As struggles appear, humility becomes powerful, the material goods not mattering at all. Taking over are courage, strength and faith, as God bestows mercy and love upon His blessed and precious children.
~Marie T. Morrison
Showing posts with label humility. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humility. Show all posts
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Friday, December 23, 2011
WHAT TO BRING
"Give to the LORD the glory due his name! Bring Gifts! Tremble before him, all the earth!" Psalm 96:8,9 (CEB)
How thrilled our Lord will be, if we present Him with gifts of humility, peace, love, gratitude,compassion for one another and a daily prayer of praise!
~Marie T. Morrison~
How thrilled our Lord will be, if we present Him with gifts of humility, peace, love, gratitude,compassion for one another and a daily prayer of praise!
~Marie T. Morrison~
Thursday, December 8, 2011
LISTEN TO THE PLAN
We often question what we are told to do. Mary, our Blessed Mother, could only glorify the Lord and rejoice in God when the Angel Gabriel said she would carry God's Son. Mary teaches us to remember the Two Great Commandments, as well as the Ten Commandments, including honor, reverence, humility, compassion, kindness and love.
As Mary accepted what was told to her,God's will is different for each one of us. Listening to this individual plan, while in prayer, can deliver great joy and bring a new passion for life. Together, what He has planned for all will make a beautiful world, filled with all the goodness Mary taught us through her initial act of love.
~Marie T. Morrison~
As Mary accepted what was told to her,God's will is different for each one of us. Listening to this individual plan, while in prayer, can deliver great joy and bring a new passion for life. Together, what He has planned for all will make a beautiful world, filled with all the goodness Mary taught us through her initial act of love.
~Marie T. Morrison~
Thursday, November 24, 2011
THE CHILD WHO RAN AWAY
BLOG-The Child Who Ran Away
It was a cold winter morning the day I was assigned playground duty. The dirt playground was now a mixture of slush, mud puddles and gooey mud. Children love days like this, to get out there and run off the built up energy in the brisk air after sitting all morning. Teachers are thinking of sipping a warm cup of tea and how squishing through a muddy schoolyard was not part of the curriculum in their college education, much less of putting up with a classroom filled with dirt and mud at the end of each recess.
My small class of eight boys, ages eight through twelve, have bundled up in parkas, hats, mittens, scarves and boots, ready to burst out the portable classroom door to hit the blast of cold air. I follow, wearing my warm gear, a gray wool coat past my knees, a rose-colored knit scarf wrapped three times around my neck and most of my face, a matching knit hat I’ve shoved down to cover the forehead, cozy gloves and boots up past my knees, thick wool socks underneath. I know those cold temperatures chill me to the bone as I wander the yard, waving to fellow teachers in their assigned areas.
Snuggled in my warmth, watching and hearing joyous children at play, I felt a little nudging on my elbow. Standing there was a little girl about the age of eight. She reminded me of a waif, so slight she was. I did not remember seeing her before, thinking she must be a new student at the school. She was wearing lime green thin cotton pants, not even reaching her ankles, threadbare. On her feet were rubber galoshes, a dirty shade of orange. She had on a coat that would hardly be warm on a late summer evening. There was no hat covering her red-orange hair, cut unevenly and barely combed. She pointed down to her clothes, where I saw she was drenched, mud splatters everywhere, even reaching her jacket, soaking through. As my eyes grew wide, expressing shock and sorrow, she said a group of kids had come over to where she was standing, jumping in the puddles nearby. They were laughing as they did this to her.
Just then, the recess bell ring to go back to class. I took this timid child with me into my classroom, a portable building at the edge of the playground. In my closet, I had an abundance of spare clothes I was often handing out to my own students. I did have clothes her size, a warm white turtleneck and a pair of blue jeans that would fit her well. Handing them to her, I told her she could change in the restroom, getting nice and warm in something new. Her precious eyes looked at me longingly, her not saying a word. Looking back at them and her freckled cheeks, I asked her if she wanted me to help her change her clothes; she nodded a yes to me.
