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Remembering the Aggie Bonfire Tragedy

If you are not familiar with Aggie Bonfire it was a long standing Texas A&M University tradition. It was the largest bonfire in the world. When I was a child we could see its flames from our front yard. My mom used to have the hose ready because the cinders would drift over the roofs of our neighborhood. Fire trucks would line the field it was held in.

It was designed by A&M Engineering students. It got bigger every year. It was the funnest to attend when I was a teenager. The Corps of Cadets formed a ring around it to keep drunk people from getting too close. It was a huge community wide party. The Aggie band was there and there was lots of singing and cheers.

A&M does not have cheer leaders. We have yell leaders. Cadet Trainees in overalls with no shirts leading. The yelling.

There was an old fashioned outhouse on top with our rival schools’ initials on it. Bonfire burned the night before our game with them. I say “our” even though I was never a student there. My parents were. Not me. However if you grow up here you’re part of it. Not much else goes on around here.

The weeks before bonfire are when the building happens. It’s a night and day thing. Girls signed up to be “bonfire buddies” and bring snacks and hot drinks and encouragement to the kids working on it. The entire process took three weeks or so. It involved giant cranes. You could see students climbing all over it in their hard hats tying logs with wire, watch its progress as you drove past on the Main Street of the town, Texas Avenue.

November 18 1999 was the end of it.

The Bonfire collapsed in the early hours just before 3am.

I woke up a bit before that with an intense urge to get up and pray the rosary. I tried to ignore it especially since I had my toddler asleep in my arms. “Get up! Pray now! Get your rosary and pray now! Now!” So I did. We lived near campus then. In the midst of my sleepy prayers I heard ambulances and sirens – more then I had ever heard before. That day I was giving Communion at the hospital. I saw staff crying in the halls, parents gathering in a glass room waiting to hear about their kids. I took communion to a young Aggie CT in intensive care but he was unconscious so I just prayed.

If you are from here do y’all remember how we were asked to stay off the phone so parents could get through to find their kids? And how the restaurants offered meals? And how our priests heard confession from young people trapped under the logs? And how all the other schools sent banners that were tied between the trees around the site? I don’t miss bonfire though I grew up with it. I’m glad they don’t do it anymore. Later I found out one of the dead was a cousin of mine from a part of the family I didn’t really know. She was a freshman and we were supposed to get together for coffee. Jamie Hand. Anyway I doubt anyone who was here for that could ever forget any of it. God bless all the families who lost someone.

November 19, 2024 1

What do we do now?

After my husband Bob was diagnosed with a grade 4 brain tumor and we found out it was glioblastoma multiform, we went in our room and closed the door and sat on the bed staring. We had been so positive and hopeful. We had laughed in the hospital and kept our chins up. But this was terrible news. After a while I said, “What do you want to do? What do we do?” And he said, squeezing my hand, “We love, we walk on.” I smiled at him. “What else is there?” That’s right. That’s all anybody’s got. We love, we walk on.

My husband Bob Chapman died 12 years ago. His walk with cancer was heroic and inspiring. He continued to love and serve others as he fought cancer. He bloomed creatively. He started painting. He played guitar and sang every day for as long as his arm would still work for him. He continued to learn and discover. He deepened his relationships. He came to love God.

Bob was a real person. We had fights. He could be such a jerk. He had a hard time adjusting to not being able to talk at work and he felt inadequate and angry. It didn’t help that the steroids he had to take sometimes made him want to fight his friends. It actually makes me smile to remember his faults and the times he was mean and stubborn. He wasn’t perfect at all.

He didn’t pretend to feel any other way than how he felt. He felt all the same things everyone does going through cancer and facing death. But he did it. He loved and he walked on.

I think that is exactly what we have to do now. It’s actually kind of hard.

Pray for us Bob.

November 6, 2024 1

“My arm’s broke, my heart’s broke, my back’s broke;” care giving stories from the nursing home

The first day of “clinicals” for CNA training (Certified Nurse Aide) my class showed up to the nursing home in our white scrubs at 6am. We would do this for three days in a row. We were to shadow the established CNA’s and sometimes follow our teacher around with the class, observe and also try out our skills we had learned in school.

I changed my first few adult diapers that day, with an acute realization of how embarrassing it must be for a patient to have that done until they were used to it. My teacher observed and made suggestions. I tried to make conversation with the people as I served them. It was awkward and weird and I think my face sweated with nervousness but I suppose that’s normal.

