God in all things

A man was strolling along the beach one day when he spotted a bottle washed up on the shore. He went over and picked it up, and noticed a message in the bottle. He popped the cork out and inside was a weathered treasure map indicating that there was buried treasure to be found in the shallow waters below. But the man thought it was a hoax, so he slipped the map back in and threw the bottle back into the ocean…

A little later, another man was walking along the beach and the bottle had washed upon the shore. He too picked up the bottle, popped out the cork, and found the treasure map. This man, however, was curious enough to wade into the water and hoped it was buried shallow enough to find. But once the cold ocean waters reached up to his thighs, he decided to quit. “This is not worth it!” he thought to himself. So he scrambled back to shore and chucked the bottle back into the ocean….

A third man was walking by the beach and noticed the bottle washed upon the shore. He went over, opened the bottle and found the map. The map looked authentic enough, and promised great treasure… So he got himself a small raft and set out into the ocean to claim the treasure. He rowed out far enough into the ocean where the “X” on the map was and to his surprise, he saw the glint of something shining in the waters below. he dove into the ocean and swam towards the shining object below. He could see that there was something that looked like a treasure chest, but he couldn’t quite reach it and the deeper he went, the greater the cold and pressure on his body and his mind..,” I am about to lose my breath, and the longer i take, my raft might be swept away!”, he thought. So the man decided to give up the hunt so he would ensure his own life and safety. when he reached the shore once more, he took the bottle from the raft and tossed it back into the ocean…

Finally, one more man was walking along the beach. He noticed the bottle, went over, popped it open, and was excited to find a map promising great treasure. He noticed someone had left a raft by the water’s edge, so he took it and paddled out. He too, got far enough to where the “X” marks the spot, and squinted into the waters and saw the shadow and glint of the treasure below. He took a deep breath and plunged into the waters. Like the man before him, the cold, darkness and pressure upon his senses increased as he got closer. He also realized that if he kept swimming, that he might lose his breath, the raft, and even his own life! But this treasure could be worth all the risk and he persisted. Just as he was about to give up, he grabbed the long chain that was binding the chest and pulled it up along with himself back to the surface.

He broke the surface of the water gasping and exhausted but with the treasure chest safely in his grasp. He paddled back to the shore, opened up the treasure chest and found what the map had promised–gold, and precious diamonds and jewels that would make him secure for the rest of his life.
A relationship with God is a similar treasure hunt. People hear the same message, but the way they receive it will determine the reward they might find. Eternal life is waiting for all those who are willing to take that risk to follow God all the way of life, where we find love, forgiveness and life everlasting…. for eternity.
God Bless You
Fr Eugene Lobo SJ

Any time anyone tells you that a dream is impossible, any time you’re discouraged by impossible challenges, just mutter this mantra: Tererai Trent. Of all the people earning university degrees this year, perhaps the most remarkable story belongs to Tererai (pronounced TEH-reh-rye), a middle-aged woman who is one of my heroes. She is celebrating a personal triumph, but she’s also a monument to the aid organizations and individuals who helped her. When you hear that foreign-aid groups just squander money or build dependency, remember that by all odds Tererai should be an illiterate, battered cattle-herd in Zimbabwe and instead — ah, but I’m getting ahead of my story.

Tererai was born in a village in rural Zimbabwe, probably sometime in 1965, and attended elementary school for less than one year. Her father married her off when she was about 11 to a man who beat her regularly. She seemed destined to be one more squandered African asset. A dozen years passed. Jo Luck, the head of an aid group called Heifer International, passed through the village and told the women there that they should stand up, nurture dreams, change their lives. Inspired, Tererai scribbled down four absurd goals based on accomplishments she had vaguely heard of among famous Africans. She wrote that she wanted to study abroad, and to earn a B.A., a master’s and a doctorate.

Tererai began to work for Heifer and several Christian organizations as a community organizer. She used the income to take correspondence courses, while saving every penny she could. In 1998 she was accepted to Oklahoma State University, but she insisted on taking all five of her children with her rather than leave them with her husband. “I couldn’t abandon my kids,” she recalled. “I knew that they might end up getting married off.”

Tererai’s husband eventually agreed that she could take the children to America — as long as he went too. Heifer helped with the plane tickets, Tererai’s mother sold a cow, and neighbours sold goats to help raise money. With $4,000 in cash wrapped in a stocking and tied around her waist, Tererai set off for Oklahoma.

