Morning Star

"What's a primate?" "A monkey," I replied. Silence. I had a lurking hunch I had said something wrong. The professor peered at me. "When Pope John XXIII wanted to convoke a Vatican Council, many primates or bishops in the curia was opposed to the idea. They felt there was nothing wrong with the church and the idea of assembling bishops from all over the world was useless." My classmates giggled quietly. Ooops. I couldn't help thinking about rodents and mischievousness since my garden is constantly pestered. Three inch holes and a trail of broken stems signaled the antics of an opossum. I usually ignored these inteferences because I knew the animal was blind. However, my dưa gang (melon fruit) was ripening beautifully. Visitors told me I could only get rid of an opossum with a professional exterminator. "His secretary said, "This is an important decision. One does not make it alone." The Pope replied, "You are right. The Ho

"1-2-3 Ninja!" Silent chops whistled through the air. Faces were still and attentive. Right lunge. Backward slash. Left step. Maria bursted out laughing. We joined in. The game did make us look silly and the trickling crowd of persons coming to St. Peter's Tết Trung Thu Festival were puzzled by our frozen non-sensical postures. Our iSPY youth group had moved chairs, inserted candles into the paper lanterns, and got the stage ready. We were waiting for the dragon dance which marked the beginning of the festivities. We were ahead of schedule. It was time for "Ninja!" Minutes sped by. Nacho cheese and jalapenos were scooped into bowls. Hot dogs in creamy white buns were placed into guests' welcoming hands as they got hungry from watching the show and breathing in the clear night air. The moon shone in its golden glory as clouds drifted past its surface. Tommy served everyone with a huge smile. Hương and Magdalene stayed faithful to the beverages post. Hùng An

If I had to be a fairy, I would be a tree fairy. Would you let me watch over you when you break forth into the dark earth? Would you let me hang dew drops on your tender green leaves? Would you let me play with you when your friends, the bee and the ladybug, visit your flowers? Would you let me hug you when the storms come and the bugs bite? Would you let me sit near you when your roots are firm and your branches reaches heavenward? Would you let me kiss you goodbye when your fruit is picked and your body chopped for firewood? Would you let me welcome you back as you fall back into the earth to give forth new life? Would you let me be a tree fairy so I know how to be a real person? There is an old proverb: If you have vision for a year, plant wheat. If you have vision for 10 years, plant a tree. If you have vision for an eternity, plant a child. This poem is dedicated to my nieces and nephews, to our aspirants in my religious community, and all the youth I work with, especially the iSP

"Here Sister, this is the prettiest one of all today!" She gently bit into the fruit, slowly sweetened by the sun's late summer rays. A slight breeze broke through the twilight hours. The pear tree stood majestic, despite half its body has been ripped by a lightning storm. "Lord, hear our pear." As Sr. Jacinta Ngân munched away and the sisters trailed behind me on our walk, I could hear the murmur of my dad's voice. Every evening, summers ago, mom and dad packed all seven of us into a station wagon and we went to daily Mass. The Vietnamese church was too far away and so we attended St. Paul's Catholic Church, an eight-minute drive. We watched in silence as this was our first time attending a Mass in English. "Lord, hear our pear." Until the general intercessions. My dad's voice reverberated deeply, its warm resonance lingering in the air. Lord, hear our pear? It didn't sound right but one does not question a Vietnamese patriarch. It

I wish I had a skirt with long ruffles to take you by the hand into the dancing waters of the ocean so you feel the tug of the waters and my heart. ps1. In honor of the Harvest Moon, the most beautiful moon of the year and the occasion of a huge Vietnamese children's festival. ps2. In honor of love that made me meet LOVE. ps3. Photo from http://www.pettiskirtstyle.com/

"What did one goldfish say to the other goldfish?" "Who's gonna drive this tank?" It was break time in our Moral Theology class at UD (University of Dallas) and it is a long-standing tradition of Dr. Mark Lowery to share jokes. The cornier the better. I had met him five years ago when my superiors asked me to start a master's program. He was the current chair of the theology department, a man distinguished in his demeanor, and piercing in his replies. He is still the chair of the department and it takes him five minutes to lower his body into a chair. I was shocked when I saw his bent limbs. His words still pierce, as he lectures from memories and turns arguments upside down. More piercing is the light that radiates from his eyes. It gleams when he is refuting a philosophical error. It twinkles when he tells jokes. It blazes when he spoofs of his physical limitations. And it is a blaze of gentle self-deprecation. I was going to learn more than moral theolog

We were called by name. We were asked to remain in position. We were filed singly and marched up (by elevator) to the fifteenth floor. "All stand. Jury entering." We entered the courtroom. Two lawyers, a special agent, and the defendant peered at us. We were going to undergo "voir dire." It is an Anglo-French term for "speaking the truth." "Ms. X, you are a software engineer?... Numbers have to be exact in your profession, correct?... And yet, you know life is not that clear-cut?" "Mr. Z, you are a manager?... For how long?.. When a dispute occurs, do you listen to both employees?.. Why?" As the questions rolled, it was obvious that the lawyers were trying to get a feel of our personalities and principles through our occupations and family backgrounds. This is voir dire's purpose Judge Reed O'Connor implied in the beginning explanation. The beauty of the American justice system is every defendant gets a trial by jury. And