I turned to my class of boys, to whom I taught long ago to always respect everyone and everything, my number one rule of the classroom. They had not uttered a word as they watched this transaction, not making a move in their desks, forgetting their happy banter which usually followed every recess break. It was as if they knew something was not right for this sweet child. I gently asked them to put ‘their foreheads on their forearms,’ not looking up until I said it was okay to do so. I almost wanted to cry at how good they were. Forgotten were the rough boy moments. Not once did they look up as I took the wet clothes off of this simple soul of God’s, nor did they make a sound, not even a shuffle.
I pulled off her too big galoshes only to find out she had on no socks. Pulling off the wet trousers, I saw she had on no underwear. Neither one of us shared a word, working in silence. Though I had socks, I had never thought of keeping undergarments in my cupboard. My heart was breaking, though my face held a warm and loving smile, as she took in the moment of having something warm to wear. Quietly, I told her that after lunch, I would have some special underclothes for her too, that I would call her out of class. She gave me one last smile and said a quiet ‘okay.’ I watched her go, walking across the playground in her dirty orange galoshes, back to her class, a tiny piece of innocence out there in a large world not always filled with love and compassion.
As my students looked up, they did not ask one question about what just happened. I was proud of them, saying a silent prayer to God for these rich gifts right in front of me. What wealth, to have a classroom full of God’s glory, eight sets of bright, dark brown eyes, looking out at me, ready to learn their next lesson. We all knew the silent lesson they had just been part of was a powerful one, no words needed to be expressed.
Running to the store during my lunch break, I picked up this fragile little one from her classroom so she could add the one needed item to her new wardrobe. As I helped her dress, I asked her if she had any brothers or sisters at the school. She said she did, telling me the ages of the three other siblings. We continued to visit, me learning that they just started this new school the day before. It being a Friday afternoon, I told her that by Monday, I would have all kinds of new clothes for her family. Having generous neighbors, I knew I would have several bags to give her parents, as well as some stuffed animals, school supplies and a game or two.
She told me she would be gone by then. Her mom, brothers and sister were running away from her dad. She was staying at the shelter for battered women across the street, her dad finding out where they were. He had called the school, saying he was driving to our town now, planning to kill the family. They were leaving at midnight, before he reached where she was; they could reach the next shelter by the time there would be an open beds. A hotline at the present shelter told them where they could go next.
Speaking to me in an even and polite tone, I could see this was the only life she has ever known. She literally ran away from where she had been with the clothes on her back, before her angry dad hurt her and anyone in the family. This was a life I knew nothing about. There was an unmarked building housing battered women across the street, but that was the extent of my knowledge. That building now had a personality to it, as behind it walls were people with fears and anxiety, but also hope.
How blessed and thankful I am, for my clothes, my shoes, even my undergarments. Growing up, I had the same home and bed at the end of the day, never wondering if my parent is going to harm me after he finds me, or who will bully me at my next new school because of how I looked. There was no needed hotline to follow, saying where I could possibly be safe.
This being Thanksgiving, it is truly a time to show gratitude for everything we have been given in life. It is a time to praise God for the blessings we have received. It is a time for us to do as God has asked us, to love one another. We need to reach out and feed the hungry, clothe the poor and provide them with shelter. We need to make time to do something for others. Thanksgiving is the start of a whole new season where we can reach into our pockets to give to the homeless shelters, tutor someone in math, read the paper to those with poor eye sight at a nursing room or begin a jigsaw puzzle with them, as they tell you a story of their past. Realize how Bible Scripture is there to show us how we are to go out and serve others, verse after verse, story after story.
It is a time to share our faith, hope and love through these actions we take. We must constantly pray for our brethren, never stopping at giving charity that will bring them the hope to know God is always there, even in those scary and devastating moments. It is a time to remember we are all brought into one body by baptism in the One Spirit, and that one Holy Spirit was poured out for all of us to drink.
