From Chapter 5 ~ Goodness
“God speaks to us without ceasing by his good inspirations.”
St. John Vianney
Majesty: Yes, Crown Thy Good With Brotherhood, Indeed
Jesus was there, and He took no sides.
By Christine Capolino
I’m not sure what it is that so defines this….. This stirring magnificence. This grandeur of the Adirondacks.
This broad, beckoning, deep-blueness of the lakes? There is no name, no container for this blue. It is too crystal, too sweeping, too untainted, too breathtaking.
This fortress of old growth forests? Striking soldiers of pine against sapphire skies. Hardy maples offering quiet shade to the littlest of creatures, creating sun dappled beauty on the shoreline. Magically coloring in autumn. Fragilely disappearing in the chill.
This delicate balance of humanity and wildlife? A mallard swooping with conviction to what calls him on the lake. A great blue heron gracefully lighting among the shore reeds. A tiny box turtle moving quick-as-he-is-able, taking refuge under the boggiest mossy meeting of land and lake, when he hears us coming. For we know that the animal kingdom, while instinctively claiming territory, has not imposed the borders on God’s precious gift to us, our home, our planet, as we humans have.
These mountains that call us perennially? They sit in quiet guard always. They rejuvenate and refresh with their pureness. Their very name resounds with distinction, vastness. And for us, familiarity, a coming home. A feeling of privileged return.
This rich fabric of history? Our collective history. These mountains echo with battle cries of the brave and the mighty. Those with strong belief in their cause. Battles that pitted God’s sons against each other over borders. And principles. And pride. So that one asserts its dominance in the French and Indian War and then, so that one claims its independence in the Revolutionary War.
It is the story of us all, fought for them and fought for us. For we are their future.
We saw the face of Jesus in our guide at Fort William Henry, nestled at the north end of Lake George, as he ardently spreads these stories that he holds dear; as he conjures images that so aptly spring to life events at the Fort. In so doing, he spreads the Word. For these stories are the key to who we are. If we were there, on these battlefields two hundred and fifty years ago, we would have seen the face of Jesus there as well.
He was there. He carried each soldier. For Jesus takes no side. He was there. Encouraging and guiding and providing perseverance. He was there. And in their final moments, He was there. Consoling those left behind. Escorting the others Home.
Shrouded among the stately mountains and indigo lake, reflecting the pines, the junipers, the aluminum rowboat and the bobbing dock, we are in what could be a scene on a postcard. My husband and older son chat comfortably while casting line, and bobbers are configured onto brand-new-just-this-Christmas-Santa-gifted fishing rods. My younger son is splashing happily, already submerged in the icy lake and half way to the dock. And yelling, “C’mon guys!” It is a day full. Boys on the loose will find enough nature to explore dawn to dusk. And it is made all the brighter by togetherness.
Later, after a hotdog and s’more feast around our dwindling campfire, sheltered and snug in the pine-y scented nylon of our tents, the boys become immersed in our current before sleep novel and my husband’s voice trails off as he reads aloud. They settle under cozy camp blankets and the neon of dollar store glow sticks and tons of hugs.
“Wait, Mom, one more quick prayer,” he blurts as the enormous, dark eyes, heavy with happy exhaustion, reach out.
“I know we should be praying for others, but I have to ask God for another day like this tomorrow. This was the BEST.” He hunkers down further in his sleeping bag and whispers, “Oh and thanks, God, for all of this. I’m so lucky.”
Yeah…. Well, me too.
He certainly HAS shed His grace on thee. On all of us.
Christine Capolino is a writer of monthly columns at www.amazingcatechists.com and www.catholicmom.com which focus on her attempts at weaving together Faith and her family life, and is a contributor to Stories for a Homeschool Heart (Waterford, MI: Bezalel Books). Christine earned two honors degrees in Education from St. John’s University, taught for fourteen years, and feels that the most meaningful learning occurs at home, in the heart of the family. Chris grew up in Queens and now lives a beautiful homeschooling life on eastern Long Island with her husband and their two lively boys, who continuously color their lives with an unbridled enthusiasm for baseball, basketball, John Wayne impressions, Legos, pirates and all things action/adventure.
This broad, beckoning, deep-blueness of the lakes? There is no name, no container for this blue. It is too crystal, too sweeping, too untainted, too breathtaking.
This fortress of old growth forests? Striking soldiers of pine against sapphire skies. Hardy maples offering quiet shade to the littlest of creatures, creating sun dappled beauty on the shoreline. Magically coloring in autumn. Fragilely disappearing in the chill.
