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Inbox (3). Inspirational forward. Perhaps. Next email. An acquaintance I just ran into the other day after several months of absence. 39 words. The request was innocuous. The timing was enigmatic. Did I just get a Judas' kiss? Today is the Feast of St. Simon and Judas. Judas? "Didn't he betray Jesus with a kiss?" I asked when I first found out my pastor back in Sacramento was Fr. Judas Nguyễn Ngọc Ban patron saint was Judas. The other Judas. Judas, the son of James (Lk 6:16). So misunderstood was he that he is the patron saint of impossible causes. So misconstrued was he that he is called Jude today. Last unread email. Sr. Janine, your name was drawn in the raffle at the recent UD Ministry Conference. We need a physical mailing address to send you your $25 gift card. "Sister, can we build you a church?" "If you will do it for $25," I replied when I saw the sign in front of their booth, "Piazza Construction Company." The three men laughe

"Look at me!" Timmy Hamm pounded his chest as his mom tied the superman's cape around him. His ribs protruded from beneath the costume. I smothered my giggle as I said, "Yes, Timmy you are awesomely glorious as Superman!" "No, Sr. Janine! I am Superman!" four-year-old Timmy proclaimed. Last Saturday, Sr. Gwen Huyền went shopping for Halloween candy and I thought of Timmy Hamm. And his desire for glory. I also thought of another acquaintance. 1. Ladies' man 2. POW 3. Environmentalist Hardly the resume for a man admired by Hindus, atheists, Muslims, and Christians alike. He was a dull student, attending school for only three years. He liked to sing and his friends called him, "Dominus", King of the Party. Francis sought glory in war and found himself in prison. He did not give up his dream and tried to re-invent himself as a knight. He fell sick on the first day and heard a voice pronounce, "Serve the Master, not the man." Fr

"Wow, is this a game?" A 4-foot white panel with varying prizes stood at an angle to the two young women. This was one of the many booths at the University of Dallas Ministry Conference this past weekend. "It's a disc drop game. You get three discs. If two of your discs fall into the same category, you win that object. Sister, would you like to play?" "Shine" exploded from behind her. It was the name of their organization printed on the backpack. They were a Catholic workcamp where youth get opportunities to serve for a registration fee of $300. Shine blazed from Amy Florian as she asked us, "What is the death rate?" "100%," a man answered. Why deny the human condition? Why not embrace it as a doorway into the sacred? She led the workshop on "End-of-Life Issues." Shine flashed from Robert McCarty as he joked, "Do you know why Catholics don't sit in the front row? I am convinced that we still don't know w

A patch of white stared back at me. I drew in a sharp breath. Already? The flashlight revealed an adorable-looking raccoon. The trap had worked. We had placed fish and pork bones as bait. I had refrained from using a trap because I wanted to share the garden with this night visitor. Four mums lay crushed underneath the flattened purple heart plants. Three-inch deep holes dotted the garden. At first, it was just the purple heart plants that were bruised. Then, it started gnawing on the melons. It had a favorite one and every day, it took a distinct bite into the green-striped skin. The mums were not of a rare exotic kind. It died in the winter and grew back with a wild freedom. Every year, in November, we gathered armfuls of blooms to bring to the cemetery and laid them at graves, known and unknown. On the Irving City website, the animal control services described this trap as "humane." It does not hurt or wound the animal. Humane? Trap? Is a trap ever "humane"? Why

"Sister, that was amazing!" I looked at Chị Thảo quizzically. I had just finished singing a classical piece in honor of Sr. Eileen Phượng's final profession of vows. "I have to admire your courage!" With that, we both broke into a burst of laughter. I, in turn, admired her good-natured sincerity. She dared to voice what many outside my religious sisters would deem impolite: This nun can't sing. Well, it didn't stop Sr. Eileen from requesting me to perform. Who was I to deny her? As I climbed the stage, my sisters were in a daze. Sr. Eileen's family picked up the restlessness and smiled at me wonderingly. As the notes of the piano trembled in the air, I began. An enormous hurricane of laughter shook the room. My sisters laughed whole-heartedly, slapping each others' knees as tears rolled down their cheeks. I later found out that they only heard the first three notes I sung. They were tickled at my audacity. That was five years ago. As I saw Ma

