a normal life
By Nancy Schertzing | Photography by James Luning
 January
8, 2002
As I sit at the
Simon’s kitchen table, I am struck by how uncomfortable I feel.
Across from me is a young man, wheelchair bound with an oxygen mask
attached lightly to his tracheotomy tube. His face is full and flushed,
and his hands and feet are twisted slightly, withered by the muscular
dystrophy that has been attacking them for over 20 years.
Yet Doug Simon’s blue eyes sparkle and speak volumes as he
listens to his mother, Darlene, telling me the story of his life.
I look from her to Doug and back to her again. Each time, my eyes
pass over the bottles of medicines that fill the center of the table.
I ask questions and take notes, listen and finish thoughts left
hanging in mid-sentence so I can show them I understand.
Always, Doug’s breathing machine hums in the
corner. His words require great effort, so they are precious and
rare. I try to listen carefully to pick them out through the trache
tube and the background noise. Usually, Darlene must translate and
fill in the words and thoughts I miss. She gives me the basic background
of Doug’s illness and childhood.
 When
Doug was a baby, Darlene and her husband, Norm, sensed a problem.
Doug sometimes gagged while nursing. He crawled later than his siblings,
walked on tip-toe most of the time and couldn’t negotiate stairs.
When he was walking or playing, his legs would sometimes buckle
beneath him, dropping him to the ground without warning.
On Doug’s sixth birthday, their fears were confirmed with
a diagnosis of Duchenne muscular dystrophy (MD). The doctors
told them this illness would attack their son’s muscles, breaking
down the individual muscle fibers faster than his body could generate
new ones. Eventually the ‘broken’ fibers would outnumber
whole ones and Doug’s muscles would become too weak to function.
Most people with Duchenne MD live only about 20 years.
Darlene and Norm resolved then that their son would live as normal
a life as possible for whatever time he had. They encouraged
him to play t-ball, softball and go horseback riding. They camped
as a family, both locally and in numerous places out west. Delighting
in his curiosity, they hiked with Doug along trails and through
campgrounds designed only for foot traffic. They covered “a
lot of rough terrain for a wheelchair,” but took him to see
waterfalls, the Grand Canyon and more.
For years, Darlene and Norm sent Doug to MD camp each summer
where he relished swimming, arts and crafts and bunking with friends.
He recalls the easy feeling of being with other young people who
struggled with the same physical challenges and limitations he faced.
And he reveled in the freedom he had from the judgmental eyes of
able-bodied people who couldn’t understand. His parents encouraged
Doug to stay out of a wheelchair, hoping to postpone his reliance
as long as possible. But at ten, Doug’s walking became too
labored, so Norm and Darlene set about making their home accessible
and comfortable for Doug in his wheelchair. From building a wheelchair
ramp to the front door to setting wooden blocks under the kitchen
table, Norm devised traditional and creative touches to accommodate
Doug’s new reality and continue with normal family life. Darlene
worked to ensure a normal life for Doug at home and in society.
Before I leave, Darlene wants to take my picture with Doug. As
we position ourselves for the shot, my mind is racing. Will I hurt
him if I touch his arm? Am I going to give him my cold? What is
he thinking? Can he sense my discomfort? I settle my hand lightly
on his shoulder and smile for the camera.
As I walk down the wheelchair ramp leading from their front door,
I feel exhausted. How am I going to write this story? I am healthy
and mobile, and so is everyone I love. How can I possibly understand
what he’s going through? I pray silently for continued good
health for my family and myself.
February 2002
 It’s
been almost a month since my first visit. The last three Wednesdays,
I’ve taken my place in the afternoon sun shining through the
Simons’ kitchen window. I can easily understand Doug now when
he speaks. I think he and Darlene appreciate the chance to tell
their story.
Boy, I never realized how deeply it can hurt someone
to be overlooked or excluded because they can’t get into a
place. I have so much to learn! I have pages of notes – mostly
of Darlene’s stories and thoughts. She’s fought some tough
battles trying to keep Doug’s life as normal as possible.
For five years, Darlene petitioned the local school district and
their home parish to have elevators installed in Doug’s elementary
school and church. Looking back on that battle, she says that was
harder on her than fighting Doug’s illness. She remembers thinking
then, “If people could look at the person in the chair, instead
of just looking at the chair, they would be very enriched.”
To that end, she wrote to the local school board pleading their
case. In the letter she wrote of her seven year-old son:
“Can you imagine the frustration that Doug has climbing
the stairs three and maybe four times a day? He does not have
the strength in the upper thighs, so he uses his arm strength
to pull himself up. He does better going down, but the
doctors say going down is harder because it puts more strain on
the muscles. If he overtires his muscles, he’s more likely
to fall down. We do not know when it will happen. He’s walking
one minute and down the next.
“With muscular dystrophy it’s the weakening of all the
muscles in the body. It’s a progressive disease and the weakness
is gradual every day. His arms are weakening too, but at a slower
pace than his legs. Right now he’s avoiding the stairs in
the morning and when he leaves school. If he has to do a lot of
walking at any length of time, he tires out fast. The elevator
would make such a difference for him.”
Despite Darlene’s best efforts, however, Doug
had to wait nearly two years for elevators at both his school and
church. But the struggle didn’t end. After the church had installed
an elevator, Doug could physically access most places at his parish
where fellowship was shared. Yet Darlene feels that emotional access
was still largely denied. Often, their family was told to move from
their chosen pew before Mass started because Doug’s wheelchair
was “in the way.” For this reason, ushers often asked
them to sit in the back of church. Fellow parishioners rarely greeted
them or even spoke to them. Darlene sometimes felt they had to defend
their right even to be at church!
As I pack away my note pad and pen, I’m surprised at the
anger I feel over the struggle these good people endured. I have
to wonder, however, how I would have reacted, since I really had
no understanding of the challenges they faced. I’m afraid to
think of all the times I’ve taken my mobility for granted and
assumed others could too. I give Darlene a hug as I depart.
