tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42867568132495747622024-02-20T04:06:16.391-06:00Finding Time For GodOne woman's search for the divine midst the dailyBeryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.comBlogger65125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-53946302198869081552022-04-07T16:23:00.002-05:002022-04-07T16:32:04.561-05:00Hospice in Lent: Beryl's Spring Newsletter<p> </p><p class="MsoTitleCxSpFirst"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 16pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWMAGaxzoxJNLvaeuD5Agx96VMMtlxSXCW9zeH1_W4Cigb87jcMIvwXKQqlnB4DISzZYdXHc7yAvvQ_G13Qv4I4emMAUDpPlbry4gAvmI0Wh8dZ26B-JjOznIIoYkTDN5RPkZVMvgevzB3iDKMbw4vujZF26h5bVCVBFi7cmvqjAR0FTHYCf_Vmmcd/s291/IMG_1307.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="291" data-original-width="291" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWMAGaxzoxJNLvaeuD5Agx96VMMtlxSXCW9zeH1_W4Cigb87jcMIvwXKQqlnB4DISzZYdXHc7yAvvQ_G13Qv4I4emMAUDpPlbry4gAvmI0Wh8dZ26B-JjOznIIoYkTDN5RPkZVMvgevzB3iDKMbw4vujZF26h5bVCVBFi7cmvqjAR0FTHYCf_Vmmcd/w320-h320/IMG_1307.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <span style="color: #2f5597; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #2F5597; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=75000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: accent1; mso-themecolor: accent1; mso-themeshade: 191;">Spring 2022<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoTitleCxSpMiddle" style="tab-stops: 70.95pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif">Though this newsletter is a year
late, I’ve thought of you often and planned to connect earlier. I tried several
times but could not summon the will to continue. I’d run short of inspiration</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">.</span></p>
<p class="MsoTitleCxSpMiddle"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">When asked how I’m doing, I say,
“great” but does the ability to smile equate with feeling great?</span></p>
<p class="MsoTitleCxSpLast"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span face="Arial, sans-serif">My husband Bill,
who was diagnosed with </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif">terminal <span style="font-family: arial;">interstitial </span></span><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><span style="font-family: arial;">lung</span> disease three years ago, was
recently admitted to hospice. </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif"> </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif">Lent is
almost over. It’s been a time when the cross has intersected with our lives.</span></p><p class="MsoTitleCxSpLast"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt;">I’ve
been practicing Lectio Divina: meditating on the daily gospel readings that take
us with Jesus on his final journey to Jerusalem. He knows he will suffer a
horrendous death when he arrives, yet he never turns back, never ceases to
minister to those who crowd around him seeking hope and healing.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Helplessness besets
me as I watch Bill struggle to breathe and know I cannot help him. I want to deny
what lies ahead, just as the disciples tried to do with Jesus. Death in
Jerusalem could not possibly lie in wait for him they insisted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">In her book <u>The
Grace in Dying</u>, Kathleen D. Singh: quotes Dr. Kubler-Ross as saying “death
is a highly creative force. The highest spiritual values of life can originate
from the thought and study of death.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">On reading the
above words, I was struck with the knowledge that Bill and I have, in this
experience of hospice, the opportunity to achieve spiritual transcendence. Now,
rather than fear I feel hope and gratitude that we have this time to prepare
for separation. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I hope all
goes well with you. That you and your loved ones have negotiated Covid with
courage, and that you greet Easter with joy.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Fondly,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Beryl<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">PS My email
account has grown unwieldy again. So that I might keep friends in a separate
account, please change my email address from: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><a href="mailto:bsbissell@icloud.com"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">bsbissell@icloud.com</span></a><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> to </span><a href="mailto:bsbissell@boreal.org"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">bsbissell@boreal.org</span></a><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">. <o:p></o:p></span></p>Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-86075089693727441022020-12-06T12:48:00.000-06:002020-12-06T12:52:27.838-06:00Year 2020—Trial and Transformation<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1CvYZ8Oh-PKRYNQ_DknDuUzcdCBE-pVU3RsAn4hyphenhyphendNfDUgEmUNt6rzCBSzAZDcPxKt4GJVoftEjK1n2fATzfQuSn-m0om2DAeohyphenhyphenwaCYm0hGLRfSYpzVS67uRHmv7N1ZqNJrsOnv9Lug/s640/dawn.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1CvYZ8Oh-PKRYNQ_DknDuUzcdCBE-pVU3RsAn4hyphenhyphendNfDUgEmUNt6rzCBSzAZDcPxKt4GJVoftEjK1n2fATzfQuSn-m0om2DAeohyphenhyphenwaCYm0hGLRfSYpzVS67uRHmv7N1ZqNJrsOnv9Lug/w654-h233/dawn.JPG" title="Dawn on Lake Superior" width="654" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;">For the past ten years, I have received
daily inspiration and nourishment from </span><i style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;">Give Us This Day</i><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: small;">, a monthly
publication produced by St. John’s Abbey Press.</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><i>Give Us This Day</i>, provides a daily fest of inspiring stories, art, and
writing of extraordinary women and men across the ages.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: x-small;">Today’s reading: <u>When things Collapse: Trust in the Lord Foreve</u>r,
tackles this time of political unrest, racial violence, social restriction,
and hardship. It reminds us that these conditions are not terrible
visitations to be endured, lamented, or feared, but benefits we do not yet
understand.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: x-small;">In a culture based on instant gratification and individual rights, we see a
surge of rebellion against measures meant to protect us – as if we are
severely deprived. We find it hard to think of limitations as benefits. We
forget that even in times of suffering and anguish, blessings can be found if
we open ourselves to see them. The laughter of children, the changing of the
seasons, the tiny chickee that visits the window feeder. There are good books
in which to travel, visits to make via Zoom, heroic essential services
workers, good and generous neighbors who reach out to help and comfort
others.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: x-small;">When I find it hard to trust in the eventual resolution to conflict and fear,
I remember the Canticle of Habakkuk which is recited every Friday morning
during the liturgical prayer of Lauds – a canticle that metaphorically blows
my mind. Habakkuk’s world teetered on the edge of disaster. Invading armies,
the looming destruction of Solomon’s Temple, the deportation of the Jews to
Babylonia.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: x-small;">Yet Habakkuk prays: “For even though the fig tree does not blossom, nor fruit
grow on our vines, even though the olive crop fails, and the fields produce
no harvest, even though flocks vanish from the folds and stalls stand empty
of cattle, <b>yet I will rejoice in the Lord and exult in God my
savior. </b>And so, might we.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: x-small;">Author update: During Advent, the loveliest of all liturgical seasons,
a time of hope and gifting, I am offering free, from December 8-12,
2020, the newly published second edition of The Scent of God in
eBook. The story of the search for divine love that led me into a
cloister as a teen, and the unraveling of that vocation fifteen ears
later when I met and fell in love with a priest was praised as “a deeply
moving tale of a woman torn between her love for God and her love for one of
his emissaries” by <i>Publishers Weekly</i>. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i style="font-weight: 700; text-align: center;"><a href="https://tinyurl.com/yy7n2wsr" target="_blank">Click here to get one for yourself or for a friend.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="408" height="97" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizE_yoraZL3ekqY7qTADjKNV11y0xiDoO4iQsNvPDznwaYcnMcrkckmxKYLDAdoPQvrxx7Q7HGDxSw2FinjC__P3-2LaH20n7c07Rq34hL-BSDdWXcHZ_hqA1fe4g1aPrnOCK_7RaQzLQ/w65-h97/Scent+of+God+Cover+New+Edition.jpg" style="cursor: move; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;" width="65" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">book jacket</td></tr></tbody></table></a> </i><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-small;"><span style="text-align: center;">I think you will be glad you did. </span><span style="text-align: center;">Meanwhile, make like Habakkuk and rejoice in God our savior. Blessed holidays to each of you.</span></span></div><p></p></div><br />Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-90465580193072035522020-09-21T17:57:00.000-05:002020-09-21T17:57:24.746-05:00A Jolt of Radiance<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;">This weekend, my husband Bill and I drove north to visit my
daughter Francesca’s grave on the Northshore of Lake Superior where we’d moved
soon after we married. She’d died 19 years earlier when she was twenty-four. We’d
buried her ashes an on a knoll on our property overlooking Lake </span><span style="text-align: left;">Superior where we’d moved in 1998. I could visit her grave every day and view it from our kitchen and dining room windows.</span></div><p></p><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">When we bought that property in Schroeder two years after we
married, we had every intention of living and dying there. It was the home we’d
sought all our lives. A place of beauty,
belonging and inspiration where we’d live until we died. With that in mind, we
bought several plots in the Schroder Cemetery. We forgot we’d grow old and
health issues would require we sell that home and move back to the Twin Cities.</div></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Since we moved, we’ve been able to return to visit only
twice. Since then, health crises and
Covid-19 kept us confined to our home. But we continued to talk about a
possible trip when Bill got strong enough. This Sunday, the day after the
anniversary of Francesca’s death we decided to take the change. It was a beautiful
fall day. Bill felt strong enough to take the chance. Portable oxygen gave us
confidence to risk the four-hour drive to Schroeder once more. It was one of
those crazy, impetuous decisions that drove us to buy a home on the Northshore
in the first place. I packed a picnic lunch and off we went.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Francesca’s grave was in surprisingly good shape. No grass
or groundcover had crept over the stone marker and we were able to remove
those that might. While we were there, we also cleaned up our markers and
visited the graves of the friends and neighbors we’d lost. We’d hoped to have
time to walk the lake shore but as we had to drive back that evening we decided
to take a quick drive up the Cramer Road from the cemetery to check on the fall colors. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We hit peak season on one of the best Fall Color Drives on
the North Shore. We didn’t have to drive far to enter the jeweled cathedral
that draw so many enthusiasts. We were surprised to find the road to ourselves.
