Could the apparitions of Our Lady of Cuapa be a replay of Fatima?

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By Larry Peterson

Bernardo Martinez was experiencing a sense of despair about his life. He lived in Cuapa, Nicaragua, and was quite poor. Bernardo was a sickly young man and could not find work. He lived in a small room in the back of the church, where he did his best to maintain the grounds and a small chapel. He also acted as a sacristan.

On two separate nights in April of 1980, Bernardo had discovered the lights turned on. He blamed some of the women for leaving them on, but they denied that they had. Again, on April 15, 1980, Bernardo had noticed the glow of light coming from the sacristy. Annoyed and mumbling under his breath, he hurried to the chapel to turn the lights off. But the lights were not on. The glow was from something else.

As Bernardo entered the chapel, he noticed the glow had focused itself around the statue of the Blessed Virgin. As he slowly approached the strange light, he realized that the sculpture was illuminated. Excited at seeing such a sight, Bernardo hurried to tell some of his friends. He asked them to please not tell anyone. But they did tell others. The result was that most of the townsfolk began to ridicule and make fun of Bernardo. Even the priest did not believe him.

On May 8, 1980, Bernardo had a chance to go fishing. After about two hours, he left to go home. While walking back, he saw two lightning flashes. After the second flash, he saw a woman standing where the flash had occurred. Bernardo was naturally frightened and, after doing his best to compose himself, walked over and asked the Lady who she was. She replied that she was the Mother of Jesus.

Bernardo fell to his knees and stared at her. Then he asked her what she wanted? She told him that she desired the Rosary to be prayed every day. Bernardo told her he was going to meet the people to pray the Rosary in the chapel.

Our Lady knew that they were praying the Rosary because it was the month of May, but she told him again that she wanted it said every day of the year. Bernardo said she told him, “The Lord does not like prayers we make in a rush or mechanically.”  She continued,  “You should pray the Rosary and also read Bible passages so you can put into practice the Word of God.”

The Blessed Virgin appeared to Bernardo five more times, and another time an angel appeared. Bernardo, afraid of being ridiculed, kept these visions to himself. He even began to avoid the area where the visions had occurred. But he could not stay silent for long. On May 16, 1980, only a few days after the last vision, Bernardo once again saw two flashes of lightning. Then Mary appeared before him. He wept and told her he was sorry for being so frightened. She smiled at him and told him he could tell the people.

Bernardo went to the priest and told him what had happened. He told him to gather the townsfolk together and he did. With the priest by his side, Bernardo told everyone about the visions. Some of the people believed Bernardo but most were still skeptical. The priest told Bernardo that if he had any more experiences to tell no one but him.

During the evening of June 8, 1980, Our Lady again appeared to Bernardo. He said the visions he saw were like watching separate movies in the sky. The first was of the first Christians all dressed in white marching to heaven. The second was the Dominicans all carrying large, luminous Rosaries. One of them brought a large book, and they all meditated on the words. Then everyone said one Our Father and ten Hail Marys.

There were apparitions on July 8, 1980;  September 8 (Our Lady’s birthday), 1980: and on October 13 (the last vision of Fatima), 1980. During the final apparition, the Blessed Virgin said, “Nicaragua has suffered a great deal since the earthquake, and will continue to suffer if all of you don’t change. If you don’t change, you will hasten the coming of the Third World War.”

In 1995, Bernardo Martinez, at the age of 65,  was ordained a priest in the Cathedral of Leon in Nicaragua. He died in 2000. In 1982, the Bishop of Managua authorized the investigation into the apparitions. In 1994, Bishop Robelo stated that the apparitions were “worthy of belief.”

Copyright© Larry Peterson 2020

When it Comes to Life and Death, the Paradox that is Humanity is Inexplicable

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On January 22, 2019, New York’s governor, Andrew Cuomo, signed into law the Reproductive Health Act. This was also the anniversary of Roe v.Wade.

When the governor finished signing this bill, a suffocating wind exploded from the halls of the capitol, caused by the cheers and screams of those upstanding lawmakers who had voted to legalize infanticide. Indeed, the wind has moved like a tsunami across our land, leaving behind a foul and repugnant odor.

There is an inexplicable paradox that engulfs humanity. I believe there is a far greater number of women and men who are willing to lay down their very lives for their child, even if it is still unborn, than those people who rejoice in the death and destruction of the most innocent and helpless of all God’s creations. I have no answers for this human phenomena.

