Hindered in Prayer, Tuesday’s Prayer for Sisters and Nuns


Holy and Beloved Father whose love is without limit and whose gifts are given with full compassion hear our prayers for Sisters and Nuns.

Look upon them with mercy when their prayers are hindered by a false sense of unworthiness.

Inspire all Sisters and Nuns who are creative artists whose gifts are to reveal your beauty in our world.

Help them to continuously embrace your goodness and lead them to seek goodness rather than faults in their communities, in those they care for, and in all of us that they encounter.

We ask this all with confidence in the name of Jesus.


Image by Margaret Rose Realy, Obl. OSB. All rights reserved.

Mother of Vocations, Thursday’s Prayer for Priests


Our Lady of Guadalupe, Mother of vocations, multiply priestly vocations and fill the earth with religious houses which will be light and warmth for the world, safety in stormy nights. Beg your Son to send us many priests and religious. Guard and protect each of your precious priests according to your Divine Son’s will.  This we ask of you, Our Mother. Amen.

Image by Mauriestudio at pixabay.com.

A Forced Simplicity of Gardens


I wrote this a while back when disability first began to set in. It’s a perennial favorite.

Over the past few weeks several friends came to my yard to dig-up flowers and though it felt like they had come en masse to the gardens, they hadn’t. In groups of two’s and three’s they came, they dug, and they left. All were delighted with their trunks and back seats filled to capacity with buckets and boxes of ferns, hostas, anemones, variegated loosestrife, daffodil and hyacinth bulbs, Asiatic, oriental and day- lilies, iris, coreopsis, rose campion, ground covers, vines, and the Good Lord knows what else.

They were all very happy, and I was pleased to have shared what had brought me joy for over twenty years. That was until I turned around after the final digger drove away. My gardens were now patches of weeds, random stalks of unwanted perennials, and potholes.

The last woman who came to dig had offered to help me with gardening during the summer. She reneged, choosing to work the gardens at a Catholic retirement community instead. I understood her change of heart and saw her volunteering on their grounds as being similar to my work for God at the retreat center.  I was delighted that the elderly would see God’s beauty as the result of her efforts. But honestly, I was disappointed that I would be left behind. My hope for a friend’s weekly visits and help over the summer vanished.

For those of you who know me know I cry easily—when I see you after a long absence, when you go away again, when I am filled with joy, sadness, frustration, or deep prayer I cry. So it’s no surprise that I welled up with tears when I looked at what was left of my gardens.

As I walked to the shed I smiled as I imagined Scotty from Star Trek reducing the flowers that remained into bits of electrons and transporting them to all of you via the internet. Then, poof, clumps of soil land on your desks with greens flopping all over the keyboard and folders. And my accompanying message…Sorry, and you’re welcome.

Unlatching the double doors of the shed I pulled out the self-propelled lawn mower. Determinedly I walked it to the front yard, turned the key to start the engine, took a deep breath and moved it into the gardens. Working around the potholes, I reduced to mulch what plants remained.  I wasn’t sure if it was harder physically or emotionally…didn’t matter…I had to clean up the mess as best I could.

And then it was finished. And I didn’t want to feel sad anymore. And I didn’t want to look up at what remained. I shut-off the mower and turned full round.

There before me stood the basic structure of my gardens; the shrubs and ornamental trees. With all the perennials stripped away, the simplicity and beauty supported itself. I discovered that the landscape was only adorned by the smaller things that added texture and color to the space. All the pretty stuff had been nice, but they had depended on a good foundation.

I was content as I cleaned the debris from the mower before putting it back in the shed. It’s beginning to feel good to simplify and get back to the basics of life.

Image at pixabay.com.

Holy Within, Tuesday’s Prayer for Sisters and Nuns


A challenge in our lives as Catholics is to recognize the person of the Holy Spirit within us and discern its guidance. To think that our bodies are its vessel, to truly know this is, well, rather disconcerting at times. Our Sisters and Nuns have come to realize clearly that their lives, their bodies, are not their own on a level we the laity struggle to understand. Let us pray for these holy women persevering in a world contrary to the call of Christianity, that they may always find from within themselves, that centering peace and guidance that is the person of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Image by Margaret Rose Realy, Obl OSB. All rights reserved.


Fire of the Holy Spirit, Thursday’s Prayer for Priests


As we prepare to celebrate Pentecost remember to call on the power and gifts of the Holy Spirit to be showered on our priests, and for that matter, all religious.

Jesus, Good Shepherd,

You sent us the Holy Spirit to guide Your Church and lead her faithful to You through the ministry of Your priests.

Through the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, grant to Your priests wisdom in leading, faithfulness in teaching, and holiness in guarding Your sacred Mysteries.

As they cry out with all the faithful, “Abba, Father!” may Your priests be ever more closely identified with You in Your divine Sonship and offer their own lives with You, the one saving Victim.

Make them helpful brothers of one another, and understanding fathers of all Your people.

Renew in Your priests deeper faith, greater trust in You, childlike reliance on our Mother Mary, and unwavering fidelity to the Holy Father and his bishops.

Holy Mary, intercede for your priests.

Joseph, protect them.

St. Michael, defend them.

St. John Vianney, pray for them.


(Unknown Author)

Image by Geralt at pixabay.com.