Driving through miles of miracles can be overwhelming. The brilliant colors lining
the road became even more exquisite within the forest. Evening sunlight
filtered through the maples, piercing the leaves, and illuminating the trunks. Oh,
the colors, the quiet, the glory we got to view. And all because we’d taken a leap
and driven north to visit Francesca’s grave.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">With only an iPhone camera to catch the experience, and
shooting into the sun, we had to operate blindly. Amazing what those cameras can do! <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpou4zw-U91Tnd2xhoBIIsRXNS5vVf58Mb63M3UGPoHdNDw9cU9yA65mxAmIWg3QhN6YuKNTL0rDzQdmGDxtsxDrpGDUFY10lbakht2f2LpRwU3cAFlVEnQB7kZTOy5kVue44fw10ReNc/s2048/IMG_0014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1841" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpou4zw-U91Tnd2xhoBIIsRXNS5vVf58Mb63M3UGPoHdNDw9cU9yA65mxAmIWg3QhN6YuKNTL0rDzQdmGDxtsxDrpGDUFY10lbakht2f2LpRwU3cAFlVEnQB7kZTOy5kVue44fw10ReNc/w576-h640/IMG_0014.jpg" width="576" /></a></div><br /> <o:p></o:p><p></p><div><div><div class="msocomtxt" id="_com_1" language="JavaScript">
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</div>Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-24162414952866818452020-08-31T10:39:00.002-05:002020-08-31T14:36:56.561-05:00New Edition of The Scent of God<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZirqOT1fPWZe7kkBMR0gq7Penf8PhZqr_uUj6ttGoKj24xku_kHiZ5Z1R4hvjT-PogOsfTB90GRY0NvDQB2uUHpM0HGcQffPtRekdUDBweEtLte0cXVChOpAGBuYSS5T-xL7w69cBd3I/s1600/FINAL_The_Scent_of_God_Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1066" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZirqOT1fPWZe7kkBMR0gq7Penf8PhZqr_uUj6ttGoKj24xku_kHiZ5Z1R4hvjT-PogOsfTB90GRY0NvDQB2uUHpM0HGcQffPtRekdUDBweEtLte0cXVChOpAGBuYSS5T-xL7w69cBd3I/s320/FINAL_The_Scent_of_God_Cover.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://tinyurl.com/y2f2bhna">Click here to purchase book</a> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Originally published by Counterpoint NY in 2006 (Hardcover), and 2007 Paper), Beryl Singleton Bissell’s memoir
<i>The Scent of God</i> has just returned
to print in a newly designed and revised edition. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Bissell was a
teenager, when a powerful religious experience led her into a cloister in
pursuit of divine, unconditional love. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Fifteen years later, her abbess sends
her home to Puerto Rico to care for her ailing parents. While there, she meets and falls in love with
Padre Vittorio, a handsome Italian priest/professor at the University of Puerto
Rico.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Moving from cloister to tropical island to romantic Italy, the story
traverses a landscape of laughter, rage, and tears as Bissell learns that human
longing is a but a prelude to life’s most perplexing questions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">A
columnist for ten years with the <i>Cook County News Herald</i>, Bissell has
been published in <i>The Sun Magazine, The Trenton Times, Lake Superior
Magazine, Your Life Magazine</i> and the anthology <i>Surviving Ophelia</i>
edited by Cheryl Dellasega, (Perseus Publishing 2001, and <i>The New Writer’s
Handbook</i>, edited by Philip Martin, (Carletta Press 2008). She won the Loft Creative Nonfiction Award in
1997 and received a Minnesota State Arts Board grant in 2000 and an Arrowhead
Regional Arts Grant in 2011. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">ISBN<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">978-1-7345539-0-1 (print)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">978-1-7345539-1-8 <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Story Oak Publications, St. Paul, Minnesota<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Biography&
Autobiography, Personal Memoirs</span></span></i><br />
<br />Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-85547640007032714492020-08-28T18:48:00.000-05:002020-08-30T09:58:43.250-05:00To Pray with the Trees <span style="text-align: right;"> </span><br />
<h1>
<div class="separator" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1200" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-paueoLvdTEF627dr-hUALAy0HZVObB1jVpiD807eIQOBGU5DGsXkTV4Pudw6yG8KFSq76VpLx7hFe6_SebmiC7POm7sQIAUjwI_IWH4cqNoycwEiuptvxGQDdsj-nbQhDCdDIJs6qWl2/s320/treetops.jpg" width="320" /></div>
<br />To Pray with the Trees</h1>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have always been an early riser, but since Covid-19 made its appearance, I find myself sleeping later than usual. There are no pressing matters to deal with, no visits with family or friends, no sudden ideas for blogs or books. While the days continue to fly by, I have grown restless in confinement. The hermit in me seeks a change of scene, so my day includes an hour long walk outside, in the fresh air.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p>Daily walks are for looking, listening, feeling, sensing. I seek especially, the great vault of the sky. It frees me. The heavy cloak of confinement drops away and I feel complete. Treetops and sky never cease to thrill me. Especially the tops of those wondrous giants that push ever upward in their search for the sun. It can be dizzying to stand beneath one (or sit or lie) and gaze upward. I love the way the mighty trunks reach for the sky. The way their leaves filter and scatter light. And yes, the way they enlighten and assist me in my search for God. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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The older I get, the more insistent the demand to become all God created me to be while I still have time. Yet my efforts must be half hearted because I remain stuck in mediocrity. Instead of glorifying God for having created me, I focus on how <span style="color: #262626;">I have</span><span style="color: #262626; font-size: 9pt;"> </span>failed. In a sense, reminding God that he left gaps in my formation.</div>
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<o:p> </o:p>“A tree gives glory to God by being a tree.” writes Thomas Merton in <i>Seeds of Contemplation</i>. It glorifies God by being itself. “…by spreading out its roots in the earth and raising its branches into the air and the light in a way that no other tree before or after it ever did or will do.”</div>
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A tree does not try to emulate the way another tree glorifies God. A pine does not yearn to be a peach tree, radiant with blossoms and lush with fruit. Trees have it easy. A tree is what it is.</div>
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Like trees, we glorify God by being ourselves in a way no other person ever did or will do. While God does not consult a tree when creating it, God does consult us in shaping our own lives. He gives us the freedom to choose how we will live. He works with us within the experiences each day brings. </div>
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When I get frustrated with my mistakes and failings, the trees remind me to stop thinking the work of becoming complete is mine alone. While they and the rest of creation need do nothing to become themselves, God entrusts us with the responsibility of becoming our true selves. </div>
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I look at the trees and see their sanctity. I look at myself and see a work in progress.</div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">© <i>Beryl Singleton Bissell 2020</i></span></div>
Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-82741487786361017732020-05-25T16:02:00.000-05:002020-08-29T11:53:41.038-05:00Beryl's Spring 2020 Newsletter<div class="MsoNormal">
Dear Reader,<o:p></o:p></div>
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I hope you have been adapting to the world-wide Covid-19 monastic
lifestyle. If it were not for the fear and suffering so many are experiencing,
I would totally love being back in the cloister. The ceasing of the constant
noise in which we live, a quieting of my spirit. Mother Nature might be
enjoying a bit of a break as well. Perhaps a bit less pollution relieving the
pressure we place on survival. How much longer it will last is the great
unknown. Bill’s severely compromised heath might necessitate continual
distancing for the unforeseen future.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I've been reading, thinking, journaling, and praying my way through this new
world, trying to understand the forces unleashed by the Covid-19 virus. Empty
streets, shopping centers, sidewalks, restaurants, and other gathering places