The signing of this bill and the cheering that followed brought me back to a day 40 years earlier: September 6, 1978. For my young family, that was also a day about the life and death of a baby. Mostly, it is about how one woman would go to any lengths to save her unborn child.

Loretta had entered her sixth month of pregnancy, and in the days preceding September 6, there had been little movement from the baby. On September 5, the doctor had appeared concerned but had only said that the heartbeat “could be a bit stronger.” He wanted her to return in a week.

The rest of that day there was no movement. We had gone to bed and fallen asleep. I was on my right side, and Loretta was lying against my back. Suddenly something jabbed me in the back. It was hard enough to wake me. I sat up and said, “The baby just kicked me.”

She said softly, “Yes, I know.”

It was 2 a.m., and all was dark and peaceful, but we did not fall back asleep. We just lay quietly, side by side, holding hands and waiting. A second kick never came.

The next morning, after I had gone to work, Loretta began to hemorrhage. Her mom had been staying with us for a few days — and thank God she was there. She called 911 and then called and left a message for me at work. My first stop was only ten minutes from the hospital, and I arrived there before the ambulance.

When they pulled the gurney out, I was stunned at what I saw. My wife had lost so much blood that her hair was smeared with it. Her eyes were closed and she was not moving. I stood by helplessly as they rushed her into the ER.

For those who reject and scoff at the wonder of God’s human creations, here is an example of how one woman did not. As I was standing there not knowing what to do or where to go, a priest came in and asked me if I was Larry Peterson. I just nodded, and he told me that my mother-in-law had called his parish. As Loretta was being wheeled out of the house, she made her mother promise to have a priest waiting to baptize her child. Her mom kept that promise.

There was a hospital ten minutes from our house. I was told that the paramedics wanted to go there but that  Loretta demanded they take her to the Catholic hospital a half-hour away. They told her it was way too risky because of the amount of blood she was losing. She would not relent, and they did as she asked. She was determined to have her child baptized. She had knowingly and willingly put her life on the line for her baby.

Loretta survived and the baby did not. She was baptized. A few days later, the remains of  Theresa Mary Peterson left the funeral home in a tiny white casket. The casket was placed on the front seat of a limousine. We followed it to Gate of Heaven Cemetery in Valhalla, N.Y. She was buried with my parents, and her name is on the tombstone. She did exist and will always be remembered.

As the great Pope, St. John Paul II said, “A nation that kills its own children is a nation without hope.”

Lest evil prevails, we must pray like never before that our nation overcomes this onslaught against the very image of God Himself.

© 2019 Larry Peterson 

When You Think You Think You Have Nothing to Give, Bring Your Drum…

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At least that is what a young boy did thousands of years ago when he wanted to honor a new king. You probably can hear the drum beating as he asks “Shall I play for you? On my drum?”  You know the rest. tribal-1215118_1920

Most of my life, I’ve felt I had nothing worthy to put at the feet of the King of the Universe.  Instead, I often ran away from him. But in his wisdom and love, he carried me to the point where I am today.

It was in my parish family during a small group retreat by Father Michael Gaitley, the study on “Consoling the Heart of Jesus” gave me a whole new insight into the love and longing Jesus has for us. Early in the book, Father Gaitley shares a simple message he perceived from Jesus:

“All I want is for you to be my friend. All I want is for you not to be afraid of me and to come to me.” (Page 71)

Loving and Consoling Jesus through His Living Body the Church

 I found great joy in meeting with like-minded souls to talk about our growing love for Jesus and the resulting desire to put faith into action.  It was nothing short of miraculous. God bears his light to us, first through his son and then through others.

They come heeding the call of the Holy Spirit to be in the right place at the right time. We all know people who are beacons – radiating goodness, kindness, love and action. Sometimes, we are the steadying signal, but I never forget who is at the origin.

Therefore let us be grateful for receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, and thus let us offer to God acceptable worship, with reverence and awe;  Hebrews 12:28 

Jesus is the burning heart, the center of this wonderful body of Christ and in loving others, we love him.  In consoling others, we console him. We truly are branches nourished by his living vine.

Bringing Our Drums

heart-2862156_1920So we come back to the little shepherd boy. I hear his drums, “pa rum pa pum pum” a physical declaration of his heart beating with love for the king, a testimony to all that is required of us–offering our own hearts without reserve.

