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Hey, we lost the election! Now, we can REALLY do some good!

Chapel of the Portiuncula
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, things were bad. Violence, shameless lack of faith and knowledge of the faith by both laity and clergy, those who wished to spread untruths about both God and Church, lots of really poor people and a few with money (and those with the money were quite happy to spend it - on themselves). Big old mess.

Then, a young man names Francis, "a well-to-do son of an Assisi merchant, spent his youth in luxury and enjoyment. His call to a life of poverty and simplicity came as he was searching for greater meaning in his life, and was alone in the dilapidated wayside chapel of San Damiano. He heard a voice from the crucifix saying to him, "Francis, go rebuild my church which as you can see, is falling to ruin." With that, he gathered materials and began repairing the old church. Others joined him in the effort.

Gradually, through the work of rebuilding, Francis learned that the true message of the voice was not only to fix up the broken walls, but to rebuild the Church of his day through beginning a new order of religious men. This new order was drastically different from monastic life, the generally accepted norm of the day.

The new approach became a model for religious orders to serve others out in the marketplace. Francis and his small group of young men founded what today is a world wide movement of men and women living lives of poverty and simplicity and sharing the joy of the gospel with the world." (from the website of the Franciscan Sisters of the Eucharist)

So, let us go rebuild - once again - the Church, bringing our joy to the marketplace. Like Francis, we may do this very simply - putting stone on stone - until God Himself tells us our work is done.

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Crossing Guard

I saw you
today
as you guided
your little man across that busy street.

You were wearing some
big man boots
and
watching cars and lights.

Your little man had on
black sneakers and
a Mickey Mouse hat
that bounced
as he walked.

He wasn't watching nothing but
your big man boots
and
the white stripes of the crosswalk.

Just before
he got to the sidewalk again,
his step bounced a bit
- he hopped over
a spot where the asphalt broke.

You turned to look,
holding out a hand to
your little man.
Not rushed or angry,
just making sure
he got up
on that sidewalk.

Then you walked on,
in your big man boots,
face into a cold Michigan wind,
with the little man behind,
his hat bouncing.