testify to the power of this viral force to change lives and lifestyles. While
disheartened by the forces of selfishness, anger, and hatred that threaten the
world’s healing, I am moved by the huge wellspring of compassion and generosity
this pandemic unleashed in the world. Nevertheless, it is difficult to maintain
confidence and equanimity when observing the ineptitude and power mongering of those
entrusted with our care.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS9Q0dQCtRIwXVpAgSiBH44uaQ-pJOeFLg0Q5snsbSxbQcxeq9_mPs66TARDr6Bu4Evs0c6L6KXfOoz9z7wAqMClMdSzqNYoWpSgw9_PvU7k_b7WDfcPmx4AiXwr4RFobrQ_gPwxIdOs4/s1600/Provonce+Wall.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1179" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS9Q0dQCtRIwXVpAgSiBH44uaQ-pJOeFLg0Q5snsbSxbQcxeq9_mPs66TARDr6Bu4Evs0c6L6KXfOoz9z7wAqMClMdSzqNYoWpSgw9_PvU7k_b7WDfcPmx4AiXwr4RFobrQ_gPwxIdOs4/s320/Provonce+Wall.JPG" width="233" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wall in Moulin sur Ouveze Provence Italy</td></tr>
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</w:wrap></v:imagedata></v:shape>As is often the case when confront by paradox, I found light while arranging
the books on my “constant-read” shelf. In a small gem titled <i>Calm Surrender</i>
by favorite nonfiction author, Kent Nerburn, I resonated with his words.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“When we reaffirm the
goodness that sprouts from the soil underneath walls of hated or indifference,
we are practicing a kind of forgiveness. We are saying that hatred and
indifference are not worthy of our anger. We are turning away from the great
force of animosity, and underscoring, instead, the goodness struggling to find
voice in its shadow.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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I trust that you, my dear friends, embrace “the goodness
that sprouts beneath the walls of hatred,” and, by doing so, nurture the hope and
acts that will heal the world. Many of us might question God’s presence in
events like this pandemic, but I choose to believe that God is with us. That
God understands our pain. That God suffers with us and, as Julian of Norwich
proclaimed during the besieged fourteenth century, that ultimately “all will be
good.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">©
Beryl Singleton Bissell 2020</span><o:p></o:p><br />
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You are receiving this because you have subscribed
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: maroon; font-family: "garamond" , serif;">The <st1:city w:st="on">Minneapolis</st1:city> Star Tribune named Beryl as a "Best of
2006 <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on">Minnesota</st1:state></st1:place>
Authors." Her book </span></i><a href="http://www.berylsingletonbissell.com/" target="_blank"><i><span style="color: maroon; font-family: "garamond" , serif;">The Scent of God </span></i></a><i><span style="color: maroon; font-family: "garamond" , serif;"> was a “Notable” Book
Sense selection for April 2006. Her second book, <u>A View of the Lake</u> was
named a best regional book by the Minneapolis Star Tribune in 2011<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<br />Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-67211616875374182712019-10-05T13:35:00.001-05:002020-08-29T11:33:49.620-05:00Beryl's Fall 2019 Newsletter<h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="background-color: #f3fdfe; color: #212121; float: left; font-family: Damion, cursive; font-size: 36px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 400; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 8px; max-width: calc(100% - 48px);">
From The Heart Fall 2019</h3>
<div class="post-header" style="clear: left; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.54); font-family: roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px; width: inherit;">
<div class="post-header-line-1">
<span class="byline post-timestamp" style="display: inline-block; line-height: 24px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 8px; vertical-align: top;"><a class="timestamp-link" href="http://berylsbissell.blogspot.com/2019/09/from-heart-fall-2019.html" rel="bookmark" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font: inherit; text-decoration: inherit;" title="permanent link">September 07, 2019</a></span></div>
</div>
<div class="post-body entry-content float-container" id="post-body-1920383754098607892" style="color: #757575; font-family: roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: 1.6em; margin: 1.5em 0px 2em;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Dear Reader</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI-DCe7_HI3hfauQbeSi_XaxRZJCw6HM6-ZQe2IkS7CW555zHmxido2jM1bxU40a6R0ysKNZVD-GCHJMmE55l6zFhzzAMZhkJh_5ijnsZL3B_ziTm_GjC5ymToNvvNB18oXuCQ0RIpvZJ5/s1600/St.+Francis+and+the+Sun.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; clear: left; color: #37afc0; display: inline-block; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1201" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI-DCe7_HI3hfauQbeSi_XaxRZJCw6HM6-ZQe2IkS7CW555zHmxido2jM1bxU40a6R0ysKNZVD-GCHJMmE55l6zFhzzAMZhkJh_5ijnsZL3B_ziTm_GjC5ymToNvvNB18oXuCQ0RIpvZJ5/s200/St.+Francis+and+the+Sun.JPG" style="border: 0px; height: inherit; max-width: 100%;" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="padding: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;">Assisi Heights MN</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: white;">For much of this past year my world was saturated with words too heavy to write or speak. During that year, loved ones have died and my husband Bill still bears the scars of his encounters with respiratory failure, diabetic crisis and double pneumonia. Though it was spring, I felt muffled in a winter world. I moved through each day in a strange inner silence, capable only of coping with visits to the ICU and weeks of entire days spent in three different hospitals. Bill returned home in such a frail and weakened condition I moved in a vaporous world of uncertainty. Would today be my last with him? Would I be alone tomorrow? Thanks, however, to the effort of a blessed crew of doctors, nurses, and therapists and courageous efforts of his own, he is growing stronger. Buoyed by hope and filled with gratitude, I can now reach for words with which to reconnect with you, to let you know that though I was silent, you were never far from my mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Conscious of the rapid passage of time and my approaching 80<span style="font-size: 11.25px; line-height: 0; position: relative; top: -0.5em; vertical-align: baseline;">th</span> birthday, I wake each morning with a renewed sense of wonder at the gift of life. Bill is still with me and gratitude floods the entire day. I feel an added sense of responsibility to use this time well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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" o:spid="_x0000_s1026" stroked="f" style="height: 11.5pt; margin-left: 16.5pt; margin-top: 95.65pt; position: absolute; visibility: visible; width: 88pt; z-index: 251662336;" type="#_x0000_t202"><span style="background-color: white;"><v:textbox inset="0,0,0,0"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; border-spacing: 0px;"><tbody>
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</v:textbox><w:wrap anchorx="margin" type="square"></w:wrap></span></v:shape><span style="background-color: white;">“We must trust in the small light we are given and to value the light we can shed into the lives of those around us . . . We live in a world alive with holy moments. We need only take the time to bring these moments into the light,” writes Kent Wilburn in his lovely little book <i>Small Graces.</i> I first encountered his writings in 1998 when we moved to Lake Superior’s North Shore. In an environment live with miracles, his quiet reflective words mirrored my desire to live a spiritual life and that is how I’ve tried to live most of my life. To remain open to the light present in every moment. To welcome each day as the miracle it is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Our small book club is thriving. Together we delight in discovering the creative world within us. It has renewed my love of writing. While I have still not finished with The Glass Chrysalis, I’ve been working on bringing <i>The Scent of God</i>, which had gone out of print, back to life. I’d hoped to announce the publication of the new edition in this newsletter but life intervened and its rebirth has been delayed. It includes a wonderful new cover, beautiful interior design, the addition of an Introduction and an updated afterword. It should be ready early this fall. I shall keep you informed.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Meanwhile, may you be strong, may you be happy, may you be healthy. May you live your life with gladness. (Prayer of Loving Kindness)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-14634871491133785122016-03-24T07:00:00.001-05:002020-08-28T18:06:20.994-05:00The Other Mothers Under the Cross<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuMIHHD8s3gfQGw5SUm5XLVSnfp9ZwC-HlrBVoA7lbLcmH5LAx9IKrO5Hp_TIVZ0GIOKFWlWAY4h8egbLyRjKmrMQt2TRLkQ2jhBf7rBOdw3mCYe8kmZAqsDOg5GFXJiBbFJP89DyZYiY/s1600/Calvary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuMIHHD8s3gfQGw5SUm5XLVSnfp9ZwC-HlrBVoA7lbLcmH5LAx9IKrO5Hp_TIVZ0GIOKFWlWAY4h8egbLyRjKmrMQt2TRLkQ2jhBf7rBOdw3mCYe8kmZAqsDOg5GFXJiBbFJP89DyZYiY/s320/Calvary.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">The Romans
