she was sleeping. She just grabbed it and held on. I thought ‘and that’s how it is to be.’ During all the upheavals of our lives, we must hold on to HIM.”

Some sweep me away to faraway places. “G’day from the windswept, rain drenched north of the capes. We’ve been out to the rocks, and watched the beach disappear under the hiss, froth and bubble of unrepentant waves…”

Some bring a laugh. “Our local government decided to override the people regarding time change. Some of the objections to daylight savings time were: Curtains fade with the longer hours of daylight. Cows get confused about the time to come in for milking. Now, I ask you…?!?”

In days to come, I’d like to share some rediscovered treasures. I hope you’ll come along!

(stamp on this post from Wikimedia Commons)

bigger than a breadbox

2011-10-04T21:16:00.011-04:00

"If I ever write an autobiography," I said to my husband one day, "I should call it 'Bigger than A Breadbox.'" He smiled in agreement, having known for years about my childhood breadbox letters. He'd also witnessed the widening of my world when a 1993 magazine article brought me mail, introduced me to people in unexpected places, and took us both (eventually) to the other side of the earth.

I've written many letters since the ones I penned (or more likely penciled) to "Paul." I have been blessed to receive quite a number as well. Some of these I keep in a breadbox, one almost identical to that in which I mailed letters to long-ago-Paul. In weeks to come I hope to share a few excerpts from these, for they are wise, often witty, and many times profound. They make me glad I once practiced writing at a breadbox. For who knows? Maybe it was "Paul" who actually made me love writing letters.

In that case, I suppose the breadbox has yielded a return…

(photo © Nancy Shuman; all rights reserved)

paul and company

2011-09-27T01:21:00.007-04:00

Letter received? I suppose one never knows with a blog, especially in the beginning. In this, it seems that blogs may not be all that different from Paul’s breadbox.

Today I happened to read about a Paul who was quite different from my childhood letter recipient. He was actually “my” Paul’s opposite in two key ways. For one thing (this being very important), he was real. For another: if this Paul received letters, history does not appear to know about them. This Paul was a letter WRITER, one significant enough that I’ll bet you have some of his letters in your home. He wrote such important things that others have written letters about his letters. “When Paul was absent, “ I read today, “he wrote you letters. By carefully studying these letters, you can strengthen yourselves in the faith that has been given to you.” (St. Polycarp)

I have a particular fondness for this Paul: this encouraging, strengthening, challenging, inspiring, letter- writing Paul. I am continually drawn toward not only reading his letters, but living them. I’m drawn – and called – to not just read, but live, the words in other books of the Bible as well. Now THAT is a challenge! To say I fall short is putting it mildly. But I want to keep trying. Minute by minute, I want to keep trying.

“Rejoice in the Lord always! ,” wrote Paul. “I say it again. Rejoice! Everyone should see how unselfish you are. The Lord is near. “ (Philippians 4:4-5) I don’t merely want to read these words – I want to live them.

Can I remember that the Lord is near - tomorrow - even the minute I pop out of bed? Hmm. I slide that question into the breadbox, uttering a prayer that I can spend tomorrow – at least that ONE day – making a “choice to rejoice.”

(photo on this post from Wikimedia Commons)

why a breadbox?

2011-09-20T00:37:00.020-04:00

My writing began at a breadbox. Mother’s metal breadbox, 1950s vintage with a pull-down front door - it made a dandy mailbox. Just the right receptacle for letters to Paul.

Paul was my make-believe husband, the kind that’s appropriate for an eight year old girl. I invented him for my growing family of dolls. Paul was never around, but that was no problem… I simply enlisted him in the Air Force. Did I have envelopes on hand for his letters, or stamps? Maybe not, but again: no problem. I could always get paper, and I could fold, and color, and draw.

“Dear Paul how are you I am fine. We have a new baby her name is Babs. I will put this letter in a envalop so youll get it soon.? I will write if we get another baby.”

Letter finished – letter squeezed into crack at top of breadbox door – letter sent. Letter left waiting in the darkness, stuck between Hostess Cupcakes and loaves of white bread.

Fast forward several years (okay: make that MANY years) and here I am again, at the breadbox. I have no idea how many recipients of my letters there have been between Paul and......

…..well: you.

Now that I think of it, this is the first letter I’ve mailed in a “Breadbox” since Harriet was serving Ozzie’s dinner on primetime TV. I’ve written so many letters in the meantime that my husband (the real one) once remarked that I could write them for a living. I’ve also written articles, two books, and a multitude of journal volumes in the years between breadbox and blog. But the thing is: I prefer letters to any other kind of writing. I like the spontaneity of a letter; I like the randomness. I like finding out what I’m thinking when I see it appear on a page.

And with that, I welcome you to check out the breadbox. I hope we can visit again in a day or two. I will tell you now that I’ll be chatting about prayer, and about what it means to live for God in the midst of a busy world. And who knows what else might be dashed into the mix?

For now, this first letter is finished. Squeezed into a tiny crack in a corner of the Internet. Left waiting in cyberspace, somewhere between a blog about cupcakes and one with a photo of white bread.

Letter sent.

(painting on this post, by Henriette Browne, is in United States public domain)