Morning Star

A baby flower Yellow grass. Abundant weeds. Dying flowers. For the past seven years, I have tried getting use to this sight as I looked at our convent grounds. None of us had any skills or time for the garden and have let things be. Which meant we had more weeds than grass in our yard. Which meant the hardy mini-roses survived and the other flowers shriveled in the Texas heat. Which meant we chopped down three trees as they slowly went to their death. I wondered how my dad maintained our green yard back home in Sacramento. I wondered how he planted 9 varieties of vegetables and 4 different kinds of fruit trees. I wondered how he found the time to pluck weeds, change oil for three cars, and finish books cover-to-cover. After seven years, I could not get use to the sight of yellow grass, luxuriant weeds, and dying flowers. I decided to head out. Into the garden. Which is "geard" in Old English. Meaning enclosure. Gardens, by definition, are enclosed an...

First Amaryllis of this May! "What is it?" Dao asked me. "It's an amaryllis," I answered. She gazed doubtfully upon the slender plain stems poking out of the pot. "It's a flower?" she asked slowly. "Yes.  I know you don't see any leaves on it and the bud is quite flat, but it's a flower." I reassured her. I had just come home from Our Mother of Perpetual Help Parish and my arms were full of gifts. Candy, snacks, fried shrimp, lotion, with knick knacks.  And the amaryllis. All from catechists who wanted to spoil me and my community for Christmas. The amaryllis peeked out from the tall gift bag. According to Greek mythology, Amaryllis was a shy shepherdess who fell deeply in love with Alteo, a shepherd with the strength of Hercules and the beauty of Apollo.  Her affections were not returned and she hoped to win his heart by giving him what held his attention:  flowers.  Following the instructions of the oracle of De...

"Fr. Alex was here today," Sr. Jacinta Ngân said. "Oh?  Is he back from his sabbatical already?" Sr. Terry Thủy asked. "Yes.  He came with gifts, little Jerusalem crosses for each of us," Sr. Jacinta Ngân continued. Last year, Fr. Alex had come to say Mass twice for our convent because the priests nearby at St. Luke's was tied up with First Reconciliation for over 900 kids.  He had wanted to come more often, yet we feared for his safety.  He was over 80 years of age and his home was a good 20 minutes from our convent. "He asked me what was the name of the sister that worked at the hospital, the one he worked with," Sr. Jacinta Ngân elaborated with a twinkling smile.  "I told him, Sr. Janine, Father, Sr. Janine." We giggled at Fr. Alex's lapse in memory.  It was amazing that he served as a chaplain at Parkland Hospital to over 1000 Catholic patients and still remembered the location of our convent. "Oh yes, oh yes,...

"What is a saint?" Fr. Jaime asked. Hands shot up in the church. "Some one who is holy," a little girl replied. One can spy miniatures St. Patrick, St. Rose, St. Jean of Arc, and others wiggling in the pews. It was the Feast of All Saints and the children from St. Luke's School had come to Mass. "What is a saint?" Father asked again. "Some one you can pray to." "Some one who loves God a lot." "Last night, I saw a lot of trick-or-treaters.  Some of them were dressed like superhero characters like Batman and Wolverine.  But their powers aren't real.  It's fake because these are just stories.  But the saints, their power is real!" Father paused. "What is a saint?" "Some one who doesn't watch TV!"  Jesus called a child over, placed it in their midst, and said, “Amen, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven."  (Mt 18:2...

"She had just lost her baby.  It's been three hours.  And she was still holding on to it." I looked at Carlos carefully. He was the head of the Women and Infants Department at the hospital, 15+ years a chaplain, and a nurse. "I told her it was time to let go.  Time to let God take control.  Time to take control of myself.  Blah, blah, blah, you know what I mean," Carlos continued in a playful tone.  A smile was beginning to break on his face. It was not usual for Carlos to view death as someone else's loss. He was a man of deep sensitivity. "She looked at me after I was yakking my mouth for almost 30 minutes... Then I smelled it... Gas!"  He stopped as giggles began to engulf his sentences. "Then she looked at me and said, 'Some things you can't control!'" ps.  Memories of my days as a chaplain at the hospital. Photo Credit:  http://www.xda-developers.com/android/get-more-control-of-your-htc-sensation-with-t...