erected three crosses on <st1:place w:st="on">Golgotha</st1:place> the day
Jesus of Nazareth was put to death. The middle cross bore the savior, and the
other crosses bore thieves or criminals -- depending on the translation you
read. All four Gospels narrate this event.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Though Luke
mentions women who stood weeping at a distance, and John tells us that women,
including Jesus’ mother Mary, stood weeping under Jesus’ cross, none of the
Gospels mentions the other women who might have wept on <st1:place w:st="on">Golgotha</st1:place>
that day or in the potter’s field when Judas took his life.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">The mothers
not mentioned in the Gospels confront me as we approach the end of this Lenten
season, and have done so since Sept. 18, 2001, when I became one of them. <a href="http://www.berylsingletonbissell.com/newsletter.htm">I now find myself standing with Mary, the sorrowing mother of the innocent victim, as well as with the mothers of the guilty.</a> I do not know the role my daughter
played in her death, nor have the police or medical examiner been able to
determine how and why she died. There are, of course, several different
possibilities -- none of which belong in the life of a funny, generous and
loving but troubled young woman, the child who wept with me over the losses thousands
of women experienced on Sept. 11, 2001, and whose violent death a week later
united me with them.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt;">Before
Francesca died, I’d empathized with women who must bear the burden of
unknowing, those whose children’s deaths remain unresolved. I also grieved for
those who had no doubt, who knew their children died as victims of murder or
war or suicide. I knew that they too had loved their children no matter what
identity those children wore to death. I participated in their sorrow from a
distance. Until Sept. 18, I had not considered that other mothers might have
stood with Mary on <st1:place w:st="on">Golgotha</st1:place>, or in the
potter’s field, grieving their shattered children on the day Jesus died. I now
know that when those three crosses cast their shadows across the horizons of
the earth, they united all of us who mourn.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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©Beryl Singleton Bissell<o:p></o:p></div>
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Adapted from an article published in the <i>New Catholic Reporter, 2006</i><o:p></o:p></div>
Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-2172461976847936732016-02-11T13:21:00.000-06:002016-02-11T13:25:45.853-06:00What Ashes?<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQDVROl_z_JhTewyJVWFP-3fw2WLKB2fHeuQ4hHwq_iUI_7lVtlNbXHuj_htUayKQykqjfV-RGIS-JNFIXdKg9_jyFm5X26d6y8JNKj6RCZtfin3_H13_YaMhQwhwfwnmToEv3sUXoLFo/s1600/evergreens+and+snow+Anderson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQDVROl_z_JhTewyJVWFP-3fw2WLKB2fHeuQ4hHwq_iUI_7lVtlNbXHuj_htUayKQykqjfV-RGIS-JNFIXdKg9_jyFm5X26d6y8JNKj6RCZtfin3_H13_YaMhQwhwfwnmToEv3sUXoLFo/s200/evergreens+and+snow+Anderson.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo by Kathleen Gray-Anderson</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Ash Wednesday has come and gone: ash free. I was stunned this
morning when reminded that I'd forgotten, stunned at how easily I can neglect
certain religious rituals when at one time, as a cloistered nun, my life was
anchored by such observances. My spiritual practice now focuses on meditation, Lectio
Divina, and the effort to live mindfully. And while I am filled with gratitude
for the profligate bounty of a divine creator and the freedom to choose how I
will live, I miss the years I spent as a nun. Especially when Lent creeps in
quietly, and ashes no longer thunder. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">It's been a slow slide away from ritual
since I left religious life. Had it happened more swiftly, I might have clung
more tightly to it. I wonder if this is only emotional nostalgia for the
innocence of youth or a reminder that how I live and what I believe in is my
responsibility -- a much harder, dry and emotionless effort.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">This morning I pondered psalm 51.
"Have mercy on me, O God, in your goodness; in the greatness of your
compassion wipe out my offence. Create a clean heart for me, O God, and a steadfast
spirit renew within me." <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Yes. I long for this clean heart, not a
new heart freshly molded by God, but the heart God has given me. A heart
willing to be cleansed and made steadfast. A heart not built on emotion and
youthful longing, but on reflection and the ongoing effort to remain true to
myself and to God.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-15339774757441861272016-01-30T16:32:00.000-06:002016-01-30T16:32:30.449-06:00Thomas Merton and the Eye of a photographer<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRksRgB8vuD7KiXJTR5Qux7nS5QZUrmeezvm5ScUY3neawQoxJCtTF69Vph3rTOq1Oi3uYEXxZ2g84yeWGy18ADbEWUn48P6z5UFS7ebg2ez2tr9xFPUwas6uvag_F2HSlQO3selY_2MA/s1600/A+Seven+Day+Journey+with+Thomas+Merton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRksRgB8vuD7KiXJTR5Qux7nS5QZUrmeezvm5ScUY3neawQoxJCtTF69Vph3rTOq1Oi3uYEXxZ2g84yeWGy18ADbEWUn48P6z5UFS7ebg2ez2tr9xFPUwas6uvag_F2HSlQO3selY_2MA/s200/A+Seven+Day+Journey+with+Thomas+Merton.jpg" width="132" /></a>In my last post I spoke of Thomas Merton's skill as a photographer and of his admonition to a friend, who was busily snapping photos of the woods in which they walked: "Stop looking and begin seeing."<br />
<br />
He gave himself to others in the same way, approached them without expectation. He saw them. He did not try to interpret, alter, or improve them, but allowed them to be themselves. In <i>Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander </i>he wrote of an experience he had during one of his first excursions outside the monastery into Louisville, KY. I love the final lines.<br />
<em style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></em>
<em style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">“In Louisville, at the corner of Fourth and Walnut, in the center of the shopping district, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all those people, that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers. This sense of liberation from an illusory difference was such a relief and such a joy to me that I almost laughed out loud. . . i</em><em style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">f only everybody could realize this! But it cannot be explained. <b>There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun.”</b></em>Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-72456198420085172932016-01-22T09:48:00.000-06:002016-01-28T13:49:14.657-06:00Stop Looking and begin seeing<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5uaUYvJmLEUYxetyD1ma5YBYAGBN5NXzlTxLlveu9Ao8vHoFhhoqWX3_otkbSFRPOFfnkI1ZjmGfLC-TGPUTUH5lsS7Wx1up5WYS4BcG9ZJTspHSDW2Fo0rmYq4KMR5D9EvA6LblNxBY/s1600/Book+Cover%252C+song+for+nobody.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5uaUYvJmLEUYxetyD1ma5YBYAGBN5NXzlTxLlveu9Ao8vHoFhhoqWX3_otkbSFRPOFfnkI1ZjmGfLC-TGPUTUH5lsS7Wx1up5WYS4BcG9ZJTspHSDW2Fo0rmYq4KMR5D9EvA6LblNxBY/s200/Book+Cover%252C+song+for+nobody.jpg" width="132" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxQ8HsdaW6A11opzdeooAzANG8vquIXrfZtCgRbukVDjRGPc8zaKlXWO0BtIGC-SsMLWO28XCUV-gkDFnlijfU4gCR00m30G4e0696FKIzSW9VogOcCWE7VPik3pZyqpFSMM45RCgX14M/s1600/Book+Cover%252C+song+for+nobody.jpg"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Thomas Merton, besides being the revered spiritual writer who lofted the
contemplative monastic life into public consciousness, was also a photographer.
