Morning Star

" '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...

"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...

"Oh Janine, it's for you!" I opened my eyes in surprise. Sr. Gwen Huyền was opening presents from her family. We were gathered around our Christmas tree in the convent living room. All of us had finished opening our presents. It was mostly cash since our families lived far away. Sr. Gwen's family lived in town and she still had a good size pile. "It's from Corinne." She and her husband had gotten a gift for Sr. Gwen and our community. And me? Corinne and I went to school together for ten years. We had our share of fights and talks. I became a nun. She got married. Friendships usually become acquaintances in these cases. "Old Friend from Far Away" by Natalie Goldberg The Practice of Writing Memoir An oil print of a person standing still in a serene winterscape is on the cover. Janine, I found this at a small bookstore and thought of you. Hope it gives you new ideas for writing. Old friend from far away my words stopped for so long to do homewor...

"Why don't you go out and walk a little bit? The nurses don't let you do that?" He looked at me quietly. "Have you always lived in the Dallas area?" He stretched his muscular arms and nodded gently. "Well, Bryan, if you're still here next week, I'll come back to see you. I don't want to see you here since you want to go home, but I don't know if you're going home," I continued pleasantly. "What is your name?" he asked. It was the only question he asked in our conversation. "Janine." "Janine," he repeated with a soft smile. "Yes, Janine." One of the nurses had told me Bryan had complained no body cared about him. So, I stopped by his hospital room to visit. He had been there for five months. He said he hasn't been to church in a while. He didn't complain about his illness so I wasn't quite sure why his stay was lengthy. "Paraplegic" I gasped unconsciously. I had ar...

"Geez, Vân, I just don't have much money anymore." I looked at my mom quizzically. It was her fifth time making the same comment within three days of my summer visit. It was not like her to repeat herself so often. I was thinking of her as I heard myself complaining of the heat at Marian Days. Actually everyone was commenting (or complaining) about it. Along with my friends and neighbors in Texas. Our flowers and vegetables were barely surviving. Now, we realize that Dallas almost broke the record for the longest 100-degree streak of consecutive days. It was 40 days this summer of 2011. It was 47 days in the summer of 1980. "Vân, why are you laughing at me," my mom continued. "Mom, I just realized why you don't have any money!" I chortled. "You just gave $200 to that nun from Vietnam because she said that she was raising funds for her community's work with orphans. And she told you it was difficult to do so because most ...

"Sister, what are these? They're gorgeous!" "Paper bracelets. See, this is how you wear them." I wrapped it around the teen's wrist and his eyes widened in amazement. "These are so cool! How long did it take you to make them?" "Oh, about an hour. And yes, the sisters were about to kill me because we made over 150 of them!" The sisters and I were again at Marian Days in Carthage, Missouri. The heat was stifling and we were blessed to have friends and strangers buy us iced sugarcane juice or rau má throughout the day. "How much are they?" the seven-year-old looked up at Sr. Marciana Chuẩn. "None at all. We're not selling them. We're giving them away," she replied. We weren't the only religious community giving away free stuff. The Divine Word Missionaries gave away fans, the Redemptorists gave away pens, and the Holy Ghost fathers were giving away flashlights. All these items had our we...

"Do you want to know the secret of marriage?" Dad looked at us with a mischievous wink. We had just ended their anniversary party with a 30minute slide show of our family. Dad had let us run the day's event. This was not his usual way of doing things. "Your program for us has ended. Right?" He looked at me and I nodded. "So, do you want to know?" he asked. "Only if it is the five minute version," Rose answered. We burst into laughter. Dad was famous for his lectures. Well, which Vietnamese dad isn't famous for their long-winded sermons on how to be good sons/daughters, how to be happy, how to be successful, etc. "Okay, okay. Five minutes. Ryan, you time me." Dad pointed at his oldest grandson. We smiled at Dad's good sense of humor. "Chịu đựng. That means, you put up with each other. I think in the beginning Mom put up a lot with me. Now, I put up a lot with her." We laughed again because we all were ble...

"Here Livy, have half!" Angelica tore the dead sardine in half and gave it to her sister. Fish guts hung to her fingers. The older gentleman nearby winced. Bill, Angelica's dad chuckled. The family was at Sea World in San Antonio. It was time to feed the dolphins and sardines were $6 for four. Steep prices for a bit of fun. Bill did it anyway. Angelica had just lost her mom. Bill and Lisa adopted both Angelica and Livy when their birth mom left one morning. Then Lisa contracted cancer. Bill frequently stopped by our convent to mow the yard because "he wanted to give back to the Lord a little bit." Now Angelica and Livy had lost another mom. $150 Sea World tickets were not too much. $6 sardines were not too much. Angelica and Livy may have lost two moms but God sent a father with four golden hearts. Photo credit: http://blog.isango.com/2009/07/13/seaworld-orlando/

