Gratitude, plain and simple

Yes I do Facebook!  I consider it something of a cocktail party online.  Light fluff, don't take it too seriously and don't get too caught up spending time on it.  That said, sometimes there are moments of real connection and value.  A friend put out a challenge to post once a day, something you are grateful for,  with the provision that weather can be used only once!  Since Thanksgiving is the big day in November, here in the US, this seemed nice to change the focus from stuffing the bird and stuffing my face.  Game on Gina!

Ok, I've played my weather card (it was a spectacular day, worthy of being noted!)  So I as I'm racking my brain, wanting to really feel what I was saying when I remembered an elderly priest friend, Fr. Max Mandel.  Fr. Max would always, and I mean always answer "God willing" when I said see you later, or see you tomorrow.  He never took for granted that tomorrow was a day he would be there to see.

Sometimes I would walk with him, strolling the local streets, him in his OFM habit and sandals, me in jeans and tshirt.  In bad weather the walks would be inside the church, slowly going around the stations, up and down the aisles.  Sometimes we'd go to the end of the street.  The end of the street was the church cematary.  We'd visit people we'd known, from the fourth grader we'd lost to meningitis to those who'd struggled for years with emphysema.   We'd even visit where Fr. Max himself would be buried, in the small cul de sac with a small stone marker.

So thinking of my lovely, sweet, stern, gentle and firm Fr. Max, I posted early this morning on my Facebook page to be grateful for today, for simply being here and having the gift of this one lovely single day.  Appreciate it, tomorrow may not happen for some of us.

Around noon today, I decided to check the blogging world I enjoy so much to see who out there was writing or chatting today.  I came to Rebekah's beautful and wonderful blog, Big Fun in a Tiny Pueblo, which I always jump on, the moment a post appears.  And I read.  And I cried.   A lovely young woman, from this tiny pueblo in the north of Spain, didn't get to finish the journey this day.  She was only 32 and her travels, her pilgrimage here is over.  She could have been my daughter, she's exactly the right age.  So, as I sit here and cry again, for the loss of someone so young & for her family and her mother.  If anyone reads this post, think again, how lucky you are to be alive, today.

And say a prayer for Juli, and for Rebekah and the pueblo of Morotinos.