Kathleen M. Basi's Blog, page 81

Blessed Are the Clean of Heart (TLL Review and Excerpt )

This Little Light of Mine: Living the Beatitudes is written not only for use with children, but to help form the faith of the adults who work with them. Today’s excerpt, from Chapter 6: Blessed are the clean of heart, for they will see God (Sacraments and Private Devotion), comes from the section for adults.

Most of us spend our whole lives searching for the meaning of life. Every time we think we get close to an answer, something knocks us off course again. We hunger and thirst for–what? All we really know is we’re incomplete, and nothing we pursue quite fills the emptiness, because it’s God we ache for, God we need. But God can feel far away at times; and the journey to reach him long and uncertain. Along that road, we need sustenance: tangible, physical touch points to strengthen us on the way. We find that sustenance in the sacraments and in a rich heritage of private devotions.

Just Live It:

Try celebrating a Passover meal with your family. Look up the traditional foods online, or keep it simple, with lamb and a loaf of unleavened bread…

During the meal, ask all in attendance to think about what it is they need Jesus to deliver them from. What is the habitual sin that you can’t overcome on your own? As you pass the bread around the table, have all people break off a piece to eat, and if they feel comfortable, share their thoughts aloud. But don’t force it. Conversion happens inside and manifests outside in different ways for different people. It would be easy for an exercise like this to turn into an opportunity to be self-righteous, which defeats the whole purpose. (From This Little Light of Mine, chapter 6)

Hop on over to Alicia’s place for this week’s review and giveaway!

Guest Post: Blessed Are The Clean of Heart (This Little Light of Mine Blog Tour, Week 6)

Dan Quinn was the youth minister, and thus my “boss,” the year I led music for our local Life Teen program. Today, in the context of the Beatitude calling us to be “clean of heart,” he reminds us about an old practice many of us don’t give much thought.

*

If you would ask your Catholic grandparents and especially great-grandparents about sacramentals and devotions you would hear about their affection for rosaries, medals, saints, saint feast days, etc. Today’s Catholics do not seem to have the same affection for sacramentals. How can the Catholic traditions of so many years ago apply to us and our society? Maybe our grandparents and great-grandparents are out of touch with our society? That was a different time – a different morality.

Truth be told, the past generation is out of touch with today’s society. Just look at the difference between the forms of entertainment then and now. They watched TV shows like Leave it to Beaver and The Andy Griffith Show while we watch sexually charged shows like Friends and Two and Half Men. For movies they watched Gone with the Wind while we watch Magic Mike. The elderly think that Fifty Shades of Gray must have something to do with the color palate. Maybe we should join our elderly and become out of touch with today’s society.

It appears to me that the gradual decrease of the devotion to sacramentals coincided with the increase of immorality in our society. Whether or not you accept this analogy between immorality and sacramentals, let us first understand how sacramentals help protect us against immorality.

The lack of devotion shown to sacramentals by today’s Catholics may be due to a lack of education.  Sacramentals are blessed objects like rosaries, medals, crucifixes, scapulars or sacred signs such as the sign of the cross, sprinkling holy water, bowing, pilgrimages, etc. The major importance of sacramentals is they “prepare you to receive grace” and direct us to “sanctification of men and the praise of God.” [CCC 1670]

Some Christians and even some Catholics do not understand why we should utilize sacraments when you can go straight to Jesus. It is important to note that sacramentals are not to replace our relationship with Jesus, sacraments or the liturgy, all of which are far superior. [CCC 1675]. The fact that they “prepare us to receive grace” flows from the Paschal mystery of the Passion, Death, and Resurrection of Christ. [1670] Sacramentals have always been an important part of Christian and biblical faith. Here is just one biblical example:

“So extraordinary were the mighty deeds God accomplished at the hand of Paul that when face cloths or aprons [sacramentals] that touched his skin were applied to the sick, their diseases left them and the evil spirits came out of them.” (Acts 19:11-12).

It is said that we should learn from our past and our past was devoted to sacramentals. Maybe it’s time our society places less importance on the latest iPhone and place more importance on sacramentals such as the miraculous Medal. Sacramentals help us by preparing us to live a sanctified or holy life. A sanctified life spiritually puts us in a better position to receive the fruits of the Holy Spirit. Our immoral society would see more joy, peace, charity, patience, kindness, goodness, generosity, gentleness, faithfulness, modesty, self-control, and chastity. I am confident that we all could use more of all of these.