April 2002
 Darlene
says Doug wants to talk today, so she will sit quietly and let him
do the talking. He tells me he thinks his lung infection has returned,
and he’s not sure if the medicines can clear it up this time.
Every time he has taken an antibiotic, it throws off his metabolism
and makes him nauseous and miserable. Still, if there’s a chance
it will help him live longer, he’ll keep taking it.
We start to talk about the reality of his condition. MD is fatal
and he has already lived four years longer than average. He, Norm
and Darlene have decided not to take extraordinary measures to resuscitate
Doug if his heart stops. Speaking with the help of an amplifier
strapped over his trache tube, Doug shares his thoughts as Darlene
and I sit and listen.
“Sometimes I think, ‘why me?’ and I get angry
with God. When I was first diagnosed, I remember thinking, this
isn’t fair. But then I realized I had no choice. I had to live
through it. I guess I fight (this disease) mostly for my friends
and family,” he says simply. “I think of how
they would feel if I just gave up.”
He credits his illness with helping him feel closer to family
and friends than he might if he were healthy. His MD also forces
him to work at tasks some might dismiss as too hard. He makes an
effort to do as much for himself as possible, though he acknowledges
that those tasks are increasingly limited.
In June 2001, Doug had the choice of either fighting his disease
or giving up. The MD had eroded his lung function to the point
that he was no longer getting enough oxygen. He was gradually suffocating,
but no one realized it – including himself. When he started
losing consciousness, Darlene and Norm rushed him to the hospital
where his doctors recommended a tracheotomy.
Though he understood the trache could mean he would never talk again
or breathe normally, he chose to have it done. “I had a deep
sense of peace when I accepted the tracheotomy, though I didn’t
have to,” he explains. “I made that choice thinking about
my friends and family. I wanted to be around them longer, and I
knew if I didn’t have the trache, I wouldn’t make it.”
The trache, however, threw off Doug’s metabolism and sent his
heart racing. His blood pressure plummeted. The doctors rushed him
to the Intensive Care Unit where he stayed for two weeks. This,
coupled with his previous horrible hospital experiences, has made
him cautious about accepting antibiotics or even resuscitation.
He hesitates a minute and looks at Darlene. She nods reassuringly.
Then he proceeds tentatively. “Sometimes I still feel a sense
of peace,” he begins.
About two months after Doug finished his last round of antibiotics,
Darlene had spent an evening reading to him about the life of St.
Stephen. After she had finished, Doug lay on his bed, ready
for sleep, when suddenly a wave of joy, happiness and peace rushed
over him and filled the room. He called to his parents asking them
if they could see the being that had brought him such joy. They
rushed to his side, but could neither see nor feel anything out
of the ordinary.
Although his parents couldn’t feel the sensation, Doug knew
that it carried a powerful message for him. “There’s
always someone there to watch over and take care of you,” he
explains. “Makes you feel like God is there too. He’s
not far away, though He can feel that way sometimes.” Doug
smiles. “That’s good to know.”
Our talking has tired Doug. He motions to Darlene that he needs
his trache tube suctioned and a glass of water to drink. I realize
I’ve been touching his hand through much of the discussion.
I feel such warmth for him, facing these difficult issues so young.
I’m intrigued, too, by this “sensation.” I tell him
I want to hear more about it when I return.
 July
20, 2002
Doug sits at the table, a playful look on his face. His cheeks
sport a healthy glow and his spirits seem high. As I sit down, I
ask whether he’s felt the sensation again. His smile broadens
and he begins.
“Since I got the trache in June last year, I had lots of
infections in my lungs. I started to wonder if I had made the
right decision putting it in. I was always fighting an infection,
and I didn’t feel like doing anything for most of a year.
“I tried three different antibiotics, but the first two worked
only a little bit. I finished the third one in November, and shortly
after that I had my first sensation.” Doug smiles and continues
speaking through his trache. “Each time the presence came,
it filled me with a sense of joy and peace. I never saw it, but
I could feel it with me, like you can feel a person in the room.
It came lots of times, always sneaking up on me. I would just feel
it all of a sudden – warmth and joy. Sometimes I would mute
the TV, afraid He’d go away.
“I think it was Jesus curing the infection in my lungs,”
Doug says. “God gave me a break from the suffering I’ve
had so much of because I’ve fought so hard to stay alive. And,
I think,” Doug pauses, “to help me not be afraid of dying.”
We talk more and catch up on other things happening in his life.
As I prepare to leave I feel the urge to give my friend Doug a kiss.
I bend down and plant a smooch on his forehead then squeeze his
hands. I have come to really enjoy my time with him and his family
here at their kitchen table. They have opened their home and hearts
to me in sharing their story. In the process, they have gently taught
me so much.
Before I walk out, Doug gives me e-mail messages from his brothers
Paul and Troy. I tuck them into my file to read later.
March 2003
My assignment will be to tell Doug’s story as an example
of the beatitude on mercy. I pull out my notes from our visits and
discover the e-mail Doug gave me from his brothers. In reading them,
I’m struck by the simple, eloquent ways they express the beauty
and gifts in Doug that I might have missed if I hadn’t gotten
to know him.
From: Paul Simon
To: Doug
“Hey, Doug. I’m not sure how much
info. you want, but I will try to give you a little bit right
now.
“As far as bothering me, I can’t think
too much on how you bothered me, but maybe inconvenienced me.
When we were growing up and I had to help you with things. And,
of course, you got out of the chores – jerk.
“Growing up is where we really had our
good times. Where we would hang out without Mom and Dad around
and goof off. Or maybe when we were outside and Mom was inside
and we would race and stuff. You on your quad and me on my bike.
I would win and you would crash!! Riding our bikes in the garage,
racing our remote control cars. (Your Bandit was the best. I’ll
give you that.) I had a good time. And now that I’m writing
this, I wonder what I would have done if you weren’t around.