One guy I changed was aware and oriented but nonverbal. He graciously let me change him for practice but apparently I made a big mistake. Later in the day I noticed he glared at me whenever he saw me. I found out later that this was because the next time he had peed after I changed him pee went up out of the top of his diaper and got his shirt all wet. With a male patient you have to make sure – er – that there is a downward course for pee. I found him and told him I was sorry about that but he mean mugged me the rest of the time I was there. Oh well.

Later in the break room we had a chance to chat with the CNA’s that worked in the nursing home. To our complete surprise they urged us not to go through with doing this. “She broke her arm,” they said, nudging one of the group, who said, “My arm’s broke, my hearts’ broke, my backs’ broke. It ain’t worth it. It ain’t worth it.” They explained that they loved the patients, and that they each had at least one they were very close to that among themselves they referred to as their baby. “Of course you love them. You have to love them but when they die, it about kills you. “

It was really too late to turn back and we had done too much work and paid our tuition. All of us stayed on and finished our training.

I met some interesting people. There was a married couple who were able to room together. I remember their room had regular furniture in it and looked really cozy. There was a man who had filled his room with books and loved talking to us. There wasn’t time though. There never is. One caregiver has ten patients. By the time you finish getting everyone up and dressed fed changed and cleaned up in the morning it’s time for lunch. I didn’t like how even if one of them was crying there was no time to talk to them and try to help. Someone else in the next room had a physical need to be met. You had to keep going.

i remember one lady liked to play rap on her radio with the volume all the way up. She sat in her wheel chair with her forehead on the speaker with the music blaring all morning until lunch. Sometimes she would really get her head moving. It was impossible not to smile watching her.

Some of the people there were very tragic, very disabled, helpless and alone. It was hard to see that. I wanted to track their families down and yell at them when I heard they seemed to have no one.

Institutions always feel like timeless, placeless places to me, impersonal and eerie in a sense. There’s a lot going on but seemingly little warmth or connectedness. However if you’re there long enough they start to seem more human. Such was the case at the nursing home. I have heard the denizens of nursing homes described as “limp, faceless people in wheel chairs.” It really offended me. It isn’t true. The first time you see someone wheeled into the lobby who seems listless and unaware maybe it seems scary. Maybe they seem practically dead to some people? Lean into the experience, move toward them and not away and like me maybe you’ll find out there is a person there with a lot more going on than you thought. Maybe they are nonverbal or have trouble holding their head up or they’re babbling but that doesn’t mean they can’t receive or even express love. In fact a lot of them had such a need to love that the staff gave them baby dolls to hold. I saw several people carrying baby dolls.

A lady stopped me in the hall and told me how tired she was. “Please I’m so tired. Can you find me a bed?” I didn’t know where her room was and nobody around me knew. So I led her to a vacant room and tucked her into bed. She thanked me. “I worked so hard today,” she said. I said, “I know. You rest now.” I thought to myself that she had probably worked hard all of her life.

One day at lunch I was told to go and hand feed the people at a certain table if they needed it. I sat next to one lady who seemed pretty out of it. I greeted her but I couldn’t get her attention. So I scooped up some food in a spoon and held it up to her mouth. She looked at me and then grabbed a spoon, scooped up some food, and held it up to my mouth. I laughed. “Well you showd ME,” I told her. Apparently she could eat on her own if she wanted to.

I met a saintly man during that few days who became a friend. His name was Jim. I’ve written about him before.

I decided during those days that I was not going to work in a nursing home. The pay was only a couple dollars more an hour than minimum wage. I wanted the opportunity to spend more time with people I helped. I also like a less rushed kind of day.
However, I would go back many times to that nursing home. I took my final exam there. But I also spontaneously went over there to visit because it made me happy. if I was in a sad mood I would stop by and hang out in the lobby and watch a checker game. Or just hug people. Or go pray a rosary and have some coffee with my friend Jim.
Going there always made my day.

October 25, 2024 0

My new book I finished writing this summer

This summer I finished my manuscript for a new book. The working title is Pray Like Teresa; how to pray the Prayer of Recollection of St. Teresa of Avila. The publisher will decide the official title. I agonized a lot writing it but that seems to be part of my creative process unfortunately. It was also my solace during a stressful summer as it turned out to be.

When I have a project on I continually “write” in my head until it’s finished. Then it’s hard for me to stop messing with it and to stop thinking about it all the time. I enjoyed St. Teresa’s accompaniment during the months of working on this little book for her. I hope she is happy with it.