My favorite sacramental is the Miraculous Medal and the Immaculate Conception of Mary. I know this has deepened my relationship with Jesus and I encourage you to find your devotion to a sacramental. Pray this Prayer of the Immaculate Heart of Mary and ask for help finding your sacramental devotion.

O God, who by the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary, didst prepare a worthy dwelling place for thy Son, we beseech thee that, as by the foreseen death of this, thy Son, thou didst preserve her from all stain, so too thou wouldst permit us, purified through her intercession, to come unto thee. Through the same Lord Jesus Christ, thy Son, who livest and reignest with thee in the unity of the Holy Ghost, God, world without end. Amen.

*

Dan Quinn and his twin brother, John, are the authors of the Marion Amazon best seller The Ultimate Saint Guide to the Immaculate Conception. He is administrator of the Immaculate Conception of Mary Facebook page.

May Fest

When I was a kid, my little parochial school–200 students, grades 1-8–had its major fundraiser the first Friday in May. The school cafeteria/gym became the venue for a pork chop meal, which I think everyone in the parish attended, whether they had a kid in the school or not. In the corner was a country store selling baked goods. My mother always sent four loaves of bread. Each classroom was converted into a booth: cake walk, wood burning, engraving, lollipop tree. The end of the building, blocking the main entrance, was a white elephant.

It was a community event, and utterly magical. We looked forward to it every year. My parents have a set of six huge globe goblets that my sisters and I won piecemeal over the course of years by throwing ping pong balls into them. (As a parent, I can now shake my head and imagine their reaction: “Oh, great, just what I wanted. More of those tacky goblets.”)

I thought of this about an hour into Julianna’s school spring festival on Friday night. It was supposed to be outside, but–big surprise, this ridiculous weather year–it was too cold and rainy. In keeping with modern America’s abysmal eating habits, the meal was hot dog, chips and a cookie instead of the pork chop, green beans & homemade desserts of my youth. There wasn’t a country store or a white elephant–but the classrooms were set up for bean bag toss, lollipop tree, and the like. Including a photo booth, where I volunteered for half an hour.

It was a bit chaotic. Michael was getting tired, and our whole family (except Christian) has been fighting the sore throat/cough bug. Michael began hurling himself to the floor and rolling around long before we ran out of tickets. Until he discovered a water fountain with a stool in front of it, that is. After that, he was in heaven.

It was such a fun evening. Crazy, yes, because the halls were crowded and it was tough to keep track of the kids. My memories of Mayfest involve us being cut loose, but of course we were older.

What struck me about the juxtaposition of memory on present is the rarity of events like these nowadays. Even my parochial school has abandoned Mayfest for the more profitable “auction” format. And I don’t like that format. I feel locked out of auction events, because we will never, ever be in the market for large ticket items, especially not at auction prices. And although there is a community aspect to an auction evening, it’s not the same. Auctions are adults only. Now, don’t misunderstand: I can certainly sympathize with the desire to spend time with other adults. But at the same time, it feels wrong to me somehow to remove the kids from the quotient. After all, we’re fundraising for the kids’ school. Why not make them part of it? Let them be invested? Make fundraising an event that not only raises money and builds community, but also gives families the chance to have fun together?

Maybe it’s not an either/or situation. The auctions certainly serve their function; they raise a ton of money. But wouldn’t it be wonderful to have those family events that bind communities together, too?

I guess the obstacle is that a spring festival requires a higher commitment level from the community. The need for volunteers is greater, the need for donations is greater; people need to take time to bake goods and make crafts and prepare homemade desserts and spend shifts in the kitchen and the game booths. You have to go through your closets looking for white elephants to donate. All the way around, a festival is a bigger commitment from the non-committee members, and the larger the school, the more unwieldy the practicalities. And the reality of urban life in the modern world is that it’s hard to get people to volunteer to the needed level. I’m as guilty as anyone else.

So maybe my idealized version of a school fundraiser is doomed to failure. But when I remember the festivals of my childhood, and when I see my kids enjoying the one at Julianna’s school, it makes me sad.

Nicholas (a 7QT post)

___1___

A couple of years ago, I read about a study that had concluded that boys’ brains, in particular, don’t finish developing the part that allows them to make good judgment calls until very late…like, sometime into the college years, if my memory is correct.

I often think of that when surveying the “what were you THINKING????” moments in my household. Right now, that’s mostly Nicholas. So I thought today I’d share all about my third-born, second son.