"Janine, your order came in!" Sr. Gwen called from the bottom of the stairs. I had just gotten back from my family visit. "What order?" A week of conferences in Springfield, two weeks with family, a week on the grounds of Kings House Retreat Center, and several flights were topmost in my memory. "Someone had rang the doorbell and I found this at our door," Sr. Gwen explained. I looked at the brochures in disbelief. It was my first time doing business with this copy center and I was glad it was not too far from our convent. Although it was a little after noon in June, the heat was barely tolerable. "Everything looks good... however, the bottom part of this column doesn't look quite right." "Oh, how should it look?" "Well, it is suppose to be a gradual increase of the shade of orange. This looks algae green to me. Is that what you see?" "You are right," John Gwartney replied. "That is a block of green. It...

Blueberries for breakfast. Sliced oranges in the iced tea. Stir-fried broccoli and beef within minutes from the heat. This was not the Ritz-Carlton Luxury Hotel. It was the "Triple-T" cooking team for our Confirmation Retreat. Chị Thủy, Chị Tường, Chị Thoa. "Sơ, I can't believe this is camp food!" Annie murmured as she slowly gulped down the hot bow-tie soup. "At our camps, I always had to live on instant noodles for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snack!" "It is amazing, isn't it?" I agreed as I watched her and the youth dive into the sumptuous fare. To make the retreat feasible, the youth was charged a minimum registration fee. It was hard to expect anything more than pizza or instant noodles. I was in for a delightful surprise as chicken curry and freshly squeezed orange juice was for breakfast. Snack was home-made chocolate cookies, strawberries, and wedges of oranges laid out in formation. The Tripe-T team even made a Walmart run as...

Before loofah was in, Dad had already stuck it in our kitchen, restroom, and patio. We were horrified to see this beige vegetable "carcass" used to scrub our dishes, bodies, and barbecue grills. Of course, this was back in the early 90s when green wasn't in yet. Now, a decent natural loofah sponge costs you $5. And Dad gets to tease us, "It took Americans 20 years to catch up to me!" And the Vietnamese. Ocean, my brother called me the other day. We're planning my parents' wedding anniversary this summer. I asked him if things would change any since another sibling just lost his job. "No, Chị Vân! We give what we can. Mom and Dad went through a lot for us. It don't have to be a big shindig. You know when they did their 25th, we were too little to organize anything. Now is our time." "And however Dad wants to do it, we do it! It's their day!" Ocean continued. We both chuckled. Dad was certainly a character. But no one co...

"Hello! Here's our binder." I gently pushed our paperwork across the counter. "Saint Peter's?" "Yes, and we need to register one more." The receptionist smiled at me briefly and started to flip through the pages. I quickly sent another prayer up. Our iSPY youth was in the lobby's far corner, anxious for their T-shirts and eager to join the hundreds of youth from all over the Dallas-Fort Worth area milling in the hallways. The reality was some of these forms were hard to read. The reality was some of us may not make it through the gate because the paperwork was complex. The reality was it was our group's first participation in a diocesan youth-only event and all of us adults were nervous. "Saint Peter's?... Here is your bag with the T-shirts, wristbands for dinner, and you can pay for the extra person down that way." I breathed a sigh of relief. We were in! Seven hours later, none of us could say we didn't know the realit...

The steaming hot bowl of phở was good. Too good. Sr. Gwen Huyền's mom was taking advantage of our Tết visit to serve authentic Vietnamese cuisine. The only problem is she is also a traditional Vietnamese mom. The bowl was overly generous and 20 minutes later, I was still working on it with no end in sight. "Thái! Thái!" "Whish!!!!!!!!!!" The three little cousins chased each other rambunctiously through the house. "He bumped me!" Ellie wailed loudly. The six-year old held her lips painfully and pointed at the "criminal" accusingly. Three-year-old Thái looked bewildered. "He ran into me!" Ellie continued. Stella, her sister, nodded in agreement. The kids waited for judgment. "Thái, say sorry to Ellie," Hằng, his mom, commanded. We didn't know if Thái would do it or not since the kids have been bumping each other boisterously for several minutes without incident. Thái stepped closer to Ellie. "I can't reach...

"Sơ, do you really think donuts are necessary?" Thầy John's voice rang plaintively over the phone. "Yes... you need not worry. Oanh will pick them up and bring it to the station. You know how youth are... they're not going to think about eating a good breakfast. Getting them to wake up at 8am on a Saturday morning is a miracle. And I don't want any of them putting on a face during the rally because they're hungry." "Okay, Sơ..." He didn't sound convinced. Mass started at 10am. The cathedral was filled to overflow by 8:30am. My job was to reserve seats for our youth group and I was met with those who had the same plans. Even the adjacent multi-purpose room only had standing room left. Bishop Kevin had called for 10,000 to come to the Prolife Rally to commemorate the Roe vs. Wade court case. Dallas-Fort Worth citizens took his word to heart. The church was packed. The march was longer than the estimated 35 minutes. The parking...