It was a cold winter morning the day I was assigned playground duty. The dirt playground was now a mixture of slush, mud puddles and gooey mud. Children love days like this, to get out there and run off the built up energy in the brisk air after sitting all morning. Teachers are thinking of sipping a warm cup of tea and how squishing through a muddy schoolyard was not part of the curriculum in their college education, much less of putting up with a classroom filled with dirt and mud at the end of each recess.
My small class of eight boys, ages eight through twelve, have bundled up in parkas, hats, mittens, scarves and boots, ready to burst out the portable classroom door to hit the blast of cold air. I follow, wearing my warm gear, a gray wool coat past my knees, a rose-colored knit scarf wrapped three times around my neck and most of my face, a matching knit hat I’ve shoved down to cover the forehead, cozy gloves and boots up past my knees, thick wool socks underneath. I know those cold temperatures chill me to the bone as I wander the yard, waving to fellow teachers in their assigned areas.
Snuggled in my warmth, watching and hearing joyous children at play, I felt a little nudging on my elbow. Standing there was a little girl about the age of eight. She reminded me of a waif, so slight she was. I did not remember seeing her before, thinking she must be a new student at the school. She was wearing lime green thin cotton pants, not even reaching her ankles, threadbare. On her feet were rubber galoshes, a dirty shade of orange. She had on a coat that would hardly be warm on a late summer evening. There was no hat covering her red-orange hair, cut unevenly and barely combed. She pointed down to her clothes, where I saw she was drenched, mud splatters everywhere, even reaching her jacket, soaking through. As my eyes grew wide, expressing shock and sorrow, she said a group of kids had come over to where she was standing, jumping in the puddles nearby. They were laughing as they did this to her.
Just then, the recess bell ring to go back to class. I took this timid child with me into my classroom, a portable building at the edge of the playground. In my closet, I had an abundance of spare clothes I was often handing out to my own students. I did have clothes her size, a warm white turtleneck and a pair of blue jeans that would fit her well. Handing them to her, I told her she could change in the restroom, getting nice and warm in something new. Her precious eyes looked at me longingly, her not saying a word. Looking back at them and her freckled cheeks, I asked her if she wanted me to help her change her clothes; she nodded a yes to me.
I turned to my class of boys, to whom I taught long ago to always respect everyone and everything, my number one rule of the classroom. They had not uttered a word as they watched this transaction, not making a move in their desks, forgetting their happy banter which usually followed every recess break. It was as if they knew something was not right for this sweet child. I gently asked them to put ‘their foreheads on their forearms,’ not looking up until I said it was okay to do so. I almost wanted to cry at how good they were. Forgotten were the rough boy moments. Not once did they look up as I took the wet clothes off of this simple soul of God’s, nor did they make a sound, not even a shuffle.
I pulled off her too big galoshes only to find out she had on no socks. Pulling off the wet trousers, I saw she had on no underwear. Neither one of us shared a word, working in silence. Though I had socks, I had never thought of keeping undergarments in my cupboard. My heart was breaking, though my face held a warm and loving smile, as she took in the moment of having something warm to wear. Quietly, I told her that after lunch, I would have some special underclothes for her too, that I would call her out of class. She gave me one last smile and said a quiet ‘okay.’ I watched her go, walking across the playground in her dirty orange galoshes, back to her class, a tiny piece of innocence out there in a large world not always filled with love and compassion.
As my students looked up, they did not ask one question about what just happened. I was proud of them, saying a silent prayer to God for these rich gifts right in front of me. What wealth, to have a classroom full of God’s glory, eight sets of bright, dark brown eyes, looking out at me, ready to learn their next lesson. We all knew the silent lesson they had just been part of was a powerful one, no words needed to be expressed.
Running to the store during my lunch break, I picked up this fragile little one from her classroom so she could add the one needed item to her new wardrobe. As I helped her dress, I asked her if she had any brothers or sisters at the school. She said she did, telling me the ages of the three other siblings. We continued to visit, me learning that they just started this new school the day before. It being a Friday afternoon, I told her that by Monday, I would have all kinds of new clothes for her family. Having generous neighbors, I knew I would have several bags to give her parents, as well as some stuffed animals, school supplies and a game or two.