The book is short, only 15,000 words, about half the length of my first one, Come to Mary’s House; spending time with Our Blessed Mother. It is also more instructional than Come to Mary’s House. I would describe the general vibe of the book as St. Teresa with a Shawn twist. I tried to stay absolutely true to Tersa’s teachings and to work in my own Teresian spirituality and experience as well.

An important goal I had for this book was to help everyday Catholics and others to get to know Teresa’s teachings in a friendly way. I included St. Teresa’s struggles and sense of humor along with her teachings on the Prayer of Recollection and her basic foundational teachings that underpin it. I hope for the reader to see that contemplative prayer is for everyone and that this method of prayer is one anyone can do.

I also wanted to show why contemplative prayer is desirable, not only for the growth of the person who prays but for the good of the Church and the whole world. In this way I believe deepening inner prayer and contact with God, friendship with Jesus, and the practice of a life of prayer are urgent necessities in our world today and for the renewal of the Church.

A lot of people may be intimidated by Teresa of Avila because of her profound mystical experiences, because she is the “Doctor of Prayer,” and such a great figure of Catholic spirituality. Maybe they had not thought of reading her works before because they were written about 500 years ago and they assume she is inaccessible and too Medieval to be understandable or applicable to their lives.

I hope the reader will find that St. Teresa was also very human, witty, funny, practical and grounded. Her wisdom is relevant to anyone wanting to live the spiritual life, to grow in prayer, to this day. I hope I have provided a simple way to take up this prayer that Teresa said the Lord himself taught her, to anyone who picks this book up.

I think it would be a perfect book to take to Adoration with you, enriching your prayer in that hour with Jesus, or to keep by the place you like to sit when you pray daily. One could easily read a section each day and try the part of the prayer that section suggests.

I intend to encourage everyone who reads this book to try the prayer, to stick with it, along with giving practical ideas to help them be consistent.

I arranged it as an introduction to Teresa herself, and then I played out reflectively her basic discoveries about prayer such as friendship with Jesus, his Sacred Humanity, and God being experienced as within us.

Then I wrote a section about each step of the prayer and how to do it, each one headed by a quote from Teresa or from Scripture.

I allowed myself the pleasure of writing about the effects of the prayer as well and let myself get poetic about those but not overly so I hope. I wanted to communicate the beauty and joy of intimate love of God.

I am hoping this book will appeal to the everyday Catholic who may be being called by God to cast their nets into the deep or at least the deeper or even a little bit deeper. Whether the reader takes up everything in the book as part of their daily prayer life or not I hope reading it will improve their prayer life and their relationship with the Lord at least a little. I think it will.

My parish is primarily young people in college. They are remarkably devout, however. I can imagine some of them being interested in this book. I thought of them while I was writing, but also of people my own age or so (I’m 56) who at this time of life may be more interested in contemplation and want to give it daily time. I want it to speak to anyone who looks through it.

I turned in my manuscript to Our Sunday Visitor on Assumption Day, a few days early. But I thought it was a good way to honor Our Lady and St. Teresa, whose habit (the Carmelite habit) she wore.

Look for the new book August 25th, 2025

October 5, 2024 1

Should America “Turn back to God?”

I see bumper stickers and social media posts and hear comments about how America should turn back to God and how we should pray for that or enact laws to that effect. Right now a law is being discussed that curriculum in Texas public schools should include Bible stories. Whether that will make people “turn back to God” or not I don’t know. I just have to rave a little bit right now. And here are some questions I think should be considered when we say our nation should “turn back to God.”

When was our nation with God to begin with? When we kidnapped and enslaved Africans for hundreds of years? When we murdered the indigenous peoples for land? When we forced their children into schools away from their parents to rid them of their cultures and languages and otherwise abuse them even to death? Maybe we were with God when we used to have school prayer but practiced corporal punishment? Or when we lynched black men on Saturday and went to church Sunday and never saw the conflict? Maybe we were closer to God during Jim Crow and segregation. Or perhaps when we put Japanese Americans in internment camps. Or maybe it was when women couldn’t own property or vote? Or go to college? Or were basically their husbands’ property? Or when we used to accuse women of being witches and burn them alive? Maybe it was when we used to do nothing about violence against women; when the police would say it was a private matter? Possibly we were the holiest when it was thought that rape was usually the woman’s fault and women lied about it? Or when sexual harassment was just an expected thing women had to put up with?