___2___

He can’t seem to remember…or more likely, he chooses not to remember…the things he’s been repeatedly yelled at for. Like jumping on the couch. He’s absolutely determined that he MUST remove the cushions, use them to build steps, and pretend that the couch is his Jazzercise stage. And he keeps drawing on the table and the floor with marker, despite multiple warnings and punishments. (I don’t know if I ever wrote about the day he got his hands on a SHARPIE and defaced the Amish-made oak table. Christian and I worked for an hour to get that off.) He also can’t seem to remember that Mommy gets really ticked off when he puts glasses and washcloths on the edge of the tub and pours water over them, which cascades onto the floor. But the best (worst?) one was the day I found him with his hands in the big water pitcher I had just filled with filtered water for the family to drink at dinner. I mean, seriously, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, boy? Why would you even think that was okay, as many times as you’ve seen me yell at your baby brother for similar infractions?????

___3___

Even so, he has such a personality. As a parent, you tend to collect and organize the comments people make about your kids. Alex is complimented on his maturity and love and caring for his siblings. Julianna, well, Julianna’s Julianna. Michael gets the “he’s so cute” in equal parts with “wow, he wears me out!” (Yeah, me too.) But Nicholas is the one people adore. Teachers, sitters, even my next door neighbor, always say, “He’s got such a personality!” He’s the one they remember. The one who stands out most as having the strongest-developed character at the youngest age. Julianna could give him a run for the money on this, but her extra chromosome gives her an unfair advantage, so we’ll set all that aside for right now.

___4___

Nicholas is funny about following directions. We’ve learned more or less how to handle him, and it’s not the way I’d choose to handle a situation; it involves too much backpedaling and feeling like we’re allowing the child to take charge. But he’s unbelievably strong-willed, so I am coming to the conclusion that this is the only way to parent him successfully. You have to start any conversation/decision making process early enough for him to say “No,” forcefully, several times. Then you have to give him lots of time to change his mind, because if you don’t, he’ll pitch all manner of fits, and act like he’s the victim because you made preparations based on the preference he gave you in the first place. At nap time he’ll push me away: “I don’t want a hug!” He’s trying to punish me for making him take a nap. But if I say, “Okay, fine,” and head out of the room, he’ll immediately scream, “I WANT A HUG!” And if I try to teach the lesson that you don’t get to change your mind repeatedly, he’ll scream and cry for ten minutes, as if he’s being mistreated. So I’ve learned to  ask, “Do you want a hug?” I rein in my impatience while he screws up his face–you can see the gears spinning, working out scenarios. “Do you want a hug?” I repeat.

“I’m trying to think,” he says. (Face palm.)

___5___

He will also banish himself to his room when told to eat a food he doesn’t like or apologize for bad behavior–and he’ll sit upstairs having periodic conversations with you about how he’s not ready to come down and do what he’s told. But in the end, he always does. Sometimes it takes five minutes, sometimes fifteen. But he always comes around in the end.

___6___

Well, a couple of non-Nicholas things. This week something happened to me that has never happened to me before. I completely lost my voice on the day of a gig. I’ve had weak and sore throats, but never none. I didn’t really believe it. I was supposed to lead a Mass for the diocesan principals, and I enlisted last-minute help, but when it came time for the chant Mass parts, which I never play, I told them I’d come up and help them get started singing. Only I opened my mouth and nothing came out. Just a little hiss of air. I tried three times, and…nothing.

Voice is beginning recovery today…good thing, b/c I have to sing a wedding tomorrow.

___7___

Christian reminded  me of a funny memory this week as we were watching the “new” Star Trek movie again. It came out in the theaters when Julianna was in the hospital–on a bi-pap she didn’t like AT ALL. When we reached the :27 mark of this clip…..

Christian leaned over to me and said, “Look! It’s Julianna!”

Blessed Are The Merciful (TLL Review and Excerpt)

Chapter 5 of This Little Light of Mine: Living the Beatitudes ties together the idea of mercy with the 4th through 10th commandments–as I like to call them, the “rubber-meets-the-road” commandments. Today’s excerpt comes from the section for children.

Have you ever heard that old saying, “What goes around, comes around?” That’s kind of what Jesus is getting at here. God is good to everyone all the time, but people have trouble being nice to those who are mean to them.

The last seven of the Ten Commandments tell us how we should treat other people. Here are some things to think about:

….

“You shall not kill.”

Most of us are never going to kill anyone, but that doesn’t mean this commandment is an easy one to follow. There are people we just don’t like, and sometimes we say mean things to or about them. “I don’t like playing with you.” “You’re not very good at sports.” “I’m a better reader than you.”