"There were a lot of priests in there," Lyly noted. "And a bishop.  5 priests and our auxiliary bishop," I added. The room was jam-packed. Although the workshop was set in mid-afternoon, not one person nodded off. A multi-billion dollar industry. Minimal regulations. Innovative research. "We say we're going to get married and have children," Angelique Ruhi-López said. "Perhaps we might want to consider saying that we receive children," Carmen Santamaría, her co-speaker shared. "If it is to have children, then we feel entitled to them," Santamaría continued. "Hence, all these procedures to have a baby.  Have you seen the adds for egg donors?  $5,000.00 - $10,000.00.  And these young women take drugs to hyperstimulate their ovaries so that instead of producing one mature egg a month, they are producing 10-20.  Do we know the effects of pumping drugs into young women?  No.  Yet, it is still being done," Ruhi-...

She did ask if I had read it. I did.  In high school. She gave it to me anyways. A Separate Peace. A story of two teenage friends. Boys who were roommates. Then one became jealous. As usually happens. And the other unawares. As it is usually. They both climb a tree one day, together. As they had the whole summer. They were suppose to jump off the limb, together. Into the river below. As they had the whole summer. For an inexplicable reason, one jounced the branch. Ever so slightly. The other, a natural athlete, fell and broke his leg. Never to walk properly again. Much less play sports. Maybe the reason wasn't so inexplicable. Maybe it was like the war that was happening around them. World War II. Where people shoot each other for reasons they don't know. The book doesn't end there. The one who broke his leg, fell again. And dies. What goes through the heart of the one who is still alive? The friend who wonders at what makes himself jo...

"Sister, I have a question to ask you." Trinh looked at me pointedly. Hundreds of students were filing out of the school's main doors. "Go ahead."  My eyes darted to a parent who seemed to be hunting for a lost child. "Well, Hùng was wondering if you designed your community's website." "Yes, I did.  But I don't volunteer that information because I already have enough work here." "You, have work?" she responded with a mischievous smile. Trinh was one of 72 catechists who help teach over 900 students in Sunday School at Giáo Xứ Đức Mẹ Hằng Cứu Giúp in Garland.  The church had just dedicated a new education center at the start of the school year. "Oh, I don't have any thing to do.  All these parents read the church's newsletter or goes on our school's website and so they know what's going on.  They don't call me and ask me for information that is already given.  They take their kids to scho...

Sisters at Salerno's Artichoke Lucia.  Baked with Italian cheeses and breadcrumbs. Grilled fillet salmon on a bed of blanched spinach and mushrooms, topped with pine nuts. 8oz. marinated and charbroiled steak topped with sauteed mushrooms; served over linguine. Saturday night at Salerno's. It was time to "open community." Every year we choose a venue to celebrate the beginning of our time together as a religious community.  This year the venue chose us. "Bingo!" An almost audible gasp escaped from the surrounding tables. Sr. Leslie Thu at our table had won another bingo game. A Knight of Columbus member handed her a sealed envelope. Her eyebrows arched in delight. It was a $50 Walmart gift card. We cleared our cards and another round started. It was the Knights of Columbus Sisters Appreciation Luncheon. It was on a early Sunday afternoon. They had sent the invitation two months ago. Sr. Jacinta Ngân had "highly encouraged" ...

"I think it is an empty photo frame and we put our pictures in it," Trúc commented. "Must be.  This retreat house is open to all sorts of people and so some must bring pictures of their family."  I paused momentarily.  "I didn't bring any."  We both laughed softly because we couldn't figure out any other reason for the sisters to place black and white photos in our rooms.  And of a serious looking girl too. The aspirants and I were on retreat at the Mount Carmel House of Prayer in Houston, ran by the Missionary Carmelites of Saint Teresa. "Nothing is so like God as stillness," remarked the 14th-century German mystic Meister Eckhart.  We got plenty of stillness the past few days. Yet, the black and white photos lingered in the back of my mind. Along with the plaques in Spanish. "Vamos a vivir con Dios con un amigo." Sor Isabel. "Creer que un ser que se llama el Amor habita en nosotros, en todo instante."...