She told me she would be gone by then. Her mom, brothers and sister were running away from her dad. She was staying at the shelter for battered women across the street, her dad finding out where they were. He had called the school, saying he was driving to our town now, planning to kill the family. They were leaving at midnight, before he reached where she was; they could reach the next shelter by the time there would be an open beds. A hotline at the present shelter told them where they could go next.
Speaking to me in an even and polite tone, I could see this was the only life she has ever known. She literally ran away from where she had been with the clothes on her back, before her angry dad hurt her and anyone in the family. This was a life I knew nothing about. There was an unmarked building housing battered women across the street, but that was the extent of my knowledge. That building now had a personality to it, as behind it walls were people with fears and anxiety, but also hope.
How blessed and thankful I am, for my clothes, my shoes, even my undergarments. Growing up, I had the same home and bed at the end of the day, never wondering if my parent is going to harm me after he finds me, or who will bully me at my next new school because of how I looked. There was no needed hotline to follow, saying where I could possibly be safe.
This being Thanksgiving, it is truly a time to show gratitude for everything we have been given in life. It is a time to praise God for the blessings we have received. It is a time for us to do as God has asked us, to love one another. We need to reach out and feed the hungry, clothe the poor and provide them with shelter. We need to make time to do something for others. Thanksgiving is the start of a whole new season where we can reach into our pockets to give to the homeless shelters, tutor someone in math, read the paper to those with poor eye sight at a nursing room or begin a jigsaw puzzle with them, as they tell you a story of their past. Realize how Bible Scripture is there to show us how we are to go out and serve others, verse after verse, story after story.
It is a time to share our faith, hope and love through these actions we take. We must constantly pray for our brethren, never stopping at giving charity that will bring them the hope to know God is always there, even in those scary and devastating moments. It is a time to remember we are all brought into one body by baptism in the One Spirit, and that one Holy Spirit was poured out for all of us to drink.
Friday, November 18, 2011
HUMILITY
Profound knowledge is good when used with humility, as it is a gift blessed by God.
~Marie T. Morrison~
~Marie T. Morrison~
Sunday, May 2, 2010
A LOSS IN OUR DAILY LIVES
Somehow, through the years, the giving of respect and dignity for one another has dissipated. There was courtesy shared between all. Now, it seems it is only given to those within our own cast of people. A group of adults who have their children in a private school would not associate with those who receive a public education and vice versa. Criticisms are stated if one is not within a social group. Even the simple ‘hello’ shouted out to one another on the street has disappeared, keeping eyes straight ahead, as one passes by.
We have all heard about the woman collapsing in the emergency room, with no one going over to assist her, passing away right there. No one bothered to tend to her even then. Everyone seems to be lost in his or her own little worlds.
Now, not everyone is like this, but is happening more often. When I was in college, people popped by to meet one another at the table in the dining hall or calling out a greeting as all were rushing to classes. In the classroom itself, there were more friendly greetings. Within minutes, names were exchanged and new friendships formed. My daughter, in her third year of school, said this does not happen anymore. At the beginning of her freshman year, she was assigned to a suite of four bedrooms, with a common kitchen and living space. I imagined all kinds of fun going on through the school year, as they shared stories over popcorn and hot chocolate. Instead, no one would speak to one another! My daughter tried, but they were not interested. One night, at the end of school, she called excitedly, to say one of them asked her to join her and her friends for a movie and popcorn. To think it took nine months for this to happen! A friend told me a similar story of her own daughter, at another university. Tears have been shed, saying no one wants to get together to ‘hang out, all wanting to stay with friends previously known. Her daughter is a precious young woman; I would be running up to say hi, eager to have her as a friend.