The bubbles slowly rose to the top. "Perfect! Let's add the sugar then the flavoring." "Isn't it cool that thạch is made from seaweed?" Ni Hà said triumphantly as we slowly poured the thick liquid into the mold. "Seaweed?" Sr. Gwen Huyền's nose slightly wrinkled in distaste. "Aaaah... you know what Jello is?" I questioned casually. Sr. Gwen has a fondness for Jello. "Gelatin!" "What is gelatin?" I pursued off-handedly, with a slow grin. She looked at me warily. 90.1 KERA In 1896, the best selling cookbook of the era was published, "The Boston Cooking School Cook-Book." Interesting news for national public radio. It was the Victorian period and Fannie Farmer, the author, included many recipes like mock turtle soup and jellies. Or Jello as we call them today. Jellies were made by boiling calves' feet for hours. The method is much more efficient today to extract the collagen or gelatin. The material (

"Sister, the box is here." I briefly looked up from knotting my friendship bracelet. The cool air of Camp Crucis held me lightly. Some of the Thiếu Nhi youth rushed into the building. Ms. Mai continued her comments. "That's a beautiful bracelet. I know it takes a lot of patience to do it." A small smile crept across my face. "Well... I saw the huynh trưởng fiddling with it and it brought me back to when I was a kid. We use to make these bracelets all the time for our friends. The huynh trưởng figured out they were doing it wrong because their threads keep getting twisted so I'm trying to complete this so they would have a good model." "I can't do what you do Sister, but I use to do some crochet myself. And you know, I heard the other day that there is a famous football player that crochets. He does it all the time. He says it gives him patience." "What's his name?" "I can't remember... but I'm sure you

"Shall it be the pink or the Brut?" The edges of the two bottles peeped over the cooler. An array of chocolates, cookies, and a cheesecake luxuriantly filled the plain gray tables. Pink or Brut? It was Joe's birthday and he decided to share the day with us, his Moral Theology classmates. "Dr. Lowery, what would I tell my sisters that I learned in class today if we spend some time eating and drinking?" I wondered mischievously. "Ah, that St. Thomas Aquinas would say that one should enjoy every good in its order. When it is taken out of its place, that we have problems. So, if one of us starts to not make sense, we will know that the good, wine, has been taken out of order!" We laughed appreciatively at Dr. Lowery's elegant verbal flourish and his great Catholic sense of celebration. Many would claim that to be close to God, to the spiritual and supernatural, one had to say "no" to all earthly enjoyments. As lives of the saints and Jesu

Quickly clambering up the table, he beamed down at me. His broad frame belied his nimble movements. A light bulb dangled from his fingers. "See, Sister? Same light, less wattage, more savings." Several months back, he had said Mass at our convent and noticed that our lights was the old kind. "Tsk, tsk, you are wasting money," he sternly remarked. A huge boyish grin broke through. "Do not worry, I will do something about this." He had come back a week later with Jesse, the parish's maintenance man and they together replaced our kitchen lights. He was back again a few days ago with a boxful of brand-new energy saving light bulbs. A lighting company was willing to donate to the church several boxes and with a few words, they added another boxful for the convent. I was not surprised at Father Claír's determination and resourcefulness. He was the same man who gained for St. Luke parish full ownership of their church by paying off a $600,000 plus deb

Beep, beep. Averted faces. "Spirit fingers" going up. And down. Thirty of us were lined on the corner of Garland and Buckner. I wasn't quite sure how our iSPY youth would handle passing motorists' reactions to our signs. "Abortion kills children." "Adoption: the Loving Option." "Jesus Forgives and Heals." We were participating in Life Chain. We were standing in honor of 50,000,000 lives ended during pregnancy. We were remembering the loss of talent, gifts, and uniqueness each person possesses. "The person who was suppose to find the cure for AIDS was probably aborted," Mother Teresa said. I had shared this quote with the youth before we departed from the church. We were silent. Abortion is never an easy topic to discuss. Perhaps this is why we stand in silent witness to persons (gals and guys) who had to make this difficult decision. Perhaps this is why we were willing to brave the sun, the fatigue, and the uncertainty of how