“But you really have influenced my life
more with what you have done than what you couldn’t do. Your
faith in God and love of life has made you who you are. You have
been through a lot more than I think I could ever go through.
In my day-to-day life I come across tough times and I think about
what you’ve gone through. And I realize that what I have
to face is nothing compared to you.”
From: Troy Simon
To: Doug
“I still remember the day when Mom told
me about Doug’s illness. I remember her telling me that it
would result in him being in a wheelchair and that odds were he
wouldn’t see his 21st birthday. The former prognosis held
true. But luckily, the second didn’t, as proven by Doug,
Dad, Mom, myself and some friends drinking beer at a bar on Doug’s
21st (birthday).
“I remember being really saddened that
Doug would not be able to have the kind of life that the rest
of us would. That it would be, as I thought then, a less fulfilling
life – not being able to play sports, go to college, have
a career and family, etc. Doug smashed that illusion into a thousand
pieces. I can honestly say I don’t know anyone who is more
happy or more at peace with their life than Doug.
“Doug loves life. I, as well as many others,
am amazed at his will to live. In the midst of all his pain and
suffering in the hospital – not being able to speak; tubes
down his throat and nasal passages; being told that he may never
talk again and may never be able to breathe on his own –
he made it clear that he still wanted to live. He has found happiness
in the basics of life, such as love of family, faith in God and
appreciating the little things most of us take for granted.
“Thank you, Doug, for making us take a
step back to consider what is truly important in life.”
In the end, maybe that’s what Jesus means when he says,
“Happy are the kind and merciful, for they shall be shown mercy.
Happy are those whose hearts are pure, for they shall see God.”
(Matt 5:7-8) Doug’s parents, his brothers and sister, and all
of us who’ve come to know him and love him see God in this
precious young man. By seeing past the chair and trache and breathing
machine to the young man sitting there, we are profoundly enriched.
Maybe Jesus is saying that in extending kindness and mercy we
receive mercy back – not just some day in heaven, but right
here and right now. A mercy that comes from really seeing and
connecting with the presence of God that dwells in each of us –
even, or perhaps especially, those who live and find happiness in
the basics of life.
ministry focus
a ministry of healing love
 When
someone talks about “the Sacrament of the Sick” you might
immediately think of what was formerly called the “Last Rites.”
These former names carry with them the misunderstanding that the
person being anointed must be near death. While the sacrament certainly
can be celebrated then, our renewed understanding of the Anointing
of the Sick brings a more balanced and beautiful view – that
this is a sacrament of God’s healing love.
Who is the Sacrament of the Sick for? Anyone who is:
• anticipating surgery
• ill at home or in the hospital
• weak under the burden of advancing age
• in desire of the sacrament for another good reason
Where can the anointing take place?
It can be celebrated:
• within Mass
• in a hospital or at home
Can the sacrament be received more than once?
• The anointing may be repeated if the person’s
condition worsens or if the sickness returns.
What happens during the sacrament?
1. The sick person and gathered family and friends are greeted warmly
by the priest. Sacred Scripture or a brief instruction based on
the Letter of James is shared.
2 The priest lays hands on the sick person,
praying for God’s Spirit of peace and healing.
3 Using the Oil of the Sick, one of the three oils blessed by the
bishop at the Chrism Mass on Holy Thursday, the sick person is anointed
on the forehead as the priest prays, “Through this holy anointing
may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the
Holy Spirit.”
4 Then the palms of the hands are anointed, while the priest prays,
“May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you
up.”
5 Together, those who are gathered pray the Lord’s Prayer.
There is a final prayer and blessing appropriate for the circumstances.
How can Janet deal with caring for the dying?
“It is a very sacred time in a patient’s life,” she
declares. “I feel that my faith has grown and deepened as a
result of ministering to the needs of the patients.”
Janet showed mercy to the
sick – then she needed it herself
By Duane Ramsey | Photography by Christine Jones
 Many
people believe that hospice nursing must be the most depressing
kind of work. Some ask Janet Sinke how she can deal with it
– caring for the dying. “It is a very sacred time in a
patient’s life,” she declares. “It’s a privilege
to be part of that intimate circle that touches someone as they
prepare to leave this world. I feel that my faith has grown and
deepened as a result of ministering to the needs of the patients
and their families.
“I have gained so much, personally and professionally. Each
life is deserving of respect and worthy of love – teaching
important lessons about the need for hope, love, reconciliation
and forgiveness,” Janet says. “Each life has the power
to make a difference even in the end. As a result, the dying process
can hold some of the most beautiful moments in a person’s life,”
she continues. “It has been a wonderful opportunity to serve
others in this way. I have received so much in return.”
Janet Sinke has dedicated her life to helping other people through
her career in nursing with a major concentration on hospice care.
In recent years, however, health challenges have prevented her from
continuing her mission of caring for the sick and dying in the same
capacity. “Working with hospice patients has helped me deal
with my own health issues,” says Janet. “My experiences
with the dying and their families have greatly enriched my life
and made me more aware and grateful for all the many blessings given
to me and my family.”
On June 17, Janet and her husband Mike will celebrate their 31st
wedding anniversary. They are parishioners of St. Joseph Parish,
in St. Johns, and their five children – three boys and two
girls – range in age from 29 to 22. Janet began her nursing
career at Ingham Medical Hospital in Lansing, and she has worked
as a registered nurse for 31 years in a variety of different nursing
capacities.
In 1988, Janet became involved in home health and hospice care.
A rare opportunity became available when Janet was encouraged to
apply for a position as the first clinical manager of Hospice House
of mid-Michigan. She landed the job that would be the pinnacle of
her nursing career. “Hospice nursing is the best kind of nursing
I’ve ever done,” she asserts. In that position, Janet
assisted with the development of policies and procedures, hiring
and mentoring the staff, and then overseeing the care of patients
and their loved ones. After a lot of hard work by a dedicated team,
Hospice House opened and received its first patient in November
1998. “The highlight of my career came when the facility was
completed,” affirms Janet. “It took much effort and dedication
on the part of many to achieve that goal.”