An impossible dream had come true, but it soon looked like a nightmare. Tererai and her family had little money and lived in a ramshackle trailer, shivering and hungry. Her husband refused to do any housework — he was a man! — And coped by beating her. “There was very little food,” she said. “The kids would come home from school, and they would be hungry.” Tererai found herself eating from trash cans, and she thought about quitting — but felt that doing so would let down other African women. “I knew that I was getting an opportunity that other women were dying to get,” she recalled. So she struggled on, holding several jobs, taking every class she could, washing and scrubbing, enduring beatings, barely sleeping.

At one point the university tried to expel Tererai for falling behind on tuition payments. A university official, Ron Beer, intervened on her behalf and rallied the faculty and community behind her with donations and support. “I saw that she had enormous talent,” Dr. Beer said. His church helped with food, Habitat for Humanity provided housing, and a friend at Wal-Mart carefully put expired fruits and vegetables in boxes beside the Dumpster and tipped her off.

Soon afterward, Tererai had her husband deported back to Zimbabwe for beating her, and she earned her B.A. — and started on her M.A. Then her husband returned, now frail and sick with a disease that turned out to be AIDS. Tererai tested negative for H.I.V., and then — feeling sorry for her husband — she took in her former tormentor and nursed him as he grew sicker and eventually died.
Through all this blur of pressures, Tererai excelled at school, pursuing a Ph.D at Western Michigan University and writing a dissertation on AIDS prevention in Africa even as she began working for Heifer as a program evaluator. On top of all that, she was remarried, to Mark Trent, a plant pathologist she had met at Oklahoma State.

Tererai is a reminder of the adage that talent is universal, while opportunity is not. There are still 75 million children who are not attending primary school around the world. We could educate them all for far less than the cost of the proposed military “surge” in Afghanistan. Each time Tererai accomplished one of those goals that she had written long ago, she checked it off on that old, worn paper. Last month, she ticked off the very last goal, after successfully defending her dissertation. She’ll receive her Ph.D soon, and so a one-time impoverished cattle-herd from Zimbabwe with less than a year of elementary school education will don academic robes and become Dr. Tererai Trent.
God Bless You
Fr Eugene Lobo SJ

This is the true story about a crippled boy named Tommy who lived in poverty with his aunt in a small third-story apartment of a rundown tenement on a busy city street. He was so severely handicapped that all he could do was lie helplessly in bed. One day Tommy asked a newsboy friend of his to bring him the book about “the Man who went about everywhere doing good.” The newsboy searched and searched for this unnamed book, until one book dealer finally realized that Tommy must have been talking about the Bible and the story of Jesus.

The newsboy scraped together what little money he had, and the kindly bookseller gave him a copy of the New Testament, which he took back to Tommy. The two boys began to read that book together, and after a time Tommy understood the message of salvation it contained. He received Jesus as his Saviour and decided that he, too, wanted to do good like the wonderful Man in the book. But Tommy was crippled and could not even leave his little apartment, so he prayed and asked Jesus to show him what he could do, and the Lord gave him an idea.

Tommy began to copy helpful verses from the Bible onto little pieces of paper, which he would then drop from his window to flutter to the busy street below. Passers-by would see them drifting down and out of curiosity pick them up and read the words from the Man who went everywhere doing good — Jesus Christ. Many were helped, encouraged, and comforted, and some were even saved through the simple ministry of this boy and his New Testament.

One day a wealthy businessman found Jesus through reading the verse in one of Tommy’s little notes. He later returned to the spot where he had found the scrap of paper that had led him to the Lord, hoping to find some clue as to how it got there. Then he noticed another little bit of paper floating down to the sidewalk. He watched as a poor, tired old woman stooped painfully to pick it up, and noticed her countenance brighten as she read it. There seemed to be new strength in her step as she journeyed on. The businessman, now fixed to the spot, kept his eyes glued upward, determined to find the source. He had to wait a long time, for it took poor Tommy many painful minutes to scrawl even one verse on one of those pieces of paper. Suddenly the businessman’s eyes were drawn to a certain window as he saw a scrawny arm reach out to drop another piece of paper, like the one that had brought a whole new life to him. He carefully noted the location of the window, dashed up the stairs of the tenement, and finally found Tommy’s humble abode.

