Little Girl at Store

When shopping at a small discount grocery, the berating voice of a heavy mother could be heard from one side to the other. She shouted and shouted and shouted, repeated what would be taken away from the child when they got home. The list was long. One wondered what the child would have left, except to sit in a house of angry tension, breathing in second-hand cigarette smoke.

It was the child's attitude that the mother did not like. Where do children get attitudes?

Later, the cousin related a similar situation of a mother berating her children in that same store, and then following over into the other store, repeating the same, abusive treatment.

These are mothers who are poor, by their appearance, manner, and vocalizations used.

There was the man in twenties, walking across the street, on the sidewalk across the street from the Cathedral. He was shouting loudly into his cell phone, yelling, "Stop yelling at me! Stop yelling, [expletive, Lord's name in vain, expletive]!" Then with full force of a bulky body, he motioned as if slamming down the cell phone: snapped shut. One could hear him 100 yards away, through closed car windows. He stomped a few feet, then pulled himself up and stalked on, still angry. Such hate and vehemence came from his lungs, and words from his mind, emotion from his heart. Had he spoken like that to his wife? Girlfriend? Co-worker? What kind of day would the other person have, after that outburst? What kind of day would the man have? It took several miles of driving for the effects to wear off, just from witnessing the hate.

The little girl at the grocery remain yet this morning. And the thoughts filtered in of a cousin, now adult, who as a boy and then a teen, was too roughly punished by his father, who had been too roughly punished by his father, before.

The sinus infection is offered for good use. The back pain is offered for good use. Please, Lord, take the weepiness of these physical sufferings for the good use You can make of them, for the horrors of the emotional sufferings of abused children, abused people, to assuage the angers roiling all about.

The doorbell rings at Agnus Dei. I am in my pajamas but dare to answer. A neatly dressed young man wants to talk about the state of the world. He has some Jehovah Witness tracts. As he asks if I take time to consider the world and all that is happening, I share that I am a Catholic hermit, and that I was just now praying and writing about children abused by angry adults, and angry adults abusing others in such hate--so yes, and would he please pray for the anger of the world to abate?

The man quickly recovers himself and returns to his mental script: Would I be willing to read the magazines he has? I explain that I have read the tracts and am familiar with the Jehovah Witness beliefs, and that as a Catholic, would he be willing to receive some materials about the Cathoic Church, and a Bible that I could give him? Would he read these?

Again, he recovers himself well, and returns to his mental script. He says if I would come to his door, he would take what I offer and talk with me, but he is the one who has come to my door--

And where does he live? I do not ask. I should have. It is cold. I am not dressed. I do not ask. May the Lord forgive me for not asking.

So I again suggest that we unite our prayers to God for the whole world, for peace and the love of Christ to be in people's hearts.

I return to writing. He walks on to the next house, the neighbors who perhaps are yet angry.

There is much to pray about, and one wonders about St. Francis de Sales, tromping into the Calvinist territory after the Protestant reformation, risking harm or even death. What do I do for the Catholic faith? How much more ought I beg to weep for the world, to be willing to suffer anything for souls? For God to use me in any small or large, joyful or sorrowing way to bring souls, in love, to love, to Christ and His Church?

A victim soul, existing in relative hiddenness, ought pray all the more, in faith. One must have great faith in prayer, for there is a Jehovah Witness walking the streets, knocking on doors, and there is a Catholic hermit victim soul remaining inside, suffering, praying, writing.

At noon Mass, I will present this young witness of Jehovah, to Jesus on the altar of His Sacrifice.