 Hospice
House has 15 beds, all in private rooms. The facility provides a
very home-like environment that includes a chapel, family rooms,
kitchen and spa. Located at the St. Lawrence campus in Lansing,
it is part of the Sparrow Health System. “It is a very upbeat
place, warm and inviting. The one word I heard most often, when
families described it, is ‘peaceful,’” Janet recalls.
“One family described Hospice House as Heaven’s waiting
room. That was the highest compliment we could have received.”
The people on the staff at Hospice House and the home hospice team
at Sparrow have provided excellent care for their patients. “They
set a high standard of care that has not faltered but only been
enhanced. I call them angels,” Janet says. Mass is offered
in the chapel on a regular basis at Hospice House. As a Eucharistic
minister for the facility, Janet felt honored to bring Communion
to patients at such a sacred time of their lives. At one time, 13
of the 15 patients were Catholic.
In 2000 amidst of all the work, Janet began feeling very tired
and became very anemic, experiencing some shortness of breath and
chest pains. By summer, her health got worse, with foot tremors
and her voice getting weaker. “As a nurse, I had a diagnosis
for everything,” she says. “I just figured I was putting
in a lot of hours and working too hard.”
Janet eventually met with her doctor and several specialists. She
took a stress test and other cardiological tests. At first, they
couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her. “It was getting
more difficult to function at work,” Janet explains. “My
family was very concerned about me and wanted me to step down from
the job at Hospice House. It was a very difficult decision, one
I agonized over for quite a while.”
By Thanksgiving, she began feeling better and began to reconsider
her decision. However, her husband and family objected to her returning
to full-time work. Janet says her husband had never told her “no”
before that occasion. It was time for Janet to receive some of the
mercy she had given. She finally relinquished her job at the Hospice
House in February 2001. In August, she was diagnosed with Parkinson’s
disease and later with celiac sprue, a condition that had caused
her anemia. “I turned 50 and thought I was falling apart,”
Janet says. “The Parkinson’s was getting worse. I started
falling and couldn’t do as many things. Brushing my teeth and
using the curling iron were major chores.”
In July 2001, her daughter Emily had a baby girl named Ellen
– Janet and Mike’s first grandchild. Janet feels that
her granddaughter saved her, making her realize that she had to
keep going. She saw a specialist who was involved in research on
Parkinson’s. He got her into an experimental program, testing
a new drug that showed promise in slowing the progression of the
disease. “It’s like a miracle, a gift from God. I’m
so much better now,” says Janet. “I realize now the Parkinson’s
was a blessing in disguise because it forced me to slow down.
 “Someone
asked me how I dealt with my anger with God,” Janet recalls.
“I can honestly say that it has not been an issue for me. When
I think about all my blessings, especially my devoted, loving husband,
my five wonderful children and their spouses, and the light of my
life, my grandchild Ellen, there can be no anger. It would be a
sin to complain. Life is good. “My job was very difficult to
give up but the good Lord is opening another door for me,”
says Janet. “The Holy Spirit is at work and directing me to
try something new.”
Since winning a contest in the fourth grade for writing about
her mother, Janet has always dabbled in writing. She began writing
about some of her hospice experiences, and so far, she has written
a series of Lessons Learned, reflecting on 10 inspirational
hospice stories. She also has written stories in verse about grandparents
and their relationships with their grandchildren. One of the stories,
titled My Grandma Shakes. So What?, is about a child dealing
with a grandparent suffering from Parkinson’s disease.
Janet has spoken to church and social groups, telling stories from
her healthcare and hospice experiences. “Hospice can be a real
gift for those people who can take comfort in knowing there is a
place with people and programs to help them. That is very comforting,”
she says.
ministry focus
Mother Teresa House is a home for the terminally ill
operated by the Diocese of Lansing. Guests who have little resources
or whose families are unable to care for them are given safe shelter,
meals, personal care and around the-clock emotional and spiritual
support. Volunteers and donations are needed. If you are interested
in more information write to: Mother Teresa House P.O. Box 13004,
Lansing, MI 48901. Or call: (517) 484-5494
I had not acknowledged that abortion was wrong,” Carol
explains. “It was a double mercy for God to give me that
revelation ... Without that great grace, I would have been living
with the hidden hatred and pain of my abortion and not known why.”
an abortion led
Carol to find true peace
and a new family of kids
affected by drugs
By Jane Rynearson | Photography by Christine Jones
 When
you learn the facts, it is difficult to believe Carol Cole of Ypsilanti
could have ended up with the following lifestyle. Today, she
is a convert to Catholicism and a single mother of two adopted children
– a son, DeAndre, 8, and daughter, Tatiana, 3. She also works
as project coordinator for Fetal Alcohol Syndrome Prevention and
Intervention of Wayne County (FASAware).
Brought up in Birmingham, she graduated from Seaholm High School
in 1969. “My brother (two years younger) and I were raised
by kindly, liberal thinking parents,” says Carol.
Her first religious exposure was the Methodist Church, but she wasn’t
baptized. She stopped attending because church did not seem real
to her. In retrospect Carol thinks she always had been searching
for God. “I really did not believe God existed,” says
Carol. “I decided that if this is all there is to life I may
as well live it all for my pleasure and myself. I traveled to Hawaii
and all over the U. S. living a ‘60s ‘happy hippie’
lifestyle, which lead to ultimate dissatisfaction, sadness and deep
emptiness.
Included in her sins during her ‘lost’ time was an
abortion. It was actually that sin that came to mind clearly
at the instant that God revealed His love to her. She had gone into
her bedroom when God’s presence brought her to her knees. His
mercy was all the more clear in the light of her sin. “It was
incredible,” remembers Carol. “I was a different person
from that moment on.”