Maybe we should think about what it means to “turn back to God.” Does it mean saying some words of prayer or calling “Lord Lord?” Or is it living in righteousness and compassion and mercy with God because of our love for him and because his love has filled our hearts to love others?

We will know ourselves by our fruits Hopefully these will be the fruits of the Holy Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control.

Because God is love. And there is no other way to turn to him. It doesn’t mean turning “back” to anything but to keep growing and walking ahead with love for God and neighbor. It means opening our hearts.

September 27, 2024 2

Decisions. I hate those things.

I have been rather dysfunctional lately. I go to work (I still have one of my jobs) and I come home, do the minimum such as take care of my chickens cats and dogs. Then I lay in my bed and stare at the ceiling. My heart hurts. I feel like I am dying. It’s grief of course, for Zane, who died suddenly and unexpectedly August 22 of this year.

At the same time I have lost my job. I took care of Zane for about four years. I also take care of Mac, another special needs young man.

So I have lost my main job, my job with Zane, which is a crisis in itself. It’s hard to make decisions when you’re grieving and it’s not the best time to do it. However, I don’t have time to do this any other way.

I really love working with special needs young people. I seem to have a knack especially with those who are nonverbal. It is a calling I believe, to do this work. It’s a work that is love. It means a lot to me.

I interviewed with a new family. It went very well and they would love me to come work for them. I liked them too. I said I would let them know in a day or two. Then I cried in the car and had to go over and hug Zane’s mom. We sat on the couch and talked for a while about Zane, about things. Her loss is so great I had to stop typing for a few seconds just now thinking of it. I feel guilty talking about my own grief but I can’t help it.

When my mom got restless or had a problem she needed to think about, she re-arranged the furniture and cleaned madly. Sometimes she pulled up carpet or made new curtains and painted the living room to match. I’m not good at sewing. I don’t have money for paint. So I stuck with re-arranging the furniture and cleaning madly.

I talked to my friend Shawna who somehow manages to give me clarity when I need it. I continued to clean madly. My dogs were a little concerned.

I thought about how I am worried about the pay for a prospective new job which is far less than I made at my last. I wondered how I would pay the mortgage now. I finally got a house and I am not giving it up. I was thinking about what to do about that.

However the main issue is grief. It’s hard for me to think of replacing Zane and trying to love someone new already. I reflect that I have never failed to love anyone I have taken care of. In the nursing home where I did my clinicals there is no way to really get to know the people you care for. You take care of their immediate physical needs and even if they’re crying or something you have ten other patients you have to get to who need to be changed or whatever. Even then I always cared for each one in a loving way as best I could. That’s just how I do it. I can do this.

I have a daughter in college. I will do whatever I can to make sure she gets as far with her education as she wants to. She is busy applying for master’s programs lately. No matter what she is going. My other daughter has been going through hell this summer. It’s pretty unimaginable the way she is holding it together. However she needs me. Sometimes she needs my help. I’m going to be here ready.

If there is anything in my life I have learned to do it’s grieve and fight for my family at the same time.

I can work out the pay part somehow but I prayed about my next person to take care of. I think this could be the one I asked for or was led to. . I think I will try it and do my best.

The dogs needn’t worry. I think I am through cleaning for now.

OK, Beloved Lord. Lead on.

September 1, 2024 1

Abbess Hildegard

Born in 1098, the tenth child of her family and dedicated as a tithe to a monastery of Benedictine nuns at the age of eight, St Hildegard grew up to be an extraordinary and holy woman. She was a mystic, a poet, a composer of unique, soaring liturgical music so different from the plain chant of the time. St. Hildegard was the author of books, music, and plays. As a Benedictine Abbess she communicated with Bishops and Popes. She was a popular public speaker at a time women were normally not allowed to teach or speak. Abbess Hildegard was a prophet, an adviser, an influencer of her time.

Her colorful mandala like art, not created by herself but overseen by her, represented her visions of the Trinity, and other Heavenly realities. The paintings often have a multi-layered appearance leading the eye to a central space containing a symbol. Looking at them makes me feel like I’m seeing into another world or a into a great depth.

Her illustrated book Scivias describes her mystical visions and the interpretations of them she heard from God. It was written in 1151. She begins it with her experience of God commanding her to write it. It is still available now as are other works of hers which ranged from the botanical to the medicinal, to the theological. Her exquisite music has been performed for centuries.. Her musical play, Ordo virtutum, or Play of the Virtues, may well be the oldest known morality play. It is beautiful but you may jump when in the middle of the serene vocals, the wild discordant voice of Satan interrupts the song unexpectedly for a moment. I have listened to it so many times but it still startles me. Otherwise her songs are pure ethereal loveliness. You might start with The Origin of Fire (no devil voice,) or A feather on the Breath of God which sounds as poetic and pretty as the title.