I once thought I had nothing to give, but I was wrong.  Jesus smiled at the drummer boy and his gift while Mary nodded and the ox and lamb kept time. I am certain he smiles at each of us too; we just need to bring him our drum.

 

What Christmas songs stir your heart?  Bring loving memories to mind?  Feel free to share in the comments section.

The Gift of Red

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2008-11-16 021Advent and Christmas were always bright and happy times in my childhood home.  While focus was on preparing for the coming of Christ, mixed in with that anticipation was the fun of decorating.  Red was everywhere and in every room.  My mother made sure our home reflected the joy heralded by the angels of peace on earth and goodwill to all men, with the manger scene a focal point.  We had red plaid table cloths in the dining room and playful elves hanging from every conceivable perch. I came to love the significance of all these bright red and green decorating traditions.

Several years ago, a cardinal perched outside my window one morning. He was a magnificent contrast against the small oak tree in my backyard, and reminded me of my father who faithfully put out black sunflower seeds (the best kind) for the cardinals gracing our home. My mother has kept a stained-glass cardinal on her bedroom window along with a myriad of colored-glass crucifixes, chalices, and other professions of her enduring faith.  She believes that my dad, long gone, signals to her when the cardinals come and visit.

So, my mind wandered the trail of how much the color red permeates our world and how God created so many variations for our delight.  Do you know how many names there are for this color called red?  I didn’t, and so I looked it up and daydreamed about the marvelous range of reds in existence.  But it was the deep scarlet of the cardinal that led me on a path to remember our Savior, not at His birth but at His redemptive sacrifice – and through my father – His teachings from the Sermon on the Mount.  At the end of the trail, one thing was crystal clear to me, one realization that I needed at the time; Jesus loves me , all of us, beyond our imagining, beyond all else in this created world.  I marvel at God’s wisdom in creating a small bird with such power to move the human heart, to lift our spirits toward heaven, and to give me memories of my devout parents.

The following poem was born from the gift of red given to me through inspiring parents.  What memories bring  warmth and comfort to you?  Feel free to share special holiday memories or traditions.

Cardinal Red

More than poinsettias and red curly-ribboned Christmas gifts,
more than glossy lacquered lines of red candy apples in the window,
more than clumsy Crayola-red shapes on a toddler’s first piece of art,
more than sumptuous strawberry-red berries begging to be tasted,
more than the competent clarity of fire engine reds racing to rescue,
the deep scarlet cardinal captures me
in the fleeting seconds of his landing,
in the sound of his song,
in the almost imperceptible rising and falling of his splendid chest.
He breathes life and bleeds red,
as red as the drops of blood2008-11-16 022
falling from our Savior’s wounds
and causes me to remember my father
quoting Matthew 6:26 from his red Douay-Rheims
“ Behold the birds of the air, for they neither sow,
nor do they reap, nor gather into barns;
and your heavenly Father feedeth them.
Are not you of much more value than they?”
In this cardinal red moment,
the two hundred and eighty four other shades
referenced in books
cannot compare.

 

 

“Little Nellie of Holy God”–The Toddler Who Inspired a Pope*

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Ellen Organ was born on August 24, 1903 in what was known as the “married quarters” of the Royal Infantry Barracks in Waterford, Ireland. Her dad, William, was a soldier in the British army. Shortly after Ellen’s birth she was baptized into the faith at the Church of the Trinity. No one knows why, but from that point on Ellen Organ was called “Nellie.”

By William Organ - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, Link

By William Organ – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, Link

By the age of two, Nellie displayed a pronounced spirituality rarely seen in a child, especially one so young. While walking to Mass holding her dad’s hand she would constantly talk about seeing “Holy God.” This was something she began saying without having heard such an expression. Even her dad admitted years later he had no idea why his daughter began saying “Holy God.” Nellie’s parents were both devout Catholics and her mom, Mary, had an especially deep devotion to the Blessed Mother. She would take walks with Nellie, always talking about Jesus and Mary. She and her husband also made it a family custom to pray the family Rosary every day. Nellie, doing as her mom showed her,  always kissed the Crucifix and the large beads between decades. The first words she learned were “Jesus” and “Mary.”

Nellie’s life and the lives of her brothers, Thomas, David and their sister, Mary, were about to change dramatically. Their mom became very ill with tuberculosis. Nellie, the youngest of her siblings, was by her side constantly and was actually hugging her mom when she died in January of 1907. Nellie was three years old.