“Up until that time, I had not acknowledged that abortion
was wrong,” Carol explains. “It was a double mercy
for God to give me that revelation, which began the road to reconciliation,
forgiveness and healing. Without that great grace, I would have
been living with the hidden hatred and pain of my abortion and not
known why.”
Carol says she became a bit of a so-called ‘Jesus freak.’
“I kept it to myself. Nobody seemed to understand my new
understanding of God. I was reading the Bible and trying to find
God.”She returned to Michigan and attended Concordia Lutheran
College in Ann Arbor. “I lived with a Catholic family and attended
Mass with them,” says Carol. “I was looking for a church
where I felt ‘at home’ – where I could find Jesus.
“I guess I knew that I was not exactly supposed to receive
Communion in the Catholic church unless I had heard and accepted
all the teachings,” she continues. “But I guess it was
the renegade spirit within that caused me to think myself above
the law, or perhaps it was the tremendous tugging on my heart, that
day at Mass.
 “I
went forward to receive Jesus – again my life was changed.
I knew that this was God, the God who had touched my life and rescued
me from the pit. From that moment I was ‘Catholic’ in
my heart.” Carol immediately began studying. She was baptized
and received into the Church in 1981. “I knew and loved Jesus
in the Blessed Sacrament, so I joined the Church, in spite of ‘Mary,
the rosary, and all that saint stuff,’” says Carol.
Then, she was instantly healed of a throat problem at a Mass
commemorating St. Blaise, during which a blessing of the throats
took place. This got her attention, so she decided to give St.
Anthony a try. With his intercession, her neighbor’s son was
able to find his lost contact lens in the snow. Gradually, her understanding
of the prayers of the saints mushroomed. “The Catholic Church
is, for me, a treasure chest that has no bottom,” Carol says,
reflecting. “Mother Mary and the rosary have become a mainstay
of my faith.”
On her journey of faith, Carol has made many friends who have
helped her along the way. Fr. Peter J. Clark, associate pastor
of St. John the Evangelist Catholic Church in Fenton, says, “Carol
and I became friends among a group of Christian single people involved
in the Catholic Charismatic Renewal and pro-life activism.
“Many of us were moved by God to reconsider priorities in
our lives in order to better express the radical nature of the Lord’s
love for humanity. Carol responded by preparing herself for
ministry to God’s special children. She has shown much heroic
virtue in overcoming the obstacles and difficulties that arise when
one answers such a call of love.”
Never married, Carol is a single parent. “I used to pray for
marriage, but the Lord gave me children instead,” says Carol.
“Now my children pray for a dad.”
After teaching preschool for 12 years, she wanted to know more about
infant-parent relationships, bonding and attachment. “While
I was earning my degree in infant mental health, I was presented
with an unexpected opportunity,” Carol recalls.“The director
of Hope Clinic in Ypsilanti was applying for funds to take in drug-affected
infants.”
Carol began training and filled out the paperwork necessary to
become a foster parent. “Up until then, I didn’t know
a single person could become a foster parent,” she says. “There
are many babies and young children here in Michigan who need homes.
They are beautiful children who need much love and have much love
to give.”
She fell in love with her first foster child immediately. He was
only three days old when she picked him up at the hospital. Two
and a half years later, he was free for adoption. At this point,
Carol and the boy had a strong attachment. There was no way she
could give him up. She decided to adopt. Several years later, when
another adoption choice presented itself, she jumped at the opportunity.
“The single parent road presents many challenges, but I
do not regret the choice I made,” says Carol. Now, she
is learning a new depth of what it means to ‘pray constantly’
and receive the help and consolation of the Lord. It is principally
through the challenges of single parenting that Carol’s love
for Mother Mary, St. Joseph and all the saints has grown. This spring,
Carol helped her son prepare for first Communion, which he made
at Holy Trinity in Ypsilanti.
Although DeAndre has special needs, he is an active, happy, industrious
guy who likes to know how things work and is adept at working with
Legos and other creative construction. As a certified teacher who
specializes in hands-on learning, Carol homeschools him. “He
is a ‘hands on’ learner, so it is a good match,”
says mom. Tatiana attends the Catholic Christian Montessori Preschool
at Domino Farms in Ann Arbor. The little girl loves school, books,
hats, babies and dressing up.
 Carol
works mostly from home part time for FASAware, but has to attend
meetings and offer training. Her job is to coordinate the project,
which seeks to bring awareness and support to families and individuals
affected by fetal alcohol syndrome. The project also does prevention
work.
“I particularly enjoy training school personnel, social workers,
clients in drug rehabilitation programs and foster/adoptive parents,”
Carol explains. “Michigan is one of a handful of states that
offers services and information on fetal alcohol syndrome. Wayne
County most likely has the largest population of undiagnosed or
misdiagnosed, yet affected individuals.”
ministry focus
Project Rachel is a ministry of the Diocese of Lansing for both
women and men who have experienced an abortion. The Church offers
emotional resources and spiritual assistance without judgment in
a non-threatening way. Don’t let the pain of this experience
deny you or someone you know from a happy and peaceful life. No
matter what has happened in someone’s past, Jesus loves. The
Church loves too and wants to extend the hand of compassion to all
to bring emotional healing and spiritual growth. Talk with someone
today. Contact Wilson Perkowski at Project Rachel: (800)
969-0968
Natheer is impressed by the many freedoms that
Americans enjoy. “As an Iraqi Kurd, I was restricted. I
couldn’t travel ... I couldn’t even see my uncle who lived
just 15 miles away, because he lived in an area controlled by Saddam.”
 Exclusive
under penalty of death
Natheer fled Iraq – will he now want to
go back?
By Patricia Majher | Photography by Christine Jones
Natheer Brifkani is many things.