The homeless are also ignored. I told my teens the story of a homeless man leaning against the wall near the entrance of our Church. He was seated, his back against the wall, on this cold evening. His head was down, as if he was asleep. He had on a dirty hat, filthy pants and hands, an orange and a dollar bill near his feet. My children were quite young, gasping to see him, eyes having a look of fear in them. I quietly told them not to stare and to say a prayer for a safety as we hurried by. During the priest’s homily that evening, this man began to walk down the aisle, using a tree branch for a walking stick. You could hear the shuffle of everyone in their seats and little gasps of surprise, as he continued to walk down the aisle, head down. Not one of us reached out to help him. He stopped in front of the priest.
Father told us this man was actually not homeless, that it was an experiment to see how the congregation would respond to him. He asked how many of us had seen him, with all hands going up in the air. He then asked how many stopped to see if he was okay. Now, the hands went down. Father said only one person had stopped, to give him his coat, taking it off his own warm body to place over him. All of us felt rightfully ashamed. How could we treat another of God’s creatures as we did? Father asked the owner of the coat to come retrieve it; a 15-year-old young man walked down the aisle! Think that a teenager did respect him with dignity, but the rest of us hurriedly walked by! Yes, I told my children not to stare and to say a prayer, but I did not open my purse to hand over a few bills!
I asked my current group of teens if they see a certain homeless man walking the streets of our town. One of them asked if I was describing the man who wore a dirty coat. I affirmed that was the one. He said all the kids call him “Smilin’ Joe,” as he was always smiling as he walked. I thought that was a great name, but his real name is George. My husband saw him standing outside the store one day, asking him if he could buy him a cup of coffee. He readily accepted. As he spoke, my husband said what a beautiful, deep voice he had. At one time, he had a terrific job with a great salary, but those days are now gone. He chose to walk everywhere and anywhere each day, no mission in mind. He was not an evil character, an alcoholic, or involved in drugs. He survived by people handing him a dollar for a burrito, sandwiches given to him or enjoying that cup of coffee. If my husband had not stopped to share a moment with him, we would have never known this special someone, practicing a life of endurance, character and hope, just as God would have each of us experience. He was more of an example of living in the image of God than many of us. We need to adopt that smile he gives everyone, not carrying a bad thought in his mind. This is what dignity is actually about.
Of course, I did have a friend who walked over to someone in a restaurant who looked homeless, handing him a cup of coffee. The man was puzzled why she would do such a thing. She responded to not worry about it, just enjoy the coffee. She continued to watch the man from her table. Soon, a cashier came over with several sacks of food, saying his phone order was ready! The man asked why that woman gave him the coffee; he was not even sure if he should drink it, unsure of its contents. The cashier smiled to say the coffee was okay, a nice customer wanted to help someone out! As she told the story to several of us, we could not stop laughing. We said maybe that he wanted to dress up a little more before he went to pick up ‘carry out!’ However, she did reach out, again not caring about one’s background!
God created each of us in His image. We carry His Spirit within our hearts; people have forgotten this. We are blessed with the Gifts of the Holy Spirit, those of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, humility and self-control. Yet, we do not always practice the gentleness of God as we go through our days. Our minds tend to overflow with matters in our own lives, rather than realizing everyone needs to have that human touch. It does not matter whether one is rich or poor, dirty or clean, ill or well, of one ethnicity and not another, a busybody or a quiet person. What matters is how God wants us to be in our daily lives, to do for others what you want them to do for you, God’s Golden Rule.
It is hard to get rid of old habits, but pray to God to help us make needed changes, giving everyone to have a life filled with dignity, kindness, love and respect.
We have all heard about the woman collapsing in the emergency room, with no one going over to assist her, passing away right there. No one bothered to tend to her even then. Everyone seems to be lost in his or her own little worlds.
Now, not everyone is like this, but is happening more often. When I was in college, people popped by to meet one another at the table in the dining hall or calling out a greeting as all were rushing to classes. In the classroom itself, there were more friendly greetings. Within minutes, names were exchanged and new friendships formed. My daughter, in her third year of school, said this does not happen anymore. At the beginning of her freshman year, she was assigned to a suite of four bedrooms, with a common kitchen and living space. I imagined all kinds of fun going on through the school year, as they shared stories over popcorn and hot chocolate. Instead, no one would speak to one another! My daughter tried, but they were not interested. One night, at the end of school, she called excitedly, to say one of them asked her to join her and her friends for a movie and popcorn. To think it took nine months for this to happen! A friend told me a similar story of her own daughter, at another university. Tears have been shed, saying no one wants to get together to ‘hang out, all wanting to stay with friends previously known. Her daughter is a precious young woman; I would be running up to say hi, eager to have her as a friend.