The businessman and Tommy soon became good friends, and the businessman brought Tommy all the help and medical attention that he could. Then one day he asked Tommy if he would like to come and live with him in his palatial mansion outside the city. Much to his new friend’s surprise, Tommy answered, “I’ll have to ask my Friend about that”—meaning Jesus. The next day the businessman returned, eagerly seeking Tommy’s reply. Instead, Tommy asked him some rather surprising questions. “Where did you say your home is?” “Oh,” said the businessman, “it’s in the country, on a large and beautiful estate. You’ll have a room of your own, servants to care for you, delicious meals, a good bed, every comfort and attention, anything your heart desires, and my wife and I will love you dearly and care for you as our own son.”

Hesitantly, Tommy queried again, “Are there any people that would pass under my window?” Surprised and somewhat baffled, the businessman replied, “Why, no, only an occasional servant, or perhaps the gardener. You don’t understand, Tommy, this is a gorgeous country estate, far from the tumult of the city. You’ll have quiet there and be able to rest and read and do whatever else you want, away from all this filth and pollution and noise and the busy throngs.” After a long and thoughtful silence, Tom’s face looked very sad, for he hated to hurt his friend. Finally he said quietly but firmly, with tears in his eyes, “I’m sorry, but you see, I could never live anywhere where people don’t pass under my window.”

Here is the story of someone so helpless and so isolated that you might have thought he could never have had any opportunity to help others, but love found a way! Someone passes under the window of your life every day. Has your love found a way to help them? Has Jesus shown you how you can help them? He will if you want to, no matter what the conditions or your limitations. God has windows too, and He has promised that if you obey Him and open the window of your life to others, He “will open for you the windows of Heaven, and pour out for you such a blessing that there will not be room enough to receive it” (Malachi 3:10).
God Bless You
Fr Eugene Lobo SJ

A long time ago, a young, wealthy girl was getting ready for bed. She was saying her prayers when she heard a muffled crying coming through her window. A little frightened, she went over to the window and leaned out. Another girl, who seemed to be about her age and homeless was standing in the alley by the rich girls house. Her heart went out to the homeless girl, for it was the dead of winter, and the girl had no blanket, only old newspapers someone had thrown out.

The rich girl was suddenly struck with a brilliant idea. She called to the other girl and said, “You there, come to my front door, please.” The homeless girl was so startled she could only manage to nod.

As quick as her legs could take her, the young girl ran down the hall to her mothers closet, and picked out an old quilt and a beat up pillow. She had to walk slower down to the front door as to not trip over the quilt which was hanging down, but she made it eventually. Dropping both the articles, she opened the door. Standing there was the homeless girl, looking quite scared. The rich girl smiled warmly and handed both articles to the other girl. Her smile grew wider as she watched the true amazement and happiness alight upon the other girl’s face. She went to bed incredibly satisfied.

In mid-morning the next day a knock came to the door. The rich girl flew to the door hoping that it was the other little girl there. She opened the large door and looked outside. It was the other little girl. Her face looked happy, and she smiled. “I suppose you want these back.” The rich little girl opened her mouth to say that she could keep them when another idea popped into her head. “No, I want them back.”

The homeless girl’s face fell. This was obviously not the answer she had hoped for. She reluctantly laid down the beat up things, and turned to leave when the rich girl yelled, “Wait! Stay right there.” She turned in time to see the rich girl running up the stairs and down a long corridor. Deciding whatever the rich little girl was doing wasn’t worth waiting for she started to turn around and walk away. As her foot hit the first step, she felt someone tap her on the shoulder, turning she saw the rich little girl, thrusting a new blanket and pillow at her. “Have these.” she said quietly.

These were her own personal belonging made of silk and down feathers.

As the two grew older they didn’t see each other much, but they were never far from each other’s minds. One day, the Rich girl, who was now a Rich woman got a telephone call from someone. A lawyer, saying that she was requested to see him. When she arrived at the office, he told her what had happened. Forty years ago, when she was nine years old, she had helped a little girl in need. That grew into a middle-class woman with a husband and two children. She had recently died and left something for her in her will. “Though,” the lawyer said, “it’s the most peculiar thing. She left you a pillow and a blanket.”
God Bless You
Fr Eugene Lobo SJ

A man and a woman had been married for more than 60 years. They had shared everything. They had kept no secrets from each other except that the little old woman had a shoe box in the top of her closet that she had cautioned her husband never to open or ask her about.

For all of these years, he had never thought about the box, but one day the little old woman got very sick and the doctor said she would not recover. In trying to sort out their affairs, the little old man took down the shoe box and took it to his wife ‘ s bedside.