The children’s dad could not provide proper care for them. Consequently, he turned to his parish priest for help. Thomas, who was the oldest at age nine,  was sent to the Christian Brothers and David to the Sisters of Mercy. Mary and Nellie were taken in by the Good Shepherd Sisters in Cork City. They arrived there on May 11, 1907. The sisters treated them kindly and were very good to the girls. Nellie was happy to call all of the sisters, “Mothers.”

Nellie was three years and nine months old when she arrived at the Good Shepherd Sisters home. A young girl named Mary Long slept next to Nellie. Nellie never complained but Mary heard her crying and coughing during he night. She told the sisters and Nellie was moved to the school infirmary.

Upon examination it was discovered that Nellie had a crooked spine (the result of a serious fall) that required special care.  Sitting up was very painful for the child and sitting still for any length of time caused her great pain. Her hip and her back were out of joint. She was only three and she tried to hide her pain. But she could not “fake” feeling well. All the sisters could do was make the child as comfortable as possible.

Nellie astonished the nuns with her insight and knowledge of the Catholic faith. The sisters and others that cared for Nellie Organ believed without reservation that the child was spiritually gifted. Nellie loved to visit the chapel which she called “the House of Holy God.” She referred to the tabernacle as “Holy God’s lockdown.”  And she embraced the Stations of the Cross. Upon being carried to each station she would burst into tears seeing how Holy God suffered for us. She also developed an acute perception of the Blessed Sacrament.

One day Nellie was given a box of beads and some string. Being a three-year-old she put some in her mouth and inadvertently swallowed them. People saw her gagging and choking and rushed her into the infirmary. The doctor present was able to remove the beads from Nellie’s throat.

They were all amazed how brave the little girl remained as the doctor probed  into her throat, removing the objects. She never made a sound. At this time it was discovered that, just like her mom,  she had advanced tuberculosis. The doctor told the sisters there was no hope for recovery and gave Nellie only a few months to live.

Nellie loved the Holy Eucharist deeply. She would ask the sisters to kiss her when they were coming back from Communion so she could share their Holy Communion. She desperately wanted to receive her First Communion. But the rule of the Church was a minimum age of 12. Nellie was only three.

Nellie told of visions she was having of “Holy God” as a child and the Blessed Mother standing nearby. Her faith was so pronounced that the Bishop agreed (since she was close to death) to confirm her. She received her Confirmation on October 8, 1907. Then, on December 6, 1907, after considering all the facts, the local bishop, in consult with the priests, allowed Nellie Organ to receive her First Holy Communion. Nellie Organ died on February 2, 1908.

Nellie Organ’s story spread throughout Europe and reached the Vatican. It was presented to Pope Pius X by his Secretary of State, Cardinal Merry del Val. It was providential because the Holy Father had been looking for a reason to lower the age of receiving First Communion to the age of seven but was not sure about doing it.

When Pius X read the documents about “Little Nellie of Holy God,” he immediately took this as a sign to lower the age. The Pope immediately issued a Papal Decree called Quam Singulari, changing the age of receiving First Holy Communion from 12 years old to age seven.

Pope Pius X, who would become St. Pius X, after issuing Quam Singulari, took up his pen and wrote, “May God enrich with every blessing — all those who recommend frequent Communion to little boys and girls, proposing Nellie as their model. –Pope Pius X. June 4th, 1912.”

*edited version published in Aleteia on March 3, 2017

©Copyright Larry Peterson 2017 All Right Reserved

This Year, Experiencing Death and Resurrection during Holy Week became a Personal Reality

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Author’s note: The following was written during Holy Week. It has to do with my wife’s death, funeral and the fresh grief that followed. I thought I should share it here. 

Marty’s funeral was April 6th. Everything was perfect; the Mass, the music, the people, the cemetery and the traditional “fellowship” that followed. I arrived back home about 3:30 pm and headed to the dining room table. I looked around and the reality of the moment sent a shiver though my body. I realized I was alone . . . very alone. I began to cry (yes, men do cry).

So I sat down and sobbed and fought hard to stop. I blew my nose, took few deep breaths and unconsciously stared at the paperback book in front of me. It was an old book of quotes. I have no memory of placing it there but I must have. Just like that it was in my hand. (In retrospect I believe someone unseen guided my hand to it).