He is a Muslim. He is a Kurd. He is a member of Iraq’s professional
class, educated as a civil engineer. And he is a refugee. Currently
residing in the Lansing area, Natheer was forced to flee his homeland
six years ago. At that time, Saddam Hussein suddenly decided that
anyone employed by an NGO (a non governmental organization, such
as a United Nations’ agency or the Red Cross) was a spy –
and should be put to death.
In reality, Natheer posed no threat to the Iraqi government.
His work with the Kurdistan Reconstruction Organization (KRO) involved
supervising other engineers tasked with designing houses, clinics
and schools. Moreover, he’d always made a point of avoiding
the prickly political situation in Kurdish Iraq, including an internal
war that raged during the 1990s between the two political parties
in the region.
Despite his apolitical stance, Natheer found himself in grave
danger. And that danger was apparent even outside the country.
“Ultimately, the United States stepped in to help us who were
targeted,” Natheer recounts.
In a two-stage operation, Natheer, his sister and brother-in-law,
and more than 6,600 other NGO workers and their families were evacuated
from Iraq and flown to the island of Guam, a U.S. territory located
in the western Pacific. “For four months, we lived in a refugee
camp on a Marine base there,” says Natheer. Fluent in English,
Natheer was elected a community leader and liaison between U.S.
immigration officials and the refugees.
When it came time to discuss his own resettlement plans, Natheer
wasn’t sure where he should go. “At first, I thought
I would go to Oklahoma, where a friend of my brother lived. But
then I decided to move with my sister and her husband to Michigan.”
Arriving in the spring of 1997, Natheer was met at the airport
by staffers from Refugee Services, a program of Catholic Social
Services of Lansing/St. Vincent Home, Inc. Refugee Services made
immediate arrangements to feed Natheer, find him a place to stay,
and arrange for medical and legal aid. Getting him a job like his
previous position proved to be more difficult, given his lack of
work experience in the U.S.
 Fortunately
for Natheer, his facility with English and professional demeanor
was brought to the attention of the director of Refugee Services,
and she hired him to become one of the program’s six resettlement
case managers. Though Natheer was happy to be employed –
enjoying his interactions with both colleagues and clients –
something was still missing in his life. “I was so lonely for
my family,” he admits. “I couldn’t stop thinking
about my brothers and sisters and my parents that I left behind.”
Desperate for something to take his mind off his problems, he worked
a second job – in Meijer’s photo department, to indulge
his interest in photography – and started taking master’s
level engineering courses at Michigan State University. But it wasn’t
until he began to see somebody socially that the feelings of isolation
began to ease.
That somebody was named Meediya. “She is the daughter of a
colleague of mine at KRO, so we knew each other a little bit from
before,” he says. “When we lived in Guam (where she fled
with her family), I would see her, but never had a chance to talk
to her.” It wasn’t until they both came to Michigan that
they became reacquainted.
Building a lifelong relationship had been a goal of Natheer’s
for many years. In Iraq, though, he couldn’t afford to
get married, even on an engineer’s salary. As he explains,
“The woman’s family asks for gold. You have to have furniture
bought. There is the party (reception) to pay for. It is unbelievably
expensive.” But, in the U.S., his dream of marrying had a much
better chance of coming true. In 1999, Meediya and Natheer were
joined in matrimony, and life has been measurably better for him
ever since.
Also in 1999, Natheer took a calculated risk in traveling to
the Middle East to see his family. “My parents live just
40 miles from the border with Turkey. I have an uncle who lives
in Turkey, so we all met in his village,” he explains. The
reunion was a happy one. Natheer was satisfied that his decision
to leave Iraq not only saved him from certain death but benefitted
his family as well. “I know that the money I am able to send
them has helped give them a better life.”
 After
the trip overseas, Natheer was finally able to reconcile himself
to living outside his native land. The most obvious manifestation
of that decision was the arrival, in February 2002, of his and Meediya’s
first child – a daughter named Dinya. “I am so happy now,”
Natheer exclaims.
When asked what makes him happy about his adopted country, he
replies, “It’s the sense that everybody here is the same.
Their lives have the same value. Nobody with a gun cuts in front
of me at the store. In my country, if you have a gun, you go first.
If you have a bodyguard, you go first.”
Natheer is also impressed by the many freedoms that Americans
enjoy. “As an Iraqi Kurd, I was restricted. I couldn’t
travel to cities like Mosul or Baghdad. I couldn’t even see
my uncle who lived just 15 miles away, because he lived in an area
controlled by Saddam.”
Another freedom that Natheer appreciates is the freedom of religion.
“When I tell other Muslims that I work for Catholic Social
Services, they ask me if I’m being pressured to convert. I
tell them I’ve had no pressure. In fact, I think I’ve
become a better Muslim since I’ve been here. I have a prayer
rug at work and I pray five times a day.”
“I’m also free to leave work to go to Friday prayers
at the mosque,” he adds.
During his tenure at Refugee Services, Natheer has grown to love
his job and the environment in which he works. Only one thing
could cause him to leave. And that one thing may be just around
the corner.
In mid-March, when U.S. and coalition troops entered Iraq with
the intent of toppling Saddam Hussein’s regime, Natheer struggled
with his feelings. “I feared for the safety of my family
there,” he explains. “They left their homes to go live
in the mountains – 20 of them living in a tent.” In early
April, though, he got a reassuring phone call from them. “They
are back home and out of danger now. I feel relieved.”
Reflecting on the necessity of the conflict, Natheer now holds this
opinion. “Life under Saddam was a nightmare for Iraqis. In
a war, you will have victims. You have to sacrifice. Luckily, not
too many people died.”
Natheer also thinks that reconstruction will be a long and complicated
process, “but people are now free to go anyplace – to
travel, to build a better life. I don’t know who will lead
the country when this is over, but I hope for the best.”
He is also hoping to return to Iraq in the not-too-distant future.