He photographed whatever crossed his path that drew him, he allowed each thing
its own voice. While in the woods with a young photographer, he noted the speed
with which the young man approached things. He told him to stop looking and to
begin seeing. "Seeing is being open and receptive to what comes to the eyes; your vision total and not targeted."<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span></a><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Song-Nobody-Memory-Vision-Thomas/dp/0892437790"><i><span style="text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Song for Nobody, A memory
Vision of Thomas Merton</span></i><span style="text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"> by Ron Seitz</span></a></span><o:p></o:p></div>
Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-23452243768464333282016-01-21T09:02:00.003-06:002020-08-07T13:42:08.124-05:00Seeking to live in awareness<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDvMaiGBTamgI8G3uruJzsRY5IHJ8u-ElhJZWWGHd_qTMgRV-236LdSi3jam9G5u5GrSqCf38kZ-QA3KoGxixJYvGEiWRzeYR7dXHpwexjmD6o3P-C6bCB11eqLntDF-eNJPgdmhpNxg8/s1600/Tree+by+Prescott.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDvMaiGBTamgI8G3uruJzsRY5IHJ8u-ElhJZWWGHd_qTMgRV-236LdSi3jam9G5u5GrSqCf38kZ-QA3KoGxixJYvGEiWRzeYR7dXHpwexjmD6o3P-C6bCB11eqLntDF-eNJPgdmhpNxg8/s320/Tree+by+Prescott.jpg" width="320" /></a>I've been away so long you might think I've fallen into Alice's rabbit hole. Unable to multi task, I've had to devote most of my time to working on The Glass Chrysalis. I hope this brief blog will renew my efforts to find room for God.</div>
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I read the following this morning and it moved me—presenting
such a lovely synthesis of what it means
to live in awareness. God has given us he power to see with "such intense clarity." We have only to <o:p></o:p>take the time to really look.</div>
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“Tree scrutiny . . . I stand apart and look; looking I
respect almost to the point of love. But what I hope to be loving is God; not
because he ‘made’ the tree, but because he gives me the power to see it with
such intensity and clarity.” -- Philip
Toynbee “Part of a Journey”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Tree image by Prescott</div>
Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-35537259616263697262015-07-20T13:08:00.000-05:002015-07-20T13:08:52.132-05:00Beryl's Summer 2015 Newsletter<div class="MsoNormal">
Thanks to an abundance of rain, cool weather, and overcast
skies the roadsides are blanketed with more color than I've ever seen before.
Daisy’s, sweet clover, Birdseye trefoil, wild roses, hawkweed, fireweed,
lupines in swaths or dancing together in the breeze. If you like walking, the
scent can be quite intoxicating. If you're allergic, best to view from inside a
car.</div>
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Perhaps it is all this beauty, or maybe just the fact that I've finally
finished the sequel to the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Scent-God-Beryl-Singleton-Bissell-ebook/dp/B00JLG3YNE/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=1-1&qid=1177582210">Scent
of God</a>, that prompts me to take a break from single-minded focus to finish
the book. Even as I fervidly worked on the manuscript and condensed each
chapter into a few sentences for an expanded table of contents, you hovered
behind the scenes, reminding me that I have a beautiful family, wonderful
friends, and lovely acquaintances with whom I haven’t connected in close to six
months.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s a paradox—humorous but sad—that as our lives grows
shorter, time keeps picking up speed. I am no longer young enough to think I
have a lot of living ahead of me. I’d like the sequel to be published while I'm
still around, not posthumously. I no longer multitask, or rush from one
activity to another. Now I view with mouth agape at all some people are able to
accomplish. I wonder if they've made a pact with their alter ego (perhaps they
have more than one) so that while one focuses on a single project, the other flits
about picking up the slack and dreaming up a zillion other things to accomplish
<b>Now</b>!<o:p></o:p></div>
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I've just returned from a ten-day silent retreat at St.
John’s Abbey in Collegeville that focused entirely on the now: living each
moment fully aware. Yet there is such a contradiction in the way we use that
word “Now.” Not in its meaning, but as western culture defines it: <b>Do it now</b>! Such pressure does not allow
for much awareness. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In answer to your many questions asking when the sequel to
the Scent of God will be available, all I can say is “I'm working on it.” Have
a blessed summer, one with just enough rain and heat to make it spectacular.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif"; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">©
Beryl Singleton Bissell 2015</span>.<br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: maroon; font-family: "Garamond","serif";">The <st1:city w:st="on">Minneapolis</st1:city> Star Tribune named Beryl as a "Best of
2006 <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:state w:st="on">Minnesota</st1:state></st1:place>
Authors." Her book </span></i><a href="http://www.berylsingletonbissell.com/" target="_blank"><i><span style="color: maroon; font-family: "Garamond","serif";">The Scent of God </span></i></a><i><span style="color: maroon; font-family: "Garamond","serif";"> was a “Notable” Book
Sense selection for April 2006. Her second book, <u>A View of the Lake</u> was
released in May 2011 and named a best regional book by the Minneapolis Star
Tribune<o:p></o:p></span></i>Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-75449027776002304312014-04-25T09:05:00.001-05:002014-04-25T09:06:30.417-05:00Spirited Woman Award and updates<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGy7Eo6WB6erAA9qyM4IwXx-q2AZgcBTrOrBIoDRmWoHbK8ou67BiC5t6J3Sh4Yto5MArzG6DqYKylx8uyrXAn2VehiV9wiex4m7n2QFB5Nygxlh1kifjvNf5BgXEoDoJqzGQXGFe-nBQ/s1600/Spirited+Woman+Pick+Logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGy7Eo6WB6erAA9qyM4IwXx-q2AZgcBTrOrBIoDRmWoHbK8ou67BiC5t6J3Sh4Yto5MArzG6DqYKylx8uyrXAn2VehiV9wiex4m7n2QFB5Nygxlh1kifjvNf5BgXEoDoJqzGQXGFe-nBQ/s1600/Spirited+Woman+Pick+Logo.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /><!--[endif]--></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Now that the Scent of God is on Kindle, a great sense of relief pervades my writing life. The first two days it was downloaded 2, 997 times. Granted they were downloaded free, but hey, I'm not worrying. The main purpose was to share the story with as many people as I can reach. Now this nice little kudo.</span>Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-29036923822076702002014-04-16T13:49:00.001-05:002014-04-17T14:15:57.924-05:00We are an Easter People<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhIfW-aIO1Vs9Yg0peniJlzbHhZd_STXIT5AnWty2u3HtcVbviYAqWjpXRZ12xCzD6cfpjLTKBUCxCeNZgce-8neDxpkhsa702zbiYw3qAgU_NtRxezFsyqdw9mxc3p2YkjSljOlD6LRY/s1600/P1000203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhIfW-aIO1Vs9Yg0peniJlzbHhZd_STXIT5AnWty2u3HtcVbviYAqWjpXRZ12xCzD6cfpjLTKBUCxCeNZgce-8neDxpkhsa702zbiYw3qAgU_NtRxezFsyqdw9mxc3p2YkjSljOlD6LRY/s1600/P1000203.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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o:title=""/>
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</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">H</span>ave you ever received an
Easter card proclaiming “We are an Easter People?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In an article in the April 11-24, 2014 edition of <i>The National Catholic Reporter</i>, Peg
Ekerdt wrote of having received such a card from “a mother of 13, grandmother
of more, who was living with an advanced stage of breast cancer . . . Barb
wanted all whom she loved to know that the power of faith transforms even
death.” These words say more the traditional Happy Easter messages that do
little save to remind us to dye the eggs, buy the chocolate bunnies, and
perhaps . . . maybe . . . attend church to celebrate faith. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Who are these Easter people? Easter people probably don’t think
of themselves as such. They might or might not be Christians. For that matter,
they might not even believe in God. But Easter people surround us. They reveal
themselves by the way they care for and love one another, the way they live
with honor and honesty and work to make their bit of the earth a better place
to live. They are the ones who share what they have with those needier than
themselves, who celebrate the good that surrounds them, they are the ones who greet
adversity with courage and yet continue to hope. Keep your eyes open for these
“Easter People,” you might discover that you are one of them.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Peace and every good blessing,<br />
Beryl</div>
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<br /></div>
Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-55675015000438339042014-03-11T08:22:00.000-05:002014-03-11T08:22:56.034-05:00Precious Children Home Fundrise Film<br />
Two dear friends brought reality to this dream of a home for orphans of AIDS in Nshupu Tanzania. They need our help to enlarge this dream.<br />
<a href="http://www.preciousorphanage.com/">http://www.preciousorphanage.com/</a><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/MQPEUo8264w" width="480"></iframe>Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-4881483725009075632014-01-14T15:44:00.000-06:002014-01-29T14:36:05.867-06:00Small things and gratitude<div class="MsoNormal">