She agreed that it was time that he should know what was in the box. When he opened it, he found two crocheted dolls and a stack of money totalling $95,000. He asked her about the contents.

“When we were to be married,” she said, “my grandmother told me the secret of a happy marriage was to never argue. She told me that if I ever got angry with you, I should just keep quiet and crochet a doll.”

The little old man was so moved; he had to fight back tears. Only two precious dolls were in the box. She had only been angry with him two times in all those years of living and loving. He almost burst with happiness.

“Honey,” he said “that explains the doll, but what about all of this money? Where did this money come from?”

“Oh, that?” she said. “That is the money I made from selling the dolls.”
God Bless You
Fr Eugene Lobo SJ

Donna’s fourth-grade classroom looked like many others I had seen in the past. Students sat in five rows of six desks. The teacher’s desk was in the front and faced the students. The bulletin board featured student work. In most respects it appeared to be a typically traditional elementary classroom. Yet, something seemed different that day I entered it for the first time. There seemed to be an undercurrent of excitement.

Donna was a veteran small-town Michigan schoolteacher only two years away from retirement. In addition, she was a volunteer participant in a countywide development project I had organized and facilitated. The training focused on language arts ideas that would empower students to feel good about them and take charge of their lives. Donna’s job was to attend training sessions and implement the concepts presented. My job was to make classroom visitations and encourage implementation.

I took an empty seat in the back and watched. All the students were working on a task, filling a sheet of notebook paper with thoughts and ideas. The ten-year-old student closest to me was filling her page with “I Can’t.”

“I can’t kick the soccer ball pass second base.”
“I can’t do long division with more than three numbers.”
“I can’t get Debbie to like me.”

Her page was half full and she showed no signs of letting up. She worked on with determination and persistence.
I walked down the row glancing at students’ papers. Everyone was writing sentences, describing things they couldn’t do.

“I can’t do ten push ups.”
“I can’t hit over the left-field fence.”
“I can’t eat only one cookie.”

By this time, the activity engaged my curiosity, so I decided to check with the teacher to see what was going on. As I approached her, I noticed that she too was busy writing. I felt it best not to interrupt.

“I can’t get John’s mother to come in for a teacher conference.”
“I can’t get my daughter to put gas in the car.”
“I can’t get Alan to use words instead of fists.”

Thwarted in my efforts to determine why students and teacher were dwelling on the negative instead of the positive “I Can’t” statements, I returned to my seat and continued my observations. Students wrote for ten minutes. Most filled their page. Some started another.
“Finish the one you’re on and don’t start a new one,” were the instructions Donna used to signal the end of the activity. Students were then instructed to fold their papers in half and bring them to the front. When students reached the desk, they placed their “I Can’t” statements into an empty shoe box.

When all of the student papers were collected, Donna added hers. She put the lid on the box, tucked it under her arm and headed out the door and down the hall. Students followed the teacher. I followed the students. Halfway down the hall the procession stopped. Donna entered the custodian’s room, rummaged around and came out with a shovel. Shovel in one hand, shoebox in the other, Donna marched the students out of the school to the farthest corner of the playground. There they began to dig.

They were going to bury their “I Can’ts!” The digging took over ten minutes because most of the fourth graders wanted a turn. When the hole approached three-foot deep, the digging ended. The box of “I Can’ts” was placed at the bottom of the hole and quickly covered with dirt. Thirty-one 10- and 11- years -olds stood around the freshly dug gravesite. Each had at least one page full of “I Cant’s” in the shoebox, three-feet under. So did their teacher.

At this point Donna announced, “Boys and girls, please join hands and bow your heads.” The students complied. They quickly formed a circle around the grave, creating a bond with their hands. They lowered their heads and waited. Donna delivered the eulogy.
“Friends, we gather today to honour the memory of “I Can’t.” While he was with us on earth, he touched the lives of everyone, some more than others. His names, unfortunately, has been spoken in every public building – schools, city halls, and state capitols and yes, even The White House.

We have provided “I Can’t” with a final resting place and headstone that contains his epitaph. He is survived by his brothers and sisters, “I can, ‘I will’ and “I’m going to Right Away.’ They are not as well known as their famous relative and are certainly not as strong and powerful yet. Perhaps someday, with your help, they will make and even bigger mark on the world. May ‘I Can’t’ rest in peace and may everyone present pick up their lives and move forward in his absence. Amen.”