A shepherd boy searching for treasure and love. He encounters a king and an alchemist. And a thief. Fictional story, yes. Yet, "The Alchemist" dares stupendous assertions. “And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.”  The whole book is based on this premise. Do you really attain your dream if you truly will it? The atmosphere of the story is ethereal. It is filled with nudges to look within, such as, "Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself.  And that no heart has every suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of the search is a second's encounter with God and with eternity." Some have said "The Alchemist" is a vague New Age spirituality that would collapse under close application.   Published in 1988, it has sold about 35 million copies and is the most translated book in the world by any living author. Perhaps it is a vague...

$6.8 million dollars. 29,000 square feet. 750,000 pounds of marble and granite. The Vietnamese Martyrs Catholic Church had become the the largest-capacity Vietnamese church in the United States on December 10, 2011.  Our sisters from the mother house in Việt Nam were impressed.  They weren't the only ones. Visitors come weekly to gaze upon the harmonious interweaving of French and Vietnamese architecture.  Or ViVi's huge oil paintings of the Holy Family as Asian.  And enjoy the cool walk in the church's portico, reminiscent of ancient Greek temples. When I first attended the Dedication Mass, I was unaware of its cost. Thousands of dollars were poured into the candlesticks that lined the church walls. Enough to buy ten 55-inch TVs. Much  more was given to obtain the ornately-wrought gold tabernacle. I marveled at the generosity of the parish's 1,250 families. We ended the visit with dinner at the Thanh Thanh restaurant, about 10 minutes from the c...

What do you do when the person you love doesn't remember you? What do you do when the memories of your love together haunts you, and not them? Meet Leo. What do you do when it seems as if life is complete with a happy family and an ex-fiance who still cares for you and this strange man keeps reminding you that you have a memory loss? Meet Paige. Paige and Leo are happily married.  Newly-weds who wrote their own vows and staged their wedding (illegally) inside the Art Institute of Chicago.  Then the car accident. I did spot the cover at Target. It looked like another romantic chick flick. It has all the sweet moments. I vow to help you love life, to always hold you with tenderness and to have the patience that love demands, to speak when words are needed and to share the silence when they are not and to live within the warmth of your heart and always call it home.  - Paige And doesn't shirk the hard moments. How do you look at the woman you love, and te...

Our Lady of Fatima "This is how you are to hold the rosary." Each of us looked at my mom carefully as she wound the plastic beads around my hand and into my little pinkie.  My younger siblings were in awe that I was deemed mature enough to hold a full-length rosary.  They only got to hold the little finger ones during our family prayer.  I was eight. "That way, the rosary doesn't slip off your hand and it keeps moving smoothly from decade to decade," mom continued. I've never quite seen anyone hold the rosary like my mom. Literally.  Most people's rosaries dangled unexpectedly into their armpits or near their behind. My mom held the rosary as any fantasy game character would hold her sword. Carefully and consciously. Never letting it leave her sight. Ready to do battle for justice and mercy. As mom ages, she's beginning to forget which pieces of jewelry marked which occasion. She's beginning to forget recipes to our favorite di...

" 'Do you have a kippah ?' That's what this visitor asked for." One of us pointed to our head. "Yes... yes, you know kippah is Hebrew for a head covering for men." My class and I was at the Dallas Holocaust Museum for an on-site learning experience. Or a field trip for college students. "Does anyone know why traditionally Jewish men wear a kippah ?" the docent continued. "It's a sign of respect and fear for God, acknowledging that God is above us," one of my classmates offered. "Right before your group walked in, this man asked for this. This was the first time in all these years I heard someone asking for a kippah. I think he recognizes some thing of what is here, some thing of why are here. We are in the realm of sacredness," she continued. None of us spoke much on our way back. We had been full of comments and observations on our first field trip to the synagogue. We knew we didn't have a kippah to wear. But w...