January 13.2014<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCopO0sKYrcq63U3NsvNWKkVXDbpjSLMoj5JNi69PipVR619FC7Io7Y-Gkb7ti54y2cqDHD2YLbYi1kBLO5paxh3fJj_ZgzJqZEOzTlnb1xXUFJr61Yq5Dk6-oS-WYKc4ejBtd-gSsuZk/s1600/growing+wild.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCopO0sKYrcq63U3NsvNWKkVXDbpjSLMoj5JNi69PipVR619FC7Io7Y-Gkb7ti54y2cqDHD2YLbYi1kBLO5paxh3fJj_ZgzJqZEOzTlnb1xXUFJr61Yq5Dk6-oS-WYKc4ejBtd-gSsuZk/s320/growing+wild.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a>On this beautiful day—a day of golden sun and gentle breezes
with the sky cloudless and the ocean tranquil—I think of you, my friends. So
often, I’ve wanted to start this letter and just as often I’ve put it off. But
today’s exultation makes it necessary to write to share this joy with you. Oh
sure, you might be thinking. You’re down there in Florida and we’re locked here
in icy, sub-zero temperatures; of course you’re happy. This morning, I came
across the following words written by <a href="http://www.focolare.org/en/chiara-lubich/chi-e-chiara/">Chiara Lubich</a> (1920-2008) which might
explain why I write to tell you about something as simple as a beautiful day
and why it reminds me to reach out to connect with you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Your neighbor is another you . . . When neighbors cry, you
must cry with them, and when they laugh, laugh with them . . . Love whoever
appears to you in the present moment of your life. You will discover within
yourself an energy and strength you didn’t know you had.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These words struck me because you’ve appeared to me in this
present moment, and with this letter, I’ve breached distance and joined you.
Perhaps in reading my greeting, your heart will lift like mine does when I hear
from you. When we experience something wonderful, our immediate impulse is to
share it. You wake your husband in the middle of the night to witness the
northern lights. You call your friend in Colorado to tell them about Ann
Patchett’s newest book. You invite a neighbor to the symphony because they are
fans of the classic guitar and Pepe Romero is performing in concert. We share
these moments hoping that person will experience something wonderful as well.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Besides this beautiful day, I want to tell you that my
precious husband has been granted a new lease on life because of advances in
cardiac care, which tops my list of things to be grateful for. I
celebrate the small condo in Florida where we can escape the bitter cold and I
retain the use of my hands. I’m thrilled that my agent’s talented assistant,
Daniel, helped me obtain a reversion of electronic publishing rights to <i>The
Scent of God</i>. These rights will enable me to make <i>The Scent of God</i>
available in e-book version. Meanwhile, primarily because of your belief and
support, I continue to work on the sequel to <i>The Scent of God.</i> <i>Scent</i>
took ten years to write and, at the snail-like but steady pace I’m working, the
sequel might take just as long. I hope you will hang in there with me and
spread the word when <i>The Scent of God</i> makes it onto Kindle and all the
other e-book platforms out there. I will certainly let you know when both
milestones (the e-book and the publication of the sequel )are accomplished.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thank you for the joy I get when I think of you. Thank you
for your letters, your e-mails, and all the ways you share your lives
with me. Thank you for the encouragement and strength with which you surround
me. May your lives be similarly blessed.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
© Beryl Singleton Bissell 2014</div>
<o:p></o:p>Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-74984801053086570172013-07-28T12:13:00.002-05:002013-07-28T12:17:28.014-05:00Camarillo Fire births Phoenix<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxf5vDI2ShtTlMvAIuSLL248tRoDJFtmSszFHuCNKO5gBYIJJtYp4GmztKhKepPeSGs23Ww6fUYxNf2cHtIDAyN7z_DriBC0tlqNEBiXYBYRPLH3i_lkHnDnZt94-bFjBMvXd_uDYrLuY/s1600/camarillo+fire+phoenix.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxf5vDI2ShtTlMvAIuSLL248tRoDJFtmSszFHuCNKO5gBYIJJtYp4GmztKhKepPeSGs23Ww6fUYxNf2cHtIDAyN7z_DriBC0tlqNEBiXYBYRPLH3i_lkHnDnZt94-bFjBMvXd_uDYrLuY/s320/camarillo+fire+phoenix.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camarillo Phoenix photo by Terry deWolfe</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Several days after the recent devastating Camarillo Fire, a friend spotted this miraculous flower. As you can see, the land surrounding this plant is totally scorched. Despite the annihilation, from somewhere within the earth this lovely flower emerged and gives testimony to the miracle of transformation and rebirth tucked within every death.<br />
<br />
We witness such miracles all the time yet so often they arrive unnoticed and unheralded. This flower reminds me to open myself to such witnesses of hope.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<i>"If you can just appreciate each thing, one by one, then
you will have pure gratitude. Even though you observe just one flower, that one
flower includes everything."</i> -- <b>Shunryu Suzuki Roshi<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-74348566238729164162013-07-25T12:57:00.001-05:002013-07-26T08:23:07.121-05:00A Reflection on Kenosis<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
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<h4>
<i><span style="color: #333333;">A number of my readers have asked for further elucidation on the spiritual term "Kenosis</span><span style="color: #333333;">. To assist, I have received permission from the</span><span style="color: #333333;"> director of the Episcopal House of Prayer to republish his reflections on the event. -- Beryl</span></i></h4>
<div>
<i><span style="color: #333333;"><br /></span></i></div>
<h2>
<em><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";"> A reflection from the
Kenosis retreat, 2013 from Ward Bauman</span></em></h2>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #a83178; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> "True knowledge of
God is that which is known by unknowing." </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">(Cloud of
Unknowing)</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";"> </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'MS Gothic';"> </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";"> One of the primary
practices of all spiritual work is detachment, the learned behavior of
"letting go" and not clinging. This is primarily true of wisdom, that
is, spiritual knowledge. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";"> The great paradox is
that we cannot find it by grasping it. In other words, going to another
conference, reading another book, or hearing another teaching will not ultimately
be the knowledge that we seek and need.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "MS Gothic"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "MS Gothic";"> </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is perhaps one of
the hardest lessons of the spiritual life. We in the West do not get it. It is
so antithetical to everything we've learned. But this is core to coming to
spiritual truth. It also points to the heart of our spiritual malady,
pride. True wisdom comes only through true humility. Here the crack in our
armory creates an entrance for the divine light.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "MS Gothic"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "MS Gothic";"> </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">Jesus said: </span><span style="color: #a83178; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">"Blessed
are the poor in spirit for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">
This is the beginning and foundation to all spiritual work.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "MS Gothic"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "MS Gothic";"> </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">The Chinese philosopher,
Chuang-tzu said:</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #a83178; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">Consider a window; it is
just</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #a83178; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">a hole in the wall, but
because of it</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #a83178; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">the whole room is filled
with light.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #a83178; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">Thus, when the mind is
open</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #a83178; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">and free of its own
thoughts,</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #a83178; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">life unfolds
effortlessly,</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #a83178; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">and the whole world is
filled with light.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">(The Second Book of the
Tao, Stephen Mitchell)</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">When our hearts are open
and free of constructs, we become channels for spiritual light. When we are
unburdened with cumbersome and restricting ideas, something new can emerge.