I flipped it open and read the first quote staring at me. It was from Edgar Allan Poe about his wife: “Deep in the earth my love is lying and I must weep alone.” I read it again and thought how pathetic that was. The quote from the great writer embraced nothingness. It was so sad. It also jump started my brain. My crying turned into deep breaths and then my thoughts jumped to Holy Week and Resurrection. I was supposed to be rejoicing. Whatever was my problem?

Well, like everyone else, I am human. The death of a spouse leaves a deep hole inside you. When you get back home after everything is over you see her everywhere. That’s the way it is. You are wounded and bleeding. (I know–I lost my first wife 14 years ago to cancer.) Slowly, over time, the wound closes. Inevitably it leaves an unseen ugly scar which you learn to live with.

Once again I mentally dashed to my citadel, aka my Catholic faith. It was that pitiful quote from Poe that made me realize I had been witness to a great journey. I had stood by as my wife received all she needed from her Catholic faith to advance from this earthly life to the next. I even posted on Facebook how she had received her “Jesus hug” when she arrived.

There is a grief process we all go through when struck by the death of a loved one. But our magnificent and comforting faith can become our “fortress of solitude.” It eases the pain; it can dull the ache in your stomach; it can help you fall asleep. (For me, a Rosary in hand is more powerful than any Xanax.) Most of all, our faith helps us to make sense of what has happened.

My wife was blessed to receive an Apostolic Pardon when she was on life-support. Seven days later she came off life support and the next day received Holy Communion. Two days after that, she was still breathing on her own but unconscious. The infection had traveled to her heart.

She was transferred to Hospice House and, upon her arrival, my son and I said a Chaplet of Divine Mercy at her bedside . The next day a group from the church came by and said a Rosary and a Chaplet in her room. The last morning of her life an old friend of mine from the SVDP Society came in and we said a Chaplet together. The Chaplet is very powerful when said by someone’s death bed. If I count the Apostolic Pardon, the Chaplets, and the Rosaries, plus Holy Communion, she was most definitely prepared for her impending journey.

Holy Week is upon us. We journey with Christ through His passion and death and then we rejoice at His Resurrection. It was all done for us for one reason—Love. This year my wife gets to witness it all, up close and personal. I can see that great smile of hers beaming everywhere. I have absolutely nothing to cry about, do I?  But, since I am human, I’m sure a few more tears will find their way into the days ahead. But it is all GOOD.

Happy Easter everyone.

Copyright 2017 Larry Peterson
This article was originally published at Aleteia.org on April 17, 2017.

Visiting Homebound Elder-Catholics—A Privilege and Sometimes, an Unexpected Challenge

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I have been an EMHC (Extraordinary Minister of Holy Communion) for over twenty years. I have had the honor and privilege of bringing Holy Communion to many people in many places: hospitals, nursing homes, hospice centers, assisted living facilities,and, of course, to the homebound. I love being part of this ministry and it has brought me in touch with some amazing people who have lived their Catholic lives quietly, faithfully and without fanfare or notoriety.

Most of those I visit are Elder-Catholics.These are the Catholic faithful who have, throughout their lives, supported their church, been active in various ministries and carried on the faith that was and still is, part of their very being. Some were born into the Faith and it was nurtured in them by their parents and oftentimes by nuns, brothers, priests and Catholic laypersons.  They in turn have passed it on to their own children. Some found the faith as adults and converted. (I so admire those people.) And so, as is the way of things, the Church continues.

I would like to share a story about one of these people. His name is John. I have been bringing  Holy Communion to John every Sunday for a little more than a year. He is ninety years old, an Army veteran who spent almost thirty years in the Far East and was married for sixty years. His wife, Mary, passed away several years ago. He loved her dearly and misses her greatly. John is not delusional, or suffering from dementia or anything like that. His mind is sharp and clear. Physically, John is  deaf (hearing aids help a tiny bit) and wheelchair bound.

When I arrive at his front door, I push the doorbell. I hear a chime; he does not. Inside, several strobe lights begin to flash, notifying him someone is at the door. He is expecting me and the front door is unlocked. I walk in and he gives out a big, “Hey, hey, good morning.”

I more or less holler back, “Hey John, how you doing today?”

He is always wearing  a smile. He says, “Well, I’m still here.” We both laugh.

John is facing a dilemma. He picks up the newspaper from a few days before and points to a story. “Have you gotten any feedback on this?” I look at the paper he has opened to an article dealing with the church’s newly revised guidelines on cremation. I shrug and tell him I have not. He says, “I have a problem and maybe you can help me out. I need some guidance.”