“I dream of going back, to share ideas with my engineering
colleagues and to help rebuild the country,” he notes. But
he probably won’t make it his permanent home. In fact, he recently
took the first steps required to become a U.S. citizen. “I
won’t get this kind of freedom in any country in the Middle
East,” he explains, “including my own.”
ministry focus
Catholic Refugee Services
how mid-Michigan
Catholics help the world’s oppressed
How do refugees from faraway countries like Iraq make their way
to mid-Michigan, anyway? According to Peggy Roberts, vice president
of operations for Catholic Social Services of Lansing/St. Vincent
Home, Inc. (CSS-SVH), the process is multi-tiered. If a person expresses
a desire to seek refugee status, he/she is assigned to one of 10
organizations in America that are committed to refugee resettlement:
in Natheer’s case, that was the United States Conference of
Catholic Bishops (USCCB). Under the USCCB umbrella, 106 agencies
offer resettlement services at the local level; in mid-Michigan
that agency is CSS-SVH, specifically their office of Refugee Services.
Refugee Services has been in existence for more than 20 years.
During that time, its staff has helped more than 13,000 people make
the transition to their adopted country, starting the minute they
get off the plane. “We meet them at the airport,” notes
Peggy, “and take them directly to a home that’s fully
furnished and stocked with culturally appropriate foods.” After
health screenings are performed, refugee children are enrolled in
school while staff works with adults to assess job skills, provide
training if needed, and find placements with area employers. “Our
goal is to help clients get on their feet within six months,”
explains Peggy.
English as a Second Language courses are offered at the Refugee
Services office on Michigan Avenue. So is a women’s sewing
circle that serves as much a social function as it does a job training
function. “Activities like this really help to ease feelings
of isolation,” says Peggy.
Refugees also are supported by a dedicated corps of interns and
volunteers who serve as family mentors, tutors for children,
transportation assistants, interpreter/translators, and more.
You, too, can be a part of this support system that helps
newly arrived refugees make their way through our community.
Call Refugee Services at (517) 484-1010, and ask to speak
with the volunteer
coordinator.
Celebrate this Franciscan’s feast day
with the food that launched a charity.
the legend of
St. Anthony’s Bread
 By
Patricia Majher | Photos by Philip Shippert
Ever hear the phrase “St. Anthony’s
Bread”? If you have, you probably associate it with a poor
box found in the back of a church. But the origin of this Franciscan-run
charity program actually has something to do with the staple food
for which it was named.
One legend dates back to the year 1263, when a child drowned
near the Paduan Basilica of St. Anthony during its construction.
The child’s mother prayed to the saint to bring her boy back
to life. In return, she promised to give to the poor an amount of
corn equal to the child’s weight. When the child was miraculously
revived, the mother made good on her promise.
Centuries later, in 1888, a woman named Louise Bouffier managed
a small bakery store in the seaside village of Toulon, France.
One morning, she couldn’t open the shop’s door with her
key. Neither could a locksmith, who advised her that he’d have
to break the door open. While he went to get his tools, Louise prayed
to St. Anthony that she would give some of her bakery’s bread
to the poor if the door could be opened without force. When the
locksmith returned, he tried the lock again and was easily able
to let Louise in. True to her word, the baker made sure that the
poor of Toulon received their due.
It wasn’t long before Louise’s friends began to follow
her example of promising a gift of bread or alms to the poor in
return for prayers answered by St. Anthony. In the 1890s, they
formalized this practice by founding a charity called “St.
Anthony’s Bread.”
In the spirit of this charity, some parishes bless and distribute
small loaves of bread on June 13, his feast day. Below is a
recipe for an Italian bread that may be shaped into individual loaves
for you to pass out at church, among friends and family or to the
disadvantaged in your community.
 Italian
Mini-Loaves
Yield: 16
3 cups flour, divided
2 packages active dry
yeast
1 Tsp. dried Italian
seasoning
1 Tsp. dried pars-
ley flakes
1 1/4 cups 1%
milk
1/4 cup water
 2
Tblsp. butter or margarine
2 Tblsp. sugar
1 Tsp. garlic salt
1 egg
3/4 cup grated parmesan
cheese, divided
2 Tblsp. butter or
margarine, melted
In a large mixing bowl, combine 1 1/2 cups of flour, yeast, Italian
seasoning, and parsley flakes. In a saucepan, heat and stir the
milk, water, butter, sugar, and garlic salt just until warm (120
130‚) and butter almost melts. Add milk mixture to flour mixture.
Add egg and beat with electric mixer on low or medium speed for
30 seconds, scraping the bowl constantly. Beat on high speed for
3 minutes. Using a wooden spoon, stir in 1/2 cup of the parmesan
cheese and as much of the remaining flour as you can.
Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface. Knead in enough
of the remaining flour to make a moderately soft dough that is smooth
(3-5 minutes total). Shape the dough into a ball. Place it in a
lightly greased bowl, turning once to grease the top and bottom
surfaces. Cover and let rise in a warm place until doubled in size
(about 45 minutes).
Grease baking sheets or a 13” x 9” x 2” baking pan.
Punch dough down and turn out onto a lightly floured surface. Divide
dough into 16 portions, shaping each into a round mini-loaf. Place
mini loaves on sheet or pan. Brush tops with 2 tablespoons butter
and sprinkle with remaining parmesan cheese. Cover and let rise
in a warm place (about 15 minutes).
Bake in a 375‚ oven for 20-25 minutes or until golden brown.
If It’s Tuesday, It Must Be St. Anthony’s
Day
In his Holyday Book, Francis X. Weiser, S.J. notes that
Tuesday is devoted in a particular way to the veneration of St.
Anthony because that was the day on which the faith-filled Franciscan
was buried. In the 17th century, the practice began of holding
weekly devotions to St. Anthony; even today, most ‘perpetual
novenas’ to him are held on Tuesdays. Portugal and Italy, where
the saint was born and where he died, honor his feast day with unusual
festive splendor and great devotion. In Portugal, the epithet “of
Padua” is never used, for to the Portuguese he remains “Anthony
of Lisbon” or “of Alfama,” the district of Lisbon
where he was born. There, every house on June 13 displays, among
other decorations, a shrine with a statue of the saint.