When we are emptied of self-focus, we can begin to see the bigger picture.
This, then, becomes the practice of prayer; in self-emptying we become free and
receptive for "true knowledge."</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "MS Gothic"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "MS Gothic";"> </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-47698180362394146392013-06-27T11:33:00.000-05:002013-06-27T11:33:51.826-05:00The House of Prayer and a Kenosis Retreat<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>”Pilgrims are persons in motion – passing through
territories not their own – seeking something we might call completion (or
perhaps the word “clarity’ will do as well), a goal to which only the spirit’s
compass points the way.” -- Richard Niebuhr</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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I've just returned from a territory not my own:. A Kenosis
(or self-emptying) retreat at the<a href="http://ehouseofprayer.org/about/staff-and-board"> <b>Episcopal House of
Prayer </b></a>on St. John’s University campus in Collegeville, MN. The House of
Prayer is an exquisite retreat house of wood and stone, with Gothic windows,
quiet spaces, an oratory with a soaring tiered scallop of panels reaching
toward the light. There were twelve retreatants and a retreat master--the
Director of the House of Prayer: gentle,
erudite, and compassionate<a href="http://ehouseofprayer.org/about/staff-and-board"> <b>Reverend Ward Bauman</b></a>,
who with his brother Lynn Bauman and Cynthia
Bourgeault worked to translate <i>The Luminous Gospels: Thomas, Mary
Magdalene, and Philip</i>. Bauman is also the author of <i>Sacred Food for
Soulful Living</i>, a cookbook of recipes from the House of Prayer kitchen who,
besides guiding us and leading all the meditation sessions, also prepared our
every meal which was the most delicious vegetarian food I've<b> ever</b> eaten.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiU7bf17GROAy-Ccdma0D23Q7ToqE7Gi4bksUTLz9HCqKka2qKzAI1F9iuZMigJCuaLs8IOV5LEEoAkQIi_VXjsHrKlXqMrKyIwGwiWoMpaxtRSJb1f_9wQw_LOqKSw7TlOzLQMb6bk4M/s499/IMG-20130616-00086.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiU7bf17GROAy-Ccdma0D23Q7ToqE7Gi4bksUTLz9HCqKka2qKzAI1F9iuZMigJCuaLs8IOV5LEEoAkQIi_VXjsHrKlXqMrKyIwGwiWoMpaxtRSJb1f_9wQw_LOqKSw7TlOzLQMb6bk4M/s320/IMG-20130616-00086.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">House of Prayer Dormitory section</td></tr>
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I entered the
retreat, determined that I was going to “make it” this time. I’d empty myself and
travel into the fullness of God’s presence. So intent was I on making this
retreat the “retreat of all retreats” that I got caught up in trying to force
self-emptying even though I knew that all meditation requires is the
willingness to participate. . . that the action is God’s. Confronted with
myself as full of myself, I was miserable.
Perhaps I wasn't meant to achieve divine union, I thought, but if this
was so, why the more than 50 years of yearning and search for this grace? Why
the desire if God did not mean than I take this journey?</div>
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There’s nothing quite like smashing into oneself. It’s a
humbling and grace-filled encounter with darkness which brought me to the point
where all I could do was accept where I was at and be grateful I was anywhere
at all. It wasn't until the final two days of this intense silent retreat that
I found myself willing to be where I was, as I was, and in that acceptance I
fell into God. For a time, at least. As Niebuhr says, Pilgrims are persons in
motion, seeking a completion to which only the spirit’s compass points the way.
The spirit is always at work even when we’re off track, leading us gently back
to where we belong.<o:p></o:p></div>
Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com0Collegeville, MN 56374, USA45.5944091 -94.363052620.0723746 -135.6716466 71.1164436 -53.054458600000004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-89123310533989444852012-12-22T20:34:00.004-06:002012-12-22T20:37:15.290-06:00Christmas 2012 Letter to my Readers<br />
There’s an Irish Proverb that expresses my sentiments as I open the cards, e-mails. and posts you've sent during this sacred holiday season. “When I count my blessings, I count you twice.” The messages, photos, letters, and notes tucked within each envelope remind us visibly of the ways you've enlightened my life and fill me with gratitude.<br />
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A dear friend brought me to tears of laughter the other day as she told me about the cards she’d bought to send out this year -- happy elves leaping and dancing from tree to rooftop and shouting gleeful greetings. And inside those cards, she’d be writing a “I’m sorry to tell you that . . .” message about the grief that recently overtook her life. “Whatever possessed me to buy such a card?” she sighed and we began to laugh. How good that laughter was. It reminded me that friends don’t expect our messages to be totally upbeat when our lives are mixed parcels of joy and sorrow.<br />
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This year, Bill and I decided to delay our winter sojourn in Florida until after Christmas. While snowfall has been elusive, we did have the chance to snow-shoe on an overcast winter day through forests laden with snow, accompanied only by the large tracks of a snowshoe hare. Snow captured the neat footprints of a fox that climbed the stairs to our deck, then wandered back along the trail to cross Francesca’s grave and head down to the lake. And every day, the chickadees, politely waiting their turn at the feeders along with the nuthatches and redpolls, rejoice our hearts.<br />
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For the past year, my husband Bill has been flying back and forth across North America for three weeks at a time assisting businesses achieve their goals. I’m very grateful for the three week break Christmas provides, giving us precious time together and to celebrate the holidays with my son Tom and his family. While we've not traveled to exotic places this year, our children and grandchildren have visited us here and in Florida and we've traveled to Iowa several times for Bill’s family celebrations. When Bill is home, we use every excuse to head to Duluth to dine out and take in a movie, especially if there’s a foreign film to enjoy.<br />
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A good deal of spring and summer disappeared while I recuperated from a bad fall down the stairs. Three fractures in the sacrum and hernia surgery reminded me how I’d taken my strength and health for granted. I’m back up and walking now and at work on the umpteenth revision of my third book. To spur the process, perhaps you could send hopeful thoughts in that direction.<br />
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Christmas on Lake Superior inspired me, for the first time since Francesca died eleven years ago, to decorate the house for Christmas. I had forgotten the intimate warmth of burning candles and a nativity crèche , the brightly colored Christmas lights shining through the windows. May the light of your lives shine on all you love and those who love you and may you find blessing in each day of the coming year.<br />
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Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-89128868517165345722012-11-28T11:27:00.001-06:002012-11-28T11:27:24.426-06:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTzHdgwAxZWgRIvbDfYXyGasppBYX1l7OfjihSFNjWouISzLdEAX06irBcpvP1KMFRXza1i0Twp7OE5cnB7S1A6x7y5bPqGC8xq9f_JlEI8-asqpA_BJnZsWNIJlAXRwh0ZWZnVmhq4MI/s1600/IMG_0005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTzHdgwAxZWgRIvbDfYXyGasppBYX1l7OfjihSFNjWouISzLdEAX06irBcpvP1KMFRXza1i0Twp7OE5cnB7S1A6x7y5bPqGC8xq9f_JlEI8-asqpA_BJnZsWNIJlAXRwh0ZWZnVmhq4MI/s320/IMG_0005.JPG" width="320" /></a>For the first time in four years, we have remained in our northern paradise to celebrate snow. Since Thanksgiving, we've gone snowshoeing on dark afternoons on trails through white spruce forests laden with snow. The only other tracks are those left by Snowshoe Hares, their large feet bounding from one side of the trail to the other and into the canopy of undergrowth that sagged with heavy snow. Seized with gratitude, I want to sing my joy but to break the silence of the woods seems almost sacrilegious. So I plod on silently, stopping frequently to savor the wonder of such beauty and to give thanks that this winter we've decided to stay until after Christmas.<br />