I am not “Father Larry” or “Deacon Larry”…I’m just Larry. I immediately feel a bit insecure because I do not like telling folks what they should or should not do when it comes to their personal faith issues. I quietly ask the Holy Spirit to quickly help me out. Then I say, “I’ll try, John. But I may not be able to. I will go to Father Anthony and ask him if necessary.”

Being part of this ministry can have unexpected rewards. God was about to bless me with a glimpse into the hearts of two Catholics, a man and a woman, people of faith who married in the faith and lived it and who shared a love that did not die upon the death of one–rather, it simply continued and still existed. John says to me, “You know, I am upset about this article. It says we Catholics must bury the ashes of loved ones in sacred ground.”

I said, “That isn’t anything new. Some folks are scattering ashes over the Gulf of Mexico or off mountaintops or sharing them among family members. Those kinds of things are not approved of.”

“Look”, he says. “I have Mary’s ashes here with me. I talk to her every day. I’m all alone and I feel she never really left and I get such comfort from that. Do I have to get her over to the cemetery?”

I’m looking at him and tears are filling his eyes. He wants to be a GOOD Catholic man and he loves his wife and wants to be loyal to her. He will give her up if the Church requires it even though the pain he will feel is unimaginable. It did not matter. He would be true to his faith no matter what. I was looking at a man who would have gladly embraced a martyr’s crown if he had been called upon to do so.

I knew that cremated remains are supposed to be kept intact and placed in a proper vessel. Nervously I began to answer but he continued. “I have a spot down at the VA for both of us. I made arrangements with the funeral home and when I pass they are going to take us together down to the VA and bury us next to each other.”

I breathed a sigh of great relief. Casting doubt to the wind, I told him, “John, that is great. She can stay here with you. She is encased in a vessel and is scheduled for burial. You will make the trip to the VA together. Don’t worry about a thing.”

I will never forget the smile that broke out across his face. I’m not sure if I gave him  proper “guidance.” No matter; in this case I am sure the Holy Spirit helped me out. I will check with the priest when I see him.

©Copyright Larry Peterson 2016. All Rights Reserved

Alzheimer’s Disease Has Turned Me into a “Guilt-Free Liar”

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By Larry Peterson

My wife, Marty, has Alzheimer’s Disease, which can lead to the unexpected, like this essay. I did not plan on writing what follows but certain things, silly things, happened last night that I found myself still thinking about this morning. I thought this might provide some insight into the daily world of Alzheimer’s patients and their primary caregivers.

After dinner (by the way, I am turning into a pretty good cook) Marty asked me, “What time is my show on?”

Reflexively I asked her, “What show?” (I know she has no favorite show. I also know she has stepped into what I call ‘Uh-oh time.’ I call it this because these are the moments that can lead her to become quickly frustrated and agitated).

She looked at me and I could see her tensing up. Raising her voice a decibel or two, she said, “You know what show. Just tell me what time it comes on.”

Quickly I became a liar. I have become a guilt-free, therapeutic liar because, in my world, I have to survive. My realization is that without me she is alone and she can no longer survive on her own. “Sorry, sweetie, your show is not on tonight. There is a special about sharks, and you don’t care about sharks, do you?”

“You know I don’t like sharks. But that’s okay. I can watch the news, right?”

“Absolutely.”

She headed to the sofa, sat down and picks up her puzzle book. She always was good at doing the anacrostics (I find them incredibly difficult) but now she more or less looks at the page, holding the pencil on it. The pencil never moves. Then she said, “Do I have to go to work tomorrow? I’m so tired. I really could use a day off.”

Two years ago I might have tried to explain to her that she does not have a job and has not worked in seven or eight years. However, with my Liar’s Hat still in place I answered, “You’re right. You do look tired. I think you need a day off too. Don’t worry, I’ll call in for you and tell them you’re sick.”

“You would do that for me? That’s’ so nice. I’m so glad I don’t have to get up and go in. Is today Sunday?”

Whew, a relief question. I could tell the truth. “No, it’s Wednesday.”

“Wednesday, are you sure?”

“Yes, it’s Wednesday.”

Things were quiet for a while. It was about 9 p.m. when I walked back to the bathroom. Suddenly I heard smashing and banging coming from the utility room off the kitchen. I headed in there and Marty had, in a matter of minutes, emptied the wall cabinet of all the plastic containers, glasses and cups and other things that were inside and stacked them all on the washer and dryer below. “Hey, hon, what are you doing?”