"Sisters, would you have some coffee?" Sr. Jacinta Ngân and I looked at each other hesitantly. We were on our way out to the 7:00am Mass at Annunciation Parish. "Sir, we wish we could, but we have to keep our fast for Communion," I explained gently. "Well, you must come back to enjoy it!" he offered insistently. It was a hard offer to resist. For the past two morning, Mr. Thưởng (or Ông Thưởng) had awoken early and made each of us a tall mug of roasted coffee, with a generous serving of condensed milk. Authentic Vietnamese cà phê sữa or an equivalent of three Starbucks tall cappuccinos. Each cup took a good 15 minutes to make if the coffee is to be drip-brewed properly. "We'll try," I replied, hoping this was a polite rejection. We were in Albuquerque to visit our new aspirant, Quỳnh Dao, and her family. We were staying with Ông Bà Thưởng because their house had an extra room. Our other activity was to promote vocations at the Vietnamese C...

"Dad, what are you doing? "I'm trimming this branch so the whole bush will look like a dove in several years." I had just gotten home. Fourth-grade in a new school was grueling. "Dad, what happened to our roses?" "Well..." he said slowly. "They were so pretty... white ones, yellow ones, red ones, my favorite was the yellow with red edges," I prattled on. "You know how Mom went to the doctor the other day." I nodded, suddenly noticing how slow he spoke. "They said she was allergic to pollen. Roses have pollen." He bent his head and went back to trimming. I looked around our front yard. I just realized that Dad had uprooted every flowering plant in the last few days: his eight rose bushes, the jasmine vine that climbed all over our front fence, and the hibiscus flowers that bordered our left path. He had put down other plants in its place, like this evergreen shrub. Every year, when Lent begins and all the flowers a...

"How was the Chapter, Father?" "Well. Thank you for asking. It was very short," Fr. Roch answered, peering over his glasses. My classmates and I were settling down to our Ecclesiology class at the monk's library. Fr. Roch, our instructor, had shared with us that his Cistercian community were having elections for a new abbot. The process is usually called Chapter of Elections. "The vote was practically unanimous. This is a blessing. It means that we are united," Fr. Roch continued. No one exactly knew how old Fr. Roch was but scores of college professors across the United States boast of being taught by him. "I was telling my freshman class that Fr. Peter, our new abbot, is a wonderful man. You know, he was my student. The class of 1973." 1973. All of us in the room definitely wasn't even born yet. "They asked me how I felt about kneeling down in front of Fr. Peter, my student, and vowing obedience until the day of my death....

"Vân, here you go!" My dad handed me a tiny package. I looked at him closely. Like most Vietnamese fathers, he rarely gave gifts. Not even on birthdays. "It might be helpful when you bake," he explained. Then he disappeared into the garage. I slowly opened the plain white box. The priest said St. Valentine didn't exist in this morning's homily. And this is the reason why the Roman Catholic Church does not include his name on the liturgical calendar. Perhaps Father was concerned that his flock would reduce today's holidays to outward signs of affection. Or he didn't realize that the Libreria Editrice Vaticana (Vatican's official publishing house) in its Martyrologium Romanum stated that the "martyr Valentinus the Presbyter and those with him at Rome" remains in the list of saints proposed for veneration by all Catholics. He's just not in the universal calendar. It wasn't a box of chocolates. Or a hand-written letter. A batte...

It's easy to like Hiccup because he doesn't like himself. Everyone knows what it's like not to like yourself. It's easy to feel sorry for Stoick the Vast. He's Hiccup's dad and he has no clue about his son or his enemies, the dragons. Everyone knows what it's like to think you know your reality and your enemies. It's the year of the dragon and I was looking for a dragon-themed movie. Fr. Joseph at the Redemptorist monastery had extolled the dragon's ability to spew both water and fire. It's mythical yet in legends of every part of the world. With or without wings, it flies. In the East, they're signs of luck. In the West, they're enemies. The movie can't be too dramatic. Some of the sisters don't like to cry. The movie can't be too action-packed. Some of the sisters don't like blood and gore. Between Hiccup, Stoick, and Toothless, the dragon, something was there for everyone. I think something will be there for you i...