Braveheart: in the end does
it teach us about mercy?
By Doug Culp
 Remember
Mel Gibson in the violent movie, Braveheart?
Gibson’s character, William Wallace, was being publicly tortured
in an effort to have him swear allegiance to the King of England
in exchange for a quick and merciful death. Wallace had been the
leader of the Scottish resistance and so such an admission might
have crushed the already downtrodden spirit of the Scottish clans
and solidified the power of England over that land.
Those familiar with this movie will remember that the crowd cheered,
mocked and hurled insults as Wallace’s torture commenced.
He had been an enemy of the state, responsible for the deaths of
many English soldiers, and was finally getting what he deserved.
Yet, as the torture progressed in its brutality, a transformation
slowly crept over the crowd. Finally, as Wallace was being disemboweled,
the crowd grew still. Their faces changed as they saw this person
being literally gutted before their eyes. Then it happened -- a
cry rang out from the multitude, "Mercy!" Others soon
joined in and the English crowd began chanting in unison for mercy
to be shown. Forgotten was the pleasure of seeing their enemy humiliated.
Forgotten were the "crimes" so worthy of this man’s
destruction.
For the crowd that day, perhaps there was something repulsive about
the cold, calculating, and unyielding exercise of power that caused
compassion to displace hatred in the hearts. Or maybe the scene
awoke them to a sudden realization of their own vulnerability, lack
of control or finitude. What began as a "good" thing --
i.e. bringing this man to "justice" -- had deteriorated
into a senseless application of force, which was devoid of any good
in the eyes of the crowd.
And the question of power lies at the core of this beatitude. The
concept of mercy is only conceivable when a relationship exists
in which one party has power over the other. In order to show mercy,
one must have power over the one to whom mercy is shown. For example,
the expression "I throw myself at the mercy of the court"
is the recognition by the accused that something or someone holds
the power to decide his or her fate.
So, according to the beatitude, we are to be merciful in our
exercise of power -- but what does this really mean? What might
it look like? Perhaps the answer lies with the source of all real
power -- God Himself. Throughout our tradition, one of the attributes
that has been assigned to God is that of omnipotence (all-powerful).
We read in the Old Testament how the prophets often approached the
Divine with fear and trembling in deference to this power. In fact,
so great is the power of God that when Moses asked to see the Lord’s
glory, God answered, "I will make all my beauty pass before
you. ... But my face you cannot see, for no one sees me and still
lives" (Exodus 33:19-20).
The implication would be that in order for us to exist then, God
must withhold or protect us from the sheer power of His Being --
otherwise, we would be completely consumed. In this way, we are
at the mercy of God, for God has all the power. That God exercises
this power by constraining rather than asserting it may seem peculiar
or contradictory to worldly thought. Yet, this is precisely the
key to teaching the proper spirit and use of power for Christians.
St. Bonaventure elaborates on this understanding in a way that might
be helpful. He argued that God’s power is actually the humility
of His love. "Only a God who can love another so completely
without dominating the other or absorbing the other can be powerful,
precisely as love that is humble." 1 In other
words, the power of God is necessary to surrender oneself and give
oneself away; to take oneself back in the giving and preserve the
independence and freedom of the recipient.
That the humility of love is real power can be seen in the case
of Jesus Christ, simultaneously the symbol of God’s love for
humanity and His power. We are told that Christ, the Word of God,
the Logos, the second person of the Trinity, emptied Himself
to take the form of a human being and accepted death on a cross
(Phil 2:7-8) so that we might be brought to life with Christ
(Eph 2:5) and share in the divine life of the Triune God.
Hence, God chose to not only exercise His power by constraining
it so that we might have life, but God then emptied Himself and
submitted to death so that we might have life more fully with God.
This is the ultimate good. Thus, as Christians, we are to mirror
this example in our own lives and in all of our relationships where
we hold some measure of power whether physical, emotional, political,
economic or social. However, this is only possible if we center
our lives on God rather than on ourselves, because God alone is
Love, Power and Goodness. Mercifulness is the fruit of this Love,
Power and Goodness.
So to be merciful in all of our relationships Christianity
demands a double movement, which is rooted and predicated on the
love of God and neighbor. First, we must affirm the existence of
the other by constraining ourselves in order to allow goodness to
flourish especially when it is in our power to "destroy"
another. Second, we must empty ourselves and exercise power in humble
service to the other so that he or she may not only have life but
have it more fully, to share in the goodness of Divine Life.
In the end, the story of the transformation of the crowd in Braveheart
serves as a reminder that we all stand in need of mercy, and, in
fact, that we exist solely because of the loving mercy of God.
Although we may lose sight of this and become "puffed up"
with the illusion of the power that seeks to lord over others, occasionally
particularly brutal acts awaken in us that sense of justice and
goodness. We seem to know instinctually when lines have been crossed.
Unfortunately, such "disturbances" are often quickly forgotten
as they are so fantastic and removed from our personal lives. We
quickly fall back into old patterns of "brutality" in
our relationships.
This beatitude then calls us to be ever mindful of our reliance
on God and to the proper response to His loving mercy, which is
to be merciful in return. In short, it calls us to always and everywhere
exercise power for the good of others, for this is ultimately our
good as well and why mercy shall be theirs.
Douglas Culp is a theology student at Catholic Theological Union
and the Associate Director of M.B.A. Career Services at the University
of Chicago Graduate School of Business. He currently resides in
Oak Park, IL with his wife, Yvette. He can be contacted at douglas.culp@gsb.uchicago.edu.
1. Ilia Delio, O.S.F., Simply Bonaventure:
An Introduction to His Life, Thought, and Writings. (Hyde Park,
NY: New City Press, 2001), p. 117.
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