Tag: faith

On Sunday Mornings

The other day, my daughter-in-law passed on to me a prayer that her grandpa had just sent to her. It was the Prayer of St. Francis that begins with “Make me a channel of your peace.”

I immediately started singing it in my head. This whole prayer was put to music in 1967 by a South African songwriter, Sebastian Temple. We sang it at high school masses, and it was part of our wedding music in 1972.

My favorite version.

I thanked her, and said that it would be my daily prayer reflection. It got me to thinking about faith, family and Sundays. This near 80 year old California grandpa had sent it to a 41 year old Denver mom, who sent it on to me, a 71 year old Omahan.

In this mix, is a 20 year old daughter, a college sophomore who posts weekly from her church in Colorado a simple, joyous greeting, like “May the Lord be with you and keep you in His perfect peace today.”

This elicits uplifting responses from all ages. One, an 80 year old Phoenix relative regularly answers something like “Have a peaceful week”. It’s nice to see that connection.

Growing up, Sundays were about many things: rest, church, cinnamon rolls, and the comics, which we called the funny papers.

“Funny Papers”, studio art quilt, Shirley Neary, 2000. Hand dyed and inkjet printed cottons, reverse appliqued. 38”by 29”.

When we were very young and lived on a farm by Breda, Iowa, going to church resulted in a reward for us kids. I told that story in the following art piece:

A stitched St. Bernard’s Church, from a photo I took. Candy images printed on cotton. Machine quilted.

Mom would make cinnamon rolls on Sundays. Now, we were living in Carroll, which meant we could walk to church. The older kids, (of which I was one, being the oldest), were allowed to sleep in, and go to late mass. When we got back, there was a warm breakfast of an egg and cinnamon roll.

In Mom’s handwriting. This is it, nothing on the back.I guess every homemaker in Iowa knew the rest of the instructions.

In 1977, when The Commodores came out with Lionel Ritchie’s song, “Easy” (like Sunday Morning), I couldn’t relate. Sunday mornings were not about ease and relaxation. They were hectic, and filled with obligation, or guilt.

We had 2 little boys then, and went to mass separately. Later, with 4 children, we all got presentable and went as a family. It was frantic. Somebody always had a paper route, with an adult helping. Often, we were responsible for Donut Sunday (at St. Margaret Mary’s), which was fun to do, going downtown to Petit’s Pastry shop to pick up the order.

That presentable issue created challenges. Could the boys wear a tee shirt? Yes, maybe, but without slogans. A collared shirt was better. Were jeans acceptable? They were not, in the 1970’s and 80’s. There were definite rumblings among the parish members about these choices, almost like gossip.

The best we could do; we were a casual family. Conor had just fallen moments before, so he’s still hurting from that.

In Mom and Dad’s time, of farm life and big families, they dressed up for church. My Aunt Jan tells me this story: “We would throw everything down the stairs on Saturday to prepare for Sunday mass, such as ironing the boys’ shirts and polishing the shoes. Near the finishing of that chore, Lenus would exchange his shoes for Dad’s. Then, Mom would say we missed polishing Daddy’s shoes.” He was a trickster!

Polished shoes photo, found online. Lenus, my dad, was 3rd oldest of 11 children.

One time, Mom and Dad were visiting us in Omaha from Carroll. On Saturday afternoon, we went to the Steamboat Bertrand exhibit at DeSoto Bend. The Bertrand sank on April 1, 1865, when it struck a submerged log in the DeSoto Bend of the Missouri River. The items recovered are what’s on display.

It was a very hot summer’s day. All of us were in shorts.

On the way home, Dad suggested going to the 5PM Saturday mass, fulfilling our Sunday obligation. He said it would be nice to wake up on Sunday morning and relax. I protested that we weren’t at all dressed for church.

We went and sat in a somewhat hidden side row, with me a little embarrassed, but happy to have an “Easy Like Sunday Morning” ahead of us.

If you would like to share any comments or photos from your Sunday mornings, please do!

Peace to you,

Shirley

On Praying

Entry door handles, St. Michael the Archangel Church, Munich, Germany, 2014

A few years ago, when my friend Teri asked me to pray for a special intention, I responded with, “Yes, of course, my every breath is a prayer.” She thought that was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. This made me wonder where those words came from. Did I hear it, or read it somewhere? Or, was it original to me?

Growing up Catholic, I know the prayers to say. Some of them are the Our Father, Hail Mary, Bless us O Lord (before meals), and the Rosary for really big wishes from God.

A simple prayer we used to say often around the house was this: “St. Anthony, St. Anthony come around, something is lost and it must be found!” It usually worked.

While Dan and I were raising a family, our prayers were somewhat by the book, memorization and instruction. Going to Mass was expected and we all went together.

Later, when the kids were teenagers, I felt myself transitioning and praying with deeper meaning and more frequency. Some of it was in short bursts as they were leaving to go to school, or a job, or a game or a RAVE (scary thought). I’m sure they never witnessed me stepping out on the front porch and making the “Sign of the Cross” as they drove around the corner.

When my parents became sick in 2011, at 79 years of age, and passed away months later, it was so life changing. I transformed my praying to the uncomplicated “May God be with us” and “Thank you God for being with us.”

It was easy to say, and I said it so often, that it became an enormous comfort, and it still is. This personal, silent prayer is a way to practice my faith and get me motivated sometimes when I don’t want to do a “must do”.

I find myself saying it as we are discussing things of life (or death) at family reunions, or in the grocery store aisle with a favorite friend. I say it silently when a loved one goes away, and before I go away. Often, I ask Mom and Dad to be with me also.

My Grandma S. used to say something like, “See you next week, God willing.” At the time, I thought that was so depressing to hear her say that! Did she think she was going to die in the next few days? Now, I actually think it was her prayer showing trust in God’s plan. She was so joyful and grateful for each new day.

Proof that Dad is still with us, and the reason for Faith.

Dad’s favorite fishing place, Nelson Park, in Iowa, now has a bench to memorialize him. On the day it was installed, my brother, Marty, took this photo, because he liked the trees and the still water. It was only later that he saw Dad’s face reflected in that calm water (upper right from the bench, wearing a hat and sunglasses).

So, as I get older, I may be praying even more because there is so much to pray for. I just hope I don’t start saying “God willing”. I don’t want to scare the grandkids.

Shirley