As I listened to the eulogy I realized that these students would never forget this day. The activity was symbolic, a metaphor for life. It was a right-brain experience that would stick in the unconscious and conscious mind forever. Writing “I Can’ts,” burying them and hearing the eulogy. That was a major effort on the part of this teacher. And she wasn’t done yet. At the conclusion of the eulogy she turned the students around, marched them back into the classroom and held a wake.

They celebrated the passing of “I Can’t” with cookies, popcorn and fruit juices. Donna cut out a tombstone from butcher paper. She wrote the words “I Can’t” at the top and put RIP in the middle the date was added at the bottom, “3/28/80.” The paper tombstone hung in Donna’s classroom for the remainder of the year. On those rare occasions when a student forgot and said, “I Can’t,” Donna simply pointed to the RIP sign. The student then remembered that “I Can’t” was dead and chose to rephrase the statement.

I wasn’t one of Donna’s students. She was one of mine. Yet that day I learned an enduring lesson from her. Now, years later, whenever I hear the phrase, “I Can’t,” I see images of that fourth-grade funeral. Like the students, I remember that “I Can’t” is dead.
God Bless You
Fr Eugene Lobo SJ

A flock of wild ducks were flying in formation, heading south for the winter. They formed a beautiful V in the sky, and were admired by everyone who saw them from below. One day, Wally, one of the wild ducks in the formation, spotted something on the ground that caught his eye. It was a barnyard with a flock of tame ducks who lived on the farm. They were waddling around on the ground, quacking merrily and eating corn that was thrown on the ground for them every day. Wally liked what he saw. “It sure would be nice to have some of that corn,” he thought to himself. “And all this flying is very tiring. I’d like to just waddle around for a while.”So after thinking it over a while, Wally left the formation of wild ducks, made a sharp dive to the left, and headed for the barnyard. He landed among the tame ducks, and began to waddle around and quack merrily. He also started eating corn. The formation of wild ducks continued their journey South, but Wally didn’t care. “I’ll rejoin them when they come back North in a few months, he said to himself.

Several months went by and sure enough, Wally looked up and spotted the flock of wild ducks in formation, heading north. They looked beautiful up there. And Wally was tired of the barnyard. It was muddy and everywhere he waddled, nothing but duck doo. “It’s time to leave,” said Wally. So Wally flapped his wings furiously and tried to get airborne. But he had gained some weight from all his corn-eating, and he hadn’t exercised his wings much either. He finally got off the ground, but he was flying too low and slammed into the side of the barn. He fell to the ground with a thud and said to himself, “Oh, well, I’ll just wait until they fly south in a few months. Then I’ll rejoin them and become a wild duck again.”

But when the flock flew overhead once more, Wally again tried to lift himself out of the barnyard. He simply didn’t have the strength. Every winter and every spring, he saw his wild duck friends flying overhead, and they would call out to him.

But his attempts to leave were all in vain. Eventually Wally no longer paid any attention to the wild ducks flying overhead. He hardly even noticed them. He had, after all, become a barnyard duck.
Look what happened to Wally. He thought he would just “check-it-out” for awhile and then leave when he wanted to. Eventually he lost touch with who he really was . We also become barnyard ducks.
God Bless You
Fr Eugene Lobo SJ

It was a busy morning, about 8:30, when an elderly gentleman in his 80’s,arrived to have stitches removed from his thumb. He said he was in a hurry as he had an appointment at 9:00 am. I took his vital signs and had him take a seat, knowing it would be over an hour before someone would be able to see him.

I saw him looking at his watch, and decided, since I was not busy with another patient, I would evaluate his wound. On exam, it was well healed, so I talked to one of the doctors, got the needed supplies to remove his sutures and redress his wound. While taking care of his wound, I asked him if he had another doctor’s appointment this morning, as he was in such a hurry.

The gentleman told me no, that he needed to go to the nursing home to eat breakfast with his wife. I inquired as to her health; he told me that she had been there for a while and that she was a victim of Alzheimer’s Disease. As we talked, I asked if she would be upset if he was a bit late. He replied that she no longer knew who he was, that she had not recognized him in five years now.

I was surprised, and asked him, ‘And you still go every morning, even though she doesn’t know who you are’? He smiled as he patted my hand and said, ‘She doesn’t know me, but I still know who she is’.

I had to hold back tears as he left; I had goose bumps on my arm, and thought, ‘That is the kind of love I want in my life’. True love is neither physical, nor romantic. True love is an acceptance of all that is, has been, will be, and will not be. The happiest people don’t necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the best of everything they have. Life isn’t about how to survive the storm, But how to dance in the rain
God Bless You
Fr Eugene Lobo SJ

One fine day, an old couple around the age of 70, walks into a lawyer’s office. Apparently, they are there to file a divorce. Lawyer was very puzzled, after having a chat with them, he got their story….