The homeless are also ignored. I told my teens the story of a homeless man leaning against the wall near the entrance of our Church. He was seated, his back against the wall, on this cold evening. His head was down, as if he was asleep. He had on a dirty hat, filthy pants and hands, an orange and a dollar bill near his feet. My children were quite young, gasping to see him, eyes having a look of fear in them. I quietly told them not to stare and to say a prayer for a safety as we hurried by. During the priest’s homily that evening, this man began to walk down the aisle, using a tree branch for a walking stick. You could hear the shuffle of everyone in their seats and little gasps of surprise, as he continued to walk down the aisle, head down. Not one of us reached out to help him. He stopped in front of the priest.
Father told us this man was actually not homeless, that it was an experiment to see how the congregation would respond to him. He asked how many of us had seen him, with all hands going up in the air. He then asked how many stopped to see if he was okay. Now, the hands went down. Father said only one person had stopped, to give him his coat, taking it off his own warm body to place over him. All of us felt rightfully ashamed. How could we treat another of God’s creatures as we did? Father asked the owner of the coat to come retrieve it; a 15-year-old young man walked down the aisle! Think that a teenager did respect him with dignity, but the rest of us hurriedly walked by! Yes, I told my children not to stare and to say a prayer, but I did not open my purse to hand over a few bills!
I asked my current group of teens if they see a certain homeless man walking the streets of our town. One of them asked if I was describing the man who wore a dirty coat. I affirmed that was the one. He said all the kids call him “Smilin’ Joe,” as he was always smiling as he walked. I thought that was a great name, but his real name is George. My husband saw him standing outside the store one day, asking him if he could buy him a cup of coffee. He readily accepted. As he spoke, my husband said what a beautiful, deep voice he had. At one time, he had a terrific job with a great salary, but those days are now gone. He chose to walk everywhere and anywhere each day, no mission in mind. He was not an evil character, an alcoholic, or involved in drugs. He survived by people handing him a dollar for a burrito, sandwiches given to him or enjoying that cup of coffee. If my husband had not stopped to share a moment with him, we would have never known this special someone, practicing a life of endurance, character and hope, just as God would have each of us experience. He was more of an example of living in the image of God than many of us. We need to adopt that smile he gives everyone, not carrying a bad thought in his mind. This is what dignity is actually about.
Of course, I did have a friend who walked over to someone in a restaurant who looked homeless, handing him a cup of coffee. The man was puzzled why she would do such a thing. She responded to not worry about it, just enjoy the coffee. She continued to watch the man from her table. Soon, a cashier came over with several sacks of food, saying his phone order was ready! The man asked why that woman gave him the coffee; he was not even sure if he should drink it, unsure of its contents. The cashier smiled to say the coffee was okay, a nice customer wanted to help someone out! As she told the story to several of us, we could not stop laughing. We said maybe that he wanted to dress up a little more before he went to pick up ‘carry out!’ However, she did reach out, again not caring about one’s background!
God created each of us in His image. We carry His Spirit within our hearts; people have forgotten this. We are blessed with the Gifts of the Holy Spirit, those of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, humility and self-control. Yet, we do not always practice the gentleness of God as we go through our days. Our minds tend to overflow with matters in our own lives, rather than realizing everyone needs to have that human touch. It does not matter whether one is rich or poor, dirty or clean, ill or well, of one ethnicity and not another, a busybody or a quiet person. What matters is how God wants us to be in our daily lives, to do for others what you want them to do for you, God’s Golden Rule.
It is hard to get rid of old habits, but pray to God to help us make needed changes, giving everyone to have a life filled with dignity, kindness, love and respect.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)