She looked at me and I could see she was agitated. “We have all this junk. We have to get rid of it. Why do we have all this junk? We have to throw it out.”

Immediately, I switched back to my Liar’s Hat. “Okay, when should we throw it all out?”

“I don’t know; maybe right now?”

“Well, it is kind of late. Maybe we can do it in the morning.”

“I don’t feel like putting it all back tonight.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll do it.”

“Oh, thanks. I’m too tired.”

There was one final question. She looked at me and asked, “We’re married, right?”

“Yes Marty, we are married.”

She got into bed about 9:30 and was asleep in about two minutes. I was mentally worn out but I looked at her and realized that the innocence of childhood has come back from an unknown place and once again embraced her. I also knew that when she awakes in the morning she will not remember anything of what has happened.

Since I do not “punch a clock” I have the joy of being able to attend daily Mass at 8 AM. Marty will wake up at about 7 AM, and she always asks me, “Are you going to church?”

I answer, “Yup.”

She will ask, “Will you take me with you?”

“Of course.”

From 1 Corinthians 13:4-5

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.

As a caregiver to a child of God, I have been blessed.

Being a caregiver for his wife with Alzheimer's Disease has turned Larry Peterson into a guilt-free liar.

By Gelonida – Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=29513537

©Larry Peterson 2016 All Rights Reserved

Meet “The Doorkeeper:” Solanus Casey, the Man without Ego

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By Larry Peterson

The 2016 election (more than a year away) has already worn me down. The pundits include the greatest thinkers of our time. I know this because virtually all of the TV and radio commentators, campaign officials, editorial writers, government officials, TV talk show hosts, comedians and, of course the candidates are always saying, “I THINK…this” or I THINK…that.” Those folks sure do a lot of thinking. And I know it must be important thinking because the ones doing all the thinking are doing it on TV, radio, in print or somewhere in cyber-land. It MUST be important, right? Wrong!

They are all experts in everything you can think of and, filled with their own sense of grandiosity, they vilify, name-call, and besmirch those with an opposing viewpoint or philosophy. They even attack their opponent’s families. Then you hear the great Machiavellian disclaimer of, “Hey, that’s politics.” You know what, I have my own phrase for all of it: rude, obnoxious, self-gratified egomania. I’m so over it.

I decided to begin a search for someone sans EGO. I was sure it would be almost next to impossible. But guess what? It was not. We Catholics celebrate the great feast of All Saint’s Day on November 1. The saints are members of the Catholic Hall of Fame (I call it that). They are the best of the best, the crème de le crème, the most selfless of the unselfish. These are the people who loved God unconditionally and, in some cases, failed many times before they got it right. But they all invariably emptied themselves for others before they died, many times giving their lives in doing so.

Solanus Casey

By Mahatma Gandhi (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0], via Wikimedia Commons

Let me tell you about one of them who was a quiet, uncomplicated  man who never aspired to be anything more than a simple priest. His name was Bernard Francis Casey, and his family and friends called him Barney. There are many guys and gals like Barney in our Catholic Hall of Fame and they, like Barney, were ‘ego-less.’ This was not a birth defect. Their secret simply was knowing how to love God with all their mind, heart and soul. That led them to love others more than themselves. It was NEVER about them.

Barney was born in Oak Grove, Wisconsin, back in 1870. He was the sixth of 16 kids of Irish immigrant parents. When Barney was a boy he contracted diptheria, and it left him with a permanently raspy-sounding voice. (Barney would never have qualified for American Idol). Barney felt the call to the priesthood but, at the age of 16, he hit a detour. He had to go to work to help the family and worked at jobs in Minnesota and Wisconsin as a lumberjack, a prison guard, a streetcar operator and a hospital orderly.

Barney Casey always did whatever job he had to the best of his ability, wanting to serve his God in all things. Five years later he was able to enter St. Francis High School Seminary in Milwaukee. He spent five years there before being able to move on and join the Order of Friars Minor Capuchin. Upon his acceptance he took the name of Solanus after St. Francis Solanus, a 17th century missionary.

Solanus Casey was finally ordained a priest at the age of 33. He had to study extremely hard to reach that goal, and when he was finally ordained he was given the title “Sacerdos Simplex,” which means “simple priest.” This meant he was not permitted to preach or to hear confessions. He never complained; he took joy in just being a “simple priest.”