This delicate balance of humanity and wildlife? A mallard swooping with conviction to what calls him on the lake. A great blue heron gracefully lighting among the shore reeds. A tiny box turtle moving quick-as-he-is-able, taking refuge under the boggiest mossy meeting of land and lake, when he hears us coming. For we know that the animal kingdom, while instinctively claiming territory, has not imposed the borders on God’s precious gift to us, our home, our planet, as we humans have.
These mountains that call us perennially? They sit in quiet guard always. They rejuvenate and refresh with their pureness. Their very name resounds with distinction, vastness. And for us, familiarity, a coming home. A feeling of privileged return.
This rich fabric of history? Our collective history. These mountains echo with battle cries of the brave and the mighty. Those with strong belief in their cause. Battles that pitted God’s sons against each other over borders. And principles. And pride. So that one asserts its dominance in the French and Indian War and then, so that one claims its independence in the Revolutionary War.
It is the story of us all, fought for them and fought for us. For we are their future.
We saw the face of Jesus in our guide at Fort William Henry, nestled at the north end of Lake George, as he ardently spreads these stories that he holds dear; as he conjures images that so aptly spring to life events at the Fort. In so doing, he spreads the Word. For these stories are the key to who we are. If we were there, on these battlefields two hundred and fifty years ago, we would have seen the face of Jesus there as well.
He was there. He carried each soldier. For Jesus takes no side. He was there. Encouraging and guiding and providing perseverance. He was there. And in their final moments, He was there. Consoling those left behind. Escorting the others Home.
Shrouded among the stately mountains and indigo lake, reflecting the pines, the junipers, the aluminum rowboat and the bobbing dock, we are in what could be a scene on a postcard. My husband and older son chat comfortably while casting line, and bobbers are configured onto brand-new-just-this-Christmas-Santa-gifted fishing rods. My younger son is splashing happily, already submerged in the icy lake and half way to the dock. And yelling, “C’mon guys!” It is a day full. Boys on the loose will find enough nature to explore dawn to dusk. And it is made all the brighter by togetherness.
Later, after a hotdog and s’more feast around our dwindling campfire, sheltered and snug in the pine-y scented nylon of our tents, the boys become immersed in our current before sleep novel and my husband’s voice trails off as he reads aloud. They settle under cozy camp blankets and the neon of dollar store glow sticks and tons of hugs.
“Wait, Mom, one more quick prayer,” he blurts as the enormous, dark eyes, heavy with happy exhaustion, reach out.
“I know we should be praying for others, but I have to ask God for another day like this tomorrow. This was the BEST.” He hunkers down further in his sleeping bag and whispers, “Oh and thanks, God, for all of this. I’m so lucky.”
Yeah…. Well, me too.
He certainly HAS shed His grace on thee. On all of us.
Christine Capolino is a writer of monthly columns at www.amazingcatechists.com and www.catholicmom.com which focus on her attempts at weaving together Faith and her family life, and is a contributor to Stories for a Homeschool Heart (Waterford, MI: Bezalel Books). Christine earned two honors degrees in Education from St. John’s University, taught for fourteen years, and feels that the most meaningful learning occurs at home, in the heart of the family. Chris grew up in Queens and now lives a beautiful homeschooling life on eastern Long Island with her husband and their two lively boys, who continuously color their lives with an unbridled enthusiasm for baseball, basketball, John Wayne impressions, Legos, pirates and all things action/adventure.
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From the back cover of God Moments II
In the sequel to God Moments: Stories That Inspire, Moments to Remember, Catholic authors, pro-life advocates, bloggers, home educators, a radio show host, speakers, a Marian Catechist, and publishers join author Michele Elena Bondi in sharing their encounters with the Divine through stories which encourage you to recognize the Holy Spirit working within you and through you. Experience the inspiring God Moments of Nancy Carabio Belanger, Belinda Bondi, Andre J. Bottesi, Rejeanne Buckley, Chris Capolino, Sharon Cecil, Maribeth Criscenti, Ellen Gable Hrkach, Gene X. Kortsha, Janet MacKinnon, Tom Mulcahy, Sean McVeigh, Paul A. Ray, Susan Schoenstein, and Jerry Weber.
May God Moments: Recognizing the Fruits of the Holy Spirit create a greater awareness of God’s unfathomable love for you and for every person, increase your understanding of the meaning and purpose of your life, and inspire you to greater virtue and deeper surrender to God.
Available Fall, 2011
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God Moments II cover copyright 2011 Joseph Karl Publishing. Cover design by award-winning graphic designer Roseann Nieman of Niemanart Graphics. www.niemanartgraphics.com