The way we talk to other people and what we say about them when they aren’t around can make them feel that they are important and loved, or it can make them feel like they are worthless. When we hurt other people’s feelings, we are “killing” their spirit. God wants us to talk about other people with respect and not trash their reputation.

Just live it

How can you tell people they hurt you without doing the same thing to them?

(Excerpt from This Little Light of Mine: Living the Beatitudes, chapter 5)

Today I have TWO reviews to share! Here is Ellen Gable Hrkach’s review at Amazing Catechists, and Carol at Simple Catholic Living has both a review and a giveaway in process! Hop on over!

Guest Post: Blessed Are The Merciful (This Little Light Blog Tour, Week 5)

Today I welcome blogger, columnist and author Sarah Reinhard to the blog. Her charm and humor shines through everything she writes, and today’s offering, in which she really digs down to the heart of a lived faith, is no exception!

*

The Rubber Meets the Road with the Merciful

So often, I love the thinking, theory parts of my faith life. I like to think about how things work and go all deep and thinkoretical. I’ve always been this way.

I was all set to live my life this way until right after I became Catholic. It was at that point, with the sun streaming in through our little parish church, when the director of religious education found me and turned her big brown eyes on me.

“You’d be great as a catechist,” she said, so sincerely, so charmingly, so humbly.

Yeah, you know the drill. I said yes. And life has never been the same.

You see, there’s nothing like a class full of younger people—in my introductory case, 3rd graders—to make all that theory into just a bunch of marshmallows. They don’t care what it’s supposed to look like. They want to know how it is. They want to know why. They want to know how.

And the thing about kids, whether they’re in 3rd grade or 5th grade or Confirmation-aged, is that they’ll ask. They’ll demand (if you’re lucky) or they’ll tune you out (if you’re not).

Over the years, I’ve learned that parents—and, really, all adults—aren’t so different. Give them, for example, a tangible way to apply the commandments and live the beatitudes, and, while they might wiggle their eyebrows (their kids got it naturally), they will also think about it. They will probably try them. With God at work, they may even start to make them their own.

There is a longing in the Catholics all around us for Truth and, even more, for ways to apply Truth. We’re at odds with the world around us, but we’re also so very conditioned and immersed in life…where’s the line? How do we know?

That’s where the last six commandments come in. And, if you stop for a minute, it’s also where the beatitude about mercy—”Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy”—comes in.

On the surface, it seems too easy to even mention. At first, you almost wonder if it’s not a cutesy way of saying the same thing twice.

But when you try to live mercy, when you try to refrain from strangling a small person or yanking the hair out of a rude operator, when you attempt to swallow the sharp retort or eat the entire foot you just had shoved down your throat—well, then it becomes clear that mercy isn’t so easy to live. At. All.

This year, our religious education program focused on the corporal and spiritual works of mercy each week. The students earned a cut-out hand to hang on the wall for each work of mercy they performed. In my class, I had one student who really focused on bearing wrongs patiently, especially with his younger sisters.

By the end of the year, a couple of the other students in my class were also citing that work of mercy. They were sharing how they helped someone with homework, how they prayed for a friend, how they did something so inconsequential they giggled as they told me.

And that’s what mercy is, isn’t it? It’s bearing wrongs patiently in our homes so that we’re ready to do it in the Great Big Out There. It’s feeding the hungry who clamor and rudely demand so that we are reflexively gracious and generous with the stranger and poor. It’s a thousand small moments not ignored, but made habit. It’s a way of being that mirrors how Jesus himself taught us to live.

Sarah Reinhard is a Catholic wife, mother, author, and farm girl who writes at SnoringScholar.com.

Did Mary Suffer From Powdered Butt Syndrome?

Mary (Photo credit: aphotoshooter)

Financial guru Dave Ramsey often talks about “powdered butt syndrome.” Once you’ve changed a kid’s diaper, he says, you aren’t interested in being lectured about sex or money by said kid–no matter how much of an expert they grow up to be.

I’d hazard a guess it’s not limited to sex and money, though. A parent spends so many years being the authority figure, it must be really hard to let your kids grow, and then let them go, to make their own decisions and, at length, to recognize that they know more than you do on some subject they’ve studied and you haven’t.

Maybe this is why most people are called to the vocation of marriage: because we need to become parents. Parenthood is a constant stretching of the soul, an unending lesson in humility. Who doesn’t need that?