12.5 inches in 24 hours for Dallas. The highest record. That's interesting to weather forecasters. Four consecutive days of no school. Students are thrilled. Teachers are ecstatic. I know. Both live in my community. That may be interesting to parents. Bone-weary from 4 weeks of student teaching. Strained to breaking from almost a year of full-time social work. That is the scenario for two of my sisters. So, it makes perfect sense why we have 12.5 inches of snow. They need rest. Why would the rest of us refuse this dazzling beauty?

35 minutes there. 35 minutes back. 40 minutes of idleness. As I felt the electricity pulse through the electrodes into my back, stillness descended upon my mind. A huge golden moon had greeted me last night as I ran some late errands. The innocent prattle of Dr. Chi's three-year-old daughter rang in the hallways. I wondered how those who have to go to regular medical treatments handle their moments of idleness. Of vulnerability. Of realizing one day our life will not be in our hands. I say to you, when you were younger, you used to dress yourself and go where you wanted; but when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go. (John 21:18) Jesus' words were addressed to Peter. Perhaps it meant that Peter will one day die crucified upside down for his Teacher and Master. Or it may be for me. An accidental fall on the staircase. And now, monthly chiropractic care. Fortunately, I have friends who will...

"I don't mean to be sassy, but Shamu is the name of a killer whale at SeaWorld!" His face lit up in a smile and he nodded slowly. "Yes, yes... but I don't think I am named after him," he replied in his bewitching French accent. That was our first meeting about a year ago. I was taken by the mildness of his manners as he lay confined to his bed, struck by a baffling illness. I came back yesterday to visit. The Avante Rehabilitation Center had undergone recent renovations and the home looked brighter and cleaner. "Hello Mr. Shamu!" He turned slowly towards me. He was an accomplished engineer who spoke three languages. "I'm sorry it has been so long since I've seen you." Silence. "I think it has been about a month." "A month is a long time." He did not say it to make me feel guilty. He was stating a fact. "I pray to God I will get out of here," he continued. One could not ignore the smell of urine...

"As you know, my brother, who is a priest, was a missionary in Bolivia for 12 years." Bishop John's eyes twinkled more brightly than the logs in his fireplace. The sisters and I were enjoying dinner with him at his home. "He enjoyed every moment of his time with the Aymara Indians... but there was a moment when he thought he was coming back here to the States. He had spent one whole year studying Spanish and where did they send him? To Bolivia highlands, where no one spoke a shred of Spanish. After 3 weeks, he went to chapel, knelt down and prayed. You know my brother is a very direct man..." "Dear God, what am I suppose to do? What the hell do you want me to do? ....and he heard an answer: Go learn Aymara." Bishop John waited for our laughter to subside and continued. "Well, he went back to the university and ended up writing a catechism for them in their language. You know, he says one of the most amazing things he saw was how the women...

"Let's make a souvenir!" I told Theresa. She was somewhat disappointed that I had forgotten the digital camera and the gift shop had run out of disposable cameras. She looked at the penny press machine slowly. "What is it?" "Oh... you've never seen one? Let me find some change. We need some quarters and a shiny penny. Go ahead and pick the image you want." The Precious Moments Visitor Center was unusually quiet and empty for a Sunday evening. Theresa and I was on our way up to Springfield, MO for our daycare's Christmas program and caroling to our two beloved Bishops. Carthage (where Precious Moments Park is located) was not too far away. "Sorry, Theresa. This is the shiniest penny the cashier inside had." Crank, crank, crank. Theresa giggled at the penny's transformation. A still figure slid next to us. He placed two quarters and a very shiny penny on the machine. We tried to return the money and tell him we were not in nee...

Ding, ding. The fuel gauge on the dashboard dropped to E. I had just left the gas station. Our car was going crazy again. A year ago, the steering wheel was loose and wobbly. $800 of car repairs later, it was still loose and wobbly. I always made sure I said my prayers and left nothing unsaid before I drove that car. Then I remembered one of our friend's offer. "Sister, if you ever need anything. Talk to my husband. He's a car mechanic." I met Chị Kiều through many youth activities in the DFW area. She was an energetic and creative youth leader. I had only glimpsed Anh Long whenever I attended Mass at the Holy Martyrs Church. I've held Kevin, their rambunctious 2-year-old in my lap, in my lap many times. I didn't want to burden them with the car's weird quirk. However, it was getting frightening to drive it. Three days after we dropped the car off at his shop, he got into an accident. His shoulder blade was broken. He knew we needed the car within a week...