Father Solanus Casey lived in Detroit, and his main job at the monastery was that of “doorkeeper.” Father Casey, wanting to the absolute best at whatever God chose for him, became the finest doorkeeper that ever lived. He did this for well over 20 years and also became known for his service to the sick and the advice and consultations he would have with visitors. People began attributing cures and other blessings to his interaction with them or others.

Father Solanus Casey: a man who opened and closed doors for people. A man who had no ego and was happy to serve God in the simplest of ways. A man who, because miracles have been attributed to his intercession, was declared “Venerable” by Pope John Paul II in 1995. This is the first step toward canonization as a saint. Father Solanus Casey died in 1957.

Father Casey is the first man born in the USA to be on the road to full sainthood. And all he did was humbly and happily open doors for people and talk to them if they wanted. A Catholic Hall of Famer for sure, and quite the contrast to the gaggle of egotists that bombard us daily with their “I think” wisdom. Solanus (Barney) Casey has recharged me. It might be nice if all of today’s bloviating pundits could hear or read his story.

©Larry Peterson 2015. All Rights Reserved.

Time to “Slap Back” at the Self-Serving Intolerance of the Anti-Catholic/Christian

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Sorry–it is Good Friday and I do not feel too “bubbly” right now. When I began to contemplate the Cross today and Who was nailed to it I found myself disgusted. I am disgusted and fed up with the approximately 2% of the population who are gay and are screaming at the “intolerance” of the Catholic/Christian community which comprises 80% of the American population. I am tired of us being called “intolerant” and “homophobic” and “racist” etc., simply because they do not get their way in every little thing they demand. Have they ever once considered what that Cross we revere stands for? The fact is, they have hijacked the Cross and insist it represents them and their self-indulgent ideology. We Christians are the “bad people.” This perverse nonsense has to stop.

I am also tired of the mainstream media and the Hollywood elite denigrating and mocking Christianity and all who belong to it as “fools.” Aren’t you tired of being trashed by the anti-God people? Why can’t they seem to understand one bit of the the kindness and goodness that has been extended to ALL people by Catholic/Christians, you know, people like all of us. Bill Maher says that people who believe in God, “are idiots and they are stupid.” Has he or any of his fellow God-haters ever taken one damn moment and looked at that Cross and reflected about the sweet mercy, flowing grace and abundant love that smeared blood red all over the wood? I think not.

The United States State Department says that in at least 60 countries, Christians face persecution simply because they are Christian. Imagine, being hated for loving. How twisted is that? Seventy-five percent of the world’s population lives in areas with severe religious persecution. Yes, yes, I know, we are supposed to “turn the other cheek.” Well, this Catholic man says I’ll turn it but if you keep slapping my face every time I do, sooner or later I am going to slap you back. My brothers and sisters, I think it is time to start slapping back. Not with fists and pipes and lies and rants but with the written word defending our Faith against all attacks, even if it is a Tweet on Twitter or a blurb on Facebook.

I also want our bishops to get up there and start defending Christ and His people. And I want them to tell their priests to defend it also. (When was the last time you heard a priest in your parish defend the faith against the evil run amok all over the world including the USA?) I want them to say “We don’t need your your damn tax exemption 501c3. We must defend our faith no matter what.”

That’s right, forget this “PC” (politically correct) nonsense. We, as Catholics, do not put pen to paper and lie, slander or foment falsehoods about people. We write about Jesus Christ and the beautiful Faith He has given to us. That is not evil or intolerant. That is what we are about. We are about loving our neighbor and, for the most part, we do.

Last June ISIS overran the city of Mosul in Iraq. They killed countless numbers of our brother and sister Chaldean Catholics. The Church in Erbil has set up camps and is helping more than 130,000 refugees settle in temporarily until they might once again go back home to Mosul. Pope Francis has set an example for us all, including our hierarchy. He has sent Cardinal Fernando Filoni, the Prefect for the Congregation for the Evangelization of Peoples, to these displaced Catholics. The Holy Father has initiated a program to give out cakes to each of the families in the camps. A total of more than 20,000 cakes will be distributed as the Holy Father shows them they all have his support and he is standing up to the maniacal, Satan driven savages of ISIS. He has taken the lead.

All I am asking for is more defense of the faith via the spoken and written word and some leadership from our safely placed American hierarchy in mounting a campaign to do so. Jesus never said it would be easy following Him. Seeing what happens to Him on Good Friday proves it. War is being waged against us, not only over there but right here in our own country. Time to “slap back.”

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