I wonder if Mary had to deal with powdered butt syndrome. It seems almost inevitable, raising God Incarnate. But if she did, she handled it with tremendous grace.

Moms are used to serving, to fixing whatever’s wrong, to being hostess. It doesn’t matter if it’s someone else’s party: if a mother is there and realizes there’s a problem, she wants to do something to fix it.

So Mary goes to a wedding with her grown son and realizes the hosts are out of wine. This isn’t modern New York, where you can just run to the corner liquor store. I’d imagine the bride and groom were pretty much out of luck. Mary’s heart swells in empathy; she wants to fix it, but she’s helpless. So what does she do? She turns to her child, the baby who nursed at the breast and probably blew out a few diapers, who had diaper rash and teething crankiness and got into things, pulled down shelves in the name of exploration, the whole nine yards. (I am not one of those people who believes the child Jesus was exempt from normal little kid mischief. Being human means you have growing pains to get through, even if you are also God.)

Anyway, Mary is able to recognize that her child has far outpaced her in holiness. She turns to him and says, “Honey, they need help, and I can’t do it, but you can.”

I pray that as my children grow, I may be humble enough to admit when they know better than me. When they can do something I can’t. And to give way gracefully when that moment arrives.

Sunday Snippets

It’s time for another edition of Sunday Snippets: A Catholic Carnival, hosted by RAnn of This, That & The Other Thing.

To begin with, I’m going to share a visual to illustrate one of my 7 Quick Takes from this week:

(And now you know you have to go read that post, right?)

My blog tour continued this week with some thoughts from a pastoral associate on liturgy and community, and I posted a long “Journal Entry” about Alex’s First Communion as well as a fiction piece called “Wedding Day.” Enjoy!

Motherhood, Mostly (a 7QT post)

___1___

I’ve been so busy lately, I just now realized I never shared this! We are running a giveaway of This Little Light of Mine on Goodreads. Six copies available, to be “drawn” by Goodreads on May 1st. Click on over and sign up!

___2___

I think every woman–probably everyone–is well aware that the reproductive cycle affects a woman’s Crank-O-Meter. But I always thought it was Phase III, post-ovulation infertility, i.e. PMS, that was the cranky time. But in a recent  column in CCL’s Family Foundations, Dr. Gregory Popcak mentioned that it’s often the transition from Phase I to Phase II–i.e., the time when you’re entering fertility–that you get the most moody. It was like a light went on in my head, because my fuse is wwwwaaaayyy shorter with my kids during that time. (Three guesses why I’m reflecting on THAT this week.)

___3___

Yes, TMI, I know. But you know how the Europeans are always telling us we’re Puritans at heart? It’s like we want sex and sexuality splashed front and center all over everything–as long as we keep it fun and un-threatening (read that shallow, pointless, and without significance beyond the bedroom). Ladies, if our bodies are causing us to have difficulty with patience at a certain point in the cycle, I think it’s important to acknowledge that and offer each other encouragement in overcoming it.

___4___

Michael is why her glasses are falling off her face in this picture. He had them stretched out.

To return to the topic of #2. Julianna’s glasses, in combination with Julianna’s cognitive weakness, are making me IN.SANE this week. The worst part is I can’t yell at anyone about it, because the at-fault person isn’t old enough to “get it.” Yes, you guessed it: Michael. Michael likes to go up to Julianna and rip her glasses off her face, then twist, squeeze, throw and/or hide them. It happens every single day, usually several times a day. But he’s like a dog; if you expect him to connect words and/or consequence with his action, it has to happen right then, and I don’t discover it until some time later, when I look up from dinner prep or dishes-doing or whatever and see her sans glasses again. And of course, she has no earthly idea where they are.

Thursday morning I’d had enough. I called her over. “Julianna, when Michael takes your glasses, what do you say?”

“Thank you.”

“No. You say Mommy help. Say ‘Mommy help.’”

“Bah-ee heh.”

All his potential for Mayhem shines through in this picture…

“When Michael takes your glasses, what do you say?”

“Thank you.”

“No. You say Mommy help. Say….Mommy help.” She said it with me.

“When Michael takes your glasses, what do you say?”

“Thank you.”

We tried this ten times in a row. I kid you not. TEN. Can I say that loud enough? TEN!!!! And STILL she didn’t get it!