This couple had been quarrelling for all their 40 over yrs of marriage nothing ever seems to go right. They hang on because of their children, afraid that it might affect their up-bringing. Now, all their children have already grown up, have their own family, there’s nothing else the old couple have to worry about, all they wanted is to lead their own life free from all these years of unhappiness from their marriage, so both agree on a divorce….

Lawyer was having a hard time trying to get the papers done, because he felt that after 40 yrs of marriage at the age of 70, he couldn’t understand why the old couple would still want a divorce..

While they were signing the papers, the wife told the husband..

“I really love u, but I really cant carry on anymore, I’m sorry..”

“Its o.k., I understand.” said the husband. Looking at this, the lawyer suggested a dinner together, just 3 of them, wife thought, why not, since they are still going to be friends..

At the dining table, there was a silence of awkwardness. The first dish was roasted chicken. Immediately the old man took the drumstick for the old lady.” Take this, it’s your favourite.” Looking at this, the lawyer thought maybe there’s still a chance, but the wife was frowning when she answer.” This is always the problem, you always think so highly of yourself, never thought about how I feel, and don’t you know that I hate drumsticks?”

Little did she know that, over the years, the husband have been trying all ways to please her, little did she know that drumsticks was the husband’s favourite. Little did he know that she never thought he understand her at all, little did he know that she hates drumsticks even though all he wants is the best for her.

That night, both of them couldn’t sleep, toss and turn, toss and turn…after hours, the old man couldn’t take it anymore, he knows that he still loves her, and he cant carry on life without her, he wants her back, he wants to tell her, he is sorry, he wanted to tell her “I love you”.

He picks up the phone, starting dialling her number….ringing never stops. He never stops dialling. On the other side, she was sad, she couldn’t understand how come after all these years, he still doesn’t understand her at all, she loves him a lot, but she just cant take it anymore….phone’s ringing, she refuses to answer knowing that its him.” What’s the point of talking now that its over…I have ask for it and now I want to keep it this way, if not I will lose face.” She thought…still ringing…she has decided to pull out the cord. Little did she remember, he had the heart problems.

The next day, she received news that he had passed away…she rushed down to his apartment, saw his body, lying on the couch still holding on to the phone…he had a heart attack when he was still trying to get through her phone line. As sad as she could be…she will have to clear his belongings…when she was looking thru the drawers, she saw this insurance policy, dated from the day they got married, with the beneficiary being her… And together in those file, there was this note…

“To my dearest wife, by the time you’re reading this, I’m sure I’m no longer around, I bought this policy for you, though the amount is only $100k, I hope it will be able to help me continue my promise that i have made when we got married, I might not be around anymore, I want this amount of money to continue taking care of you, just like the way I will if I could have live longer. I want you to know that I will always be around, by your side… I love you”

Tears flowed like river……

“When you love someone, let them know… You never know what will happen the next minute…. Learn to build a life together. Learn to love each other. For who they are… not what they are…”
God Bless You
Fr Eugene Lobo SJ

A weary mother returned from the store,
Lugging groceries through the kitchen door.
Awaiting her arrival was her 8 year old son,
Anxious to relate what his younger brother had done.

“While I was out playing and Dad was on a call,
T.J. took his crayons and wrote on the wall!
It’s on the new paper you just hung in the den.
I told him you’d be mad at having to do it again.”

She let out a moan and furrowed her brow,
“Where is your little brother right now?”
She emptied her arms and with a purposeful stride,
She marched to his closet where he had gone to hide.

She called his full name as she entered his room.
He trembled with fear–he knew that meant doom!
For the next ten minutes, she ranted and raved
About the expensive wallpaper and how she had saved.

Lamenting all the work it would take to repair,
She condemned his actions and total lack of care.
The more she scolded, the madder she got,
Then stomped from his room, totally distraught!

She headed for the den to confirm her fears.
When she saw the wall, her eyes flooded with tears.
The message she read pierced her soul with a dart.
It said, “I love Mommy,” surrounded by a heart.

Well, the wallpaper remained, just as she found it,
With an empty picture frame hung to surround it.
A reminder to her, and indeed to all,
Take time to read the handwriting on the wall
God Bless You
Fr Eugene Lobo SJ