"This is a table... where we sit down together to eat and share stories." "This is a chair that goes with the table... and so it is like your friends can "sit" on you... and that is like joy." I could've gotten the words wrong a bit. However, the straw contraptions were unmistakable. It was the first day of iSPY youth group at St. Peter's. 26 showed up. The ultimate question at hand: What is joy? Sunshine that gives warmth? A hopping bunny that evokes a smile? A cube that is open? A table and chair? Parents, who was invited to join our session, had an inkling this was why their kids do the things they do. Youth usually know this is the lurking force of why we do what we do. The secret is out. Joy is everywhere. You can buy "it" for 99cents, find it on-line, or look for something that endures. And sometimes it takes a little spying. And that is our mission this year. To spy God's care of us in every moment of every day. ps. For mor

"Sister, you're Vietnamese?" "Oh yes! Vân means cloud." "Well, I'm half-Vietnamese! I know, usually no one can tell... my mom is Vietnamese," Austin exclaimed. "Wow! Who could've guessed?" Who could've guessed Vietnamese blood coursed through his veins? Who could've guessed the gift of this encounter, turned extraordinary, as I was about to leave the retreat and he only meant to give me a brief word of thanks for my presence? Who could've guessed how much more closely we are bound to each other than meets the eye? It has been a week since I joined TYM for their Ignite retreat. When I came home, the mysterious vine that grew near my mums revealed its identity. My sisters had told me to kill it and that its little yellow flowers will not bear fruit because we were not sure it would need another vine for cross pollination. 8 little dưa gang (type of cantaloupe) was coyly hidden among the leaves. How it got there, no one

"I want porn!" The crowd of teens giggled and the adults winked. Meeri collected her T-shirt and went to get changed. Hate. Lust. Envy. These were all the things that the Ignite retreat wanted to burn away from the retreatants' hearts and horizons. So faith, love, and joy can light up the whole world. We were gathered at Camp Copass for Labor Day weekend and it was "free time" for the retreatants. And practice time for the retreat team. The "chain skit" was all about being chained to porn, hate, lust, envy, and more. These "demons" wore white T-shirts with their vices spray-painted on them. A strobe light gave a dizzying effect. Who could possibly free themselves from these seductive lies? Jesus. The simple answer. The only answer. The forgotten answer. As skit followed upon skit, testimony upon testimony, and song upon song, I prayed that this weekend will become indelible upon the youth's memories. It has been spectacular because I ca

"How do you like it, Mom?" The deep blue of Monterey Bay spread beneath our feet. The sands on the beach twinkled brightly. "I'm getting lightheaded... I can't wait for this to be over." The sky lift was half-way through its course and we could see a long line of persons waiting for their turn. "Mom, I thought you wanted to do this ride?!?" "Well, I think it is the only ride my diabetes and high-blood pressure would allow and so I did it. I'm usually a little scared of heights," she replied hastily with a grin. "And you think I get my dare-devil blood from dad!" She pinched my arm good-naturedly. It was not the first time we were on holiday together. "Holiday" originally referred to "Holy day", religious days set aside to worship God. And rest as He did on the 7th day of creation. It's Labor Day holiday. Once a year for most of us. The Creator has one every week. Perhaps this explains the creativity

Tap. Tap. It was 6:07 and we were at the end of our morning prayer. "It's Father," Sr. Gwen Huyền whispered. I was still half-asleep and so Sr. Jacinta Ngân left the chapel to open the door for him. Father Paul Hải, CSsR offered to celebrate 6:30am Mass at our convent. We were ecstatic because it would save us half an hour of driving to a Mass. "Oh, a cricket!" Father exclaimed in the midst of his homily, as the tiny critter inched slowly towards the ambo. We were hoping he wouldn't notice the extra "parishioner" and his comment erupted laughter from us. "I started from home at 5:30 because I didn't want to be late. When I got here at 6, I waited out in the car for 10 minutes because I didn't want to disturb you." Father took advantage of the pause in the solemnity of the Mass to explain why he arrived early at the convent. Thunder and lightening rumbled outside. "Dragon eyes," Sr. Jacinta Ngân explained, when I sa

"She has helped make me whom I am today," my brother revealed. A ladybug flew into the flower patch I was watering in our convent garden. It was Anh Quí's birthday and I had called to wish him blessings. Like the rest of the family, he lived in Sacramento. "Anyone can tell Chị Mai is a lady by the way she speaks, dresses, and works... oh but sometimes she bugs me to do stuff I don't really want to do (soft chuckle and pause) but in the end, it's all for good," he continued reverently. Three children, 15 years of marriage, and several job losses erased all doubt of the sentimentality of his comment. The ladybug glowed in the late evening sun, its scarlet coat scintillating imperceptibly as water droplets flecked its wings. It ate an aphid that was gnawing at a flower petal. Ladybugs. A lady that bugs? Or a bug? Chị Mai may be offended if I called her a ladybug. And yet, a ladybug is not a bug. It is an insect. D uring the Middle Ages in Europe, inse