___5___

This encounter, which I tried with variations (what do you DO when Michael takes your glasses?) all the way to school, with very little success, got me to thinking about that “okay?” thing. Modern parents are always getting lambasted for finishing instructions with “okay,” because they’re asking permission of their children instead of taking charge. I try to avoid that word, but not because it’s a sign of asking my kids’ permission. No parent says “Okay?” because they’re asking their kid’s permission. What “okay?” is doing is requesting acknowledgment. It’s akin to “Do you understand?” or “Do you hear me?” All morning I wanted to tack on the word “okay?” to those exchanges with Julianna, because I wanted her to acknowledge that she understood. And I didn’t do it, because you know what? SHE DOESN’T UNDERSTAND.

(Update: At dinner that night, when I asked her what to do when Michael took her glasses, she got it right! Of course, she still didn’t apply the knowledge the next three times Michael yanked her glasses off her face, but…that’s progress, right?)

___6___

Oh yes, in case you don’t follow all the time, our household had its first First Communion last Sunday. And this reminds me of a cute thing I never shared. They have an evening of “centers” to review all the theological and Scriptural concepts several weeks before Easter, but the highlight for the kids is getting to try an unconsecrated host and wine. Alex’s reaction to the host was a tip of the head one direction and the other, raised eyebrows, and this comment: “It kind of tastes like popcorn, only flat and with no flavor.” HA!

___7___

And you know you need a Nicholas moment, right? The other day he was trying to tell a little friend (not this one) when Julianna’s birthday was. “It’s Februay–Faybeeway–Febyewrehr–Febeeyayee–what is it again, Mommy?”

Fiction: Wedding Day

There’s been a snag in the blog tour plans for This Little Light of Mine, so I thought I’d take the opportunity to post a short story instead, and join up with the Write On Edge folks–something I haven’t had a chance to do in weeks. Who could resist crafting a story on those two photos? (Incidentally, I’m not including them b/c they’re all rights reserved, but please go see them here and here. They’re amazing photos.)

*

Forest Fires in Idaho (Photo credit: Thomas Good)

This was supposed to be my wedding day.

Instead, I stand with my sister and my friend, the three of us clad in our wedding finery, staring at the wall of flame scraping the blue from the sky, devouring evergreens that have stood since before my parents were born. Trees that sheltered our childhood games and witnessed my first kiss. Trees that stood guard as Tommy slipped the ring on my finger.

Trees that were supposed to witness our vows. I think of the chairs set up in the clearing, the carpet spread for my father, the judge, to preside. The wind spinners, lovingly crafted by my sister and hung from low-hanging branches.

The early-spring wind, heavy with the smell of smoke, whips my hair as I stare, willing Tommy to appear from within the inferno. Even at this distance I can feel the heat, yet I shiver with cold. Please let him be all right. Please.

Carrie squeezes my hand. “He’s lived in the woods his whole life,” she says softly. “He’ll be all right.”

It’s what I’ve been telling myself ever since the wildfire began. But as a helicopter zooms overhead, dumping orange powder, I shake my head. “He should’ve been out of there already.”

At noon, my parents bring the mountains of food prepared for the reception and spread it out for the fire crews, who wolf it down and trudge back to work. The chief stands there turning his cap in his hands. At last he takes a deep breath and says, “Folks, I’m real sorry, but it’s not safe here. I’ve got to ask you to evacuate.”

In the silence that follows, the only voice is that of the fire, a low-pitched, unintelligible utterance from the depths of Hell. My eyes burn as I stare into the variegated depths, but nothing can make the shifting shadows coalesce into a human being.

The chief shifts uncomfortably. “Look, the only way out of this thing now is the bridge on North Street. You’re welcome to wait there…”

My mother wraps an arm around me, forehead resting against my temple. Her fingers tremble. “Come on, Joy,” she whispers.

The far end of the North Street Bridge fades into a shroud of smoke and fog rising from the cold river. On the opposite bank, shadowy figures move. The voice of the fire taunts me as it gnaws at the backdrop of my childhood. Tommy, please.

By evening, both body and soul are numb. The thick air glows weirdly as the masked sun drops close to the horizon. A pair of figures emerge from the roiling mass, one clad in bulky fireproof gear, the other limping, wrapped in a blanket. My breath catches. Carrie grabs my arm.

I shake her off and take off running. Tommy lets go of the fireman and catches me to him. “Joy,” he whispers hoarsely. “Joy.” My name has never sounded so beautiful.

Smudged face, smoke smell, it doesn’t matter. It’s a perfect moment. Thank you. Thank you. Tommy looks over my head and sees my father. “Hey, Joy,” he says. “I see a judge. How ’bout we get married?”