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Here on Lake Superior, the myriad ways in which God is with
us are clearly visible, yet we so often neglect to note this presence. Advents comes to shake up our complacency. It reminds us to see the miracles that
surround us as we await God’s gift of himself in the Incarnation. </div>
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We spend so much time waiting. We wait on lines in the grocery store. We
wait for the Stop sign to change to Slow during road repairs. We wait for
fishing season. We wait for school to start, for school to end. We wait for
good jobs. We wait for vacation days. We wait for our children, their births, first steps, first words. And now we wait for Christmas and the fulfillment of God's ancient promise.</div>
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Yet we are not the only ones who wait. In a beautiful meditation on Advent, Sister Sallie Latkovich, CSJ writes that in Advent we contemplate the three ways of Christ’s coming: in history, in our daily lives, and in the second coming. “ I've been thinking that we've got it all wrong,” she writes. “This Advent I've come to see that it’s GOD who waits for us . . . waits for us to notice the myriad ways in which God is with us, always.”</div>
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I think of God waiting as I watch the chickadees, red polls, and nuthatches bounce on an off the feeders, politely taking one seed at a time, flying off to a nearby branch to open the sunflower seed, then waiting their turn to return for another. I think of God waiting as I trudge through the new fallen snow into the winter forests. I think of God waiting as in the early hours I pray the morning liturgy and open myself to all the ways God reveals his love as I move through the day. I pray that you will experience a similar anticipation as you move into your every day. May God's waiting love surround and fulfill your deepest longing. May your Advent be blessed, exceedingly. </div>
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<em style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: red;">© Beryl Singleton Bissell 2012</span></em></div>
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Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-10021343032281097882012-04-13T07:55:00.002-05:002012-04-13T07:57:15.506-05:00Shirking graceRestless in your presence, Lord. As if You detain me. As if I have so much to do to avoid You.Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-38678908540319516602012-04-01T07:45:00.002-05:002012-04-01T07:47:00.379-05:00Reading for spiritual nourishment<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5eXchu4p8cqiW46zii0mXPJpuKckc4I_QYNAnnc5_IJ2tA2r20gNSDDgsCU6bMA2-JWfASiXIR3dm2C5RWSHb6MrbmmEp0cE8-So0EZThYHcdctN0rQ7jFDRgijaXxr6E1lQl0YJhnjk/s1600/Motherhouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5eXchu4p8cqiW46zii0mXPJpuKckc4I_QYNAnnc5_IJ2tA2r20gNSDDgsCU6bMA2-JWfASiXIR3dm2C5RWSHb6MrbmmEp0cE8-So0EZThYHcdctN0rQ7jFDRgijaXxr6E1lQl0YJhnjk/s320/Motherhouse.jpg" width="207" /></a></div>
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This morning, while meditating, these words formed in my mind. "Some books are prayers, you say, if they tell the truth, unzip culture's tight corset, reveal the wild longing creature within, release her to fly."<br />
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I'd just finished reading Kathleen Jesme's <a href="http://www.indiebound.org/book/9780807130445">Motherhouse</a> for the second time and taken a lyric journey into a shared past. Each page shimmered with a mystery grounded in the earth yet daring to breach the galaxies. Even the structure of these poems, latticed throughout with readings from the rule book used by her religious community and quotations from mystics and saints, quiver with mystery. One line of verse eliciting wonder, three lines of insight,<br />
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"Rain and more rain. Dense. I dreamed of green worms.<br />
Saw a moth "open-winged on a tree trunk, looking like<br />
a piece of bark. Like my selves --<br />
some so perfectly camouflaged they resemble me. "5/17 Wednesday, Feast of St. Paschal"<br />
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Harsh, tender, reflective, brooding ... poems like a rosary of light and dark. A perfectly lovely read.Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4286756813249574762.post-72157746106588561792012-03-18T17:14:00.003-05:002012-03-18T17:57:55.469-05:00Favorite New Spiritual MemoirsI'm a besotted book-lover. I have heaps of books piled on tables throughout the house waiting to be read or in the process of being read. Many of these books have been recommended to me by friends whose reading preferences I respect. When these books are spiritual, it makes sense to recommend them on a blog dedicated to spiritual living? These are not exactly reviews. They are meant simply to share what I've loved. They are a get-to-the-point-and-do-it-quickly type of review that will perhaps inspire you to check them out and maybe buy a copy.<br />
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My two newest spiritual favorites are both memoirs and both were written by Jesuits. When a Jesuit writes, you can usually count on the work being erudite. Some Jesuit authors are also darn good story-tellers.The authors of the next two books are erudite <i>and</i> they know how to engage the reader.<br />
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<img alt="My Life with the Saints" src="http://www.loyolapress.com/assets/bookcovers/71493_LARGE.jpg" /><br />
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I have numerous books on the lives of the Saints. I've recommended some of them here, in the past.While all of these books introduce us to saints and their lives, I've not found one that combines both the lives of the saints with a personal experience of these saints. Father James Martin's <i>My Life with the Saints</i> is a perfect blend: a personal spiritual memoir combined with the lives of the saints. This book is a delightful journey with a self-effacing, articulate, and often funny Jesuit as he meets and “befriends” saints both modern and ancient. Martin is a gifted story-teller and guide to those seeking to know the great friends of God. This book has instilled in me a new curiosity about my own and other's relationship with the saints. I question whether I've ever considered them friends. I wonder if reverence for their lives and the inspiration they offer qualify as friendship. I wonder what is your experience? Are you friends with particular saints?</div>
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I received <i>Tattoos on the Heart</i> from one of my best friends: a nun who spent the money I'd given her to buy books, to buy me a book! Actually, she bought several copies to share; she loved it that much. <i>Tattoos on the Heart</i> is a spiritual memoir of Father Gregory Boyle's work with the “homies” in Los Angeles. As we follow him into the heart of the LA ghettos, we travel with a priest who has dedicated his life to restoring hope and a sense of self-worth to hopeless lives. He introduces us to gang
members who want more than anything to "to get a job." It is having a job that instills a sense of dignity to their lives. But even more than that, these young people need to be loved and it is love, unconditional love, that Father Greg offers. For the past twenty-years, Father Greg has run Homeboy Industries, a gang-intervention program in the Boyle Heights neighborhood of Los Angeles ( the "gang capital of the world.") The lives of these young people, as told by a wise and courageous priest, propel this book with such urgency that you will find it hard to put it down. Some of the stories Father Greg tells will make you laugh. Others will break your heart. To my mind, they are certain to enlighten and uplift you. </div>
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<br />Beryl Singleton Bissellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11989231835137438633noreply@blogger.com0