St. Hildegard’s world view, like her poetry, was lush, verdant, filled with rich, vivid imagery. She was deeply in tune with nature and the divine as expressed in creation. She was profoundly Incarnational, at once earthy and luminous in her spirituality and writing.

Here is Viridissima Virga, a hymn she wrote in honor of Mary

“ O branch of freshest green,

O hail! Within the windy gusts of saints

upon a quest you swayed and sprouted forth.

When it was time, you blossomed in your boughs—

“Hail, hail!” you heard, for in you seeped the sunlight’s warmth

like balsam’s sweet perfume.

For in you bloomed

so beautiful a flow’r, whose fragrance wakened

all the spices from their dried-out stupor.

And they all appeared in full viridity.

Then rained the heavens dew upon the grass

and all the earth was cheered,

for from her womb she brought forth fruit

and the birds of the sky

have nests in her.

Then was prepared that food for humankind,

the greatest joy of feasts!

O Virgin sweet, in you can ne’er fail any joy.

All this Eve chose to scorn.

But now, let praise ring forth unto the Highest!”

Hildegard possessed unusual wisdom and compassion. People of every class came to her for medical advise, healing remedies, wise counsel, spiritual help or prayers. At times she even delivered babies.

She was a Renaissance woman before the Renaissance, a polymath, someone brilliant in many subjects and incredibly creative.

Her faith was absolute. When she was sure she was doing Gods will she was literally unmoveable. She ran into some trouble with religious authorities for burying a sinner who had been excommunicated on the holy grounds of her monastery. She insisted the man had confessed and received absolution and communion. She was not believed by the Bishop. She was ordered to have the man’s body removed. She refused. Her sisters stood by her. She and they were placed under an interdict which meant they could not sing the Liturgy of the Hours or receive the Sacraments. It was basically a mass excommunication. Hildegard became very ill in her spiritual anguish and could not leave her bed. When the Bishop sent six men to remove her, she became so heavy they could not, no matter how many worked together to lift her, be moved at all. It was considered a sign from God.

The young man’s body remained where it had been buried.

St. Hildegard Abbey, also known as St. Hildegardis Abbey, is located in Eibingen, along the Rhein river in Germany. It was founded by Saint Hildegard in 1165. It is still functioning and is visited by pilgrims from all over the world devoted to her and interested in her life and work. .

Strangely she was not canonized for more than 800 years after her death. Finally on May 10th, 2012 Pope Benedict XVI did so though she had been already widely regarded and locally venerated as a Saint after her death in 1179. This lapse was because the necessary paperwork was lost en route to the Vatican when her cause was first undertaken. Pope Alexander III ordered the witnesses of her life and miracles to be gathered and interviewed again but somehow no one ever did so.

Maybe the delay was because we need this brilliant Saint to arrive in our consciousness now in these times we live in. Who doesn’t need a beautiful vision, remarkable and holy art, gorgeous music and vivid poetry, showing us a spirit that is unique in beauty with the ability to open our eyes in new ways to the glory and splendor of God? I think we all need that right now.

Pope Benedict XVI elevated St. Hildegard to the well deserved status of Doctor of the Church on October 7 of 2012 because of “her holiness of life and the originality of her teaching.” She is one of only four women Doctors of the Church along with St. Teresa of Avila, St. Catherine of Sienna and St.Therese of Lisieux.

After Abbess Hildegard’s death the nuns of her monastery reported seeing her luminous figure several times carrying a bright light through their monastery. She was radiant and she was chanting.

We celebrate St. Hildegard of Bingen on September 17.

August 28, 2024 0

An Honor Walk

Today I did something I have never done before. I took part in an “honor walk” for someone I love very much who has died- just yesterday in fact.
I had never heard of an honor walk before. This is something that was done today for this person so beloved by so many. I can’t tell you who this person is to me because the family has not shared anything on line as far as I know so I won’t either.

However I thought this honor walk was pretty touching. Everyone came at such short notice and it was a lot of people!

It had to be carried out quickly due to the family’s decision to donate the organs “so he can be the answer to another family’s prayers.”

His body would be flown to Dallas for this purpose.

This death was sudden and tragic. Everyone I saw there in the ICU was still dazed from the shock of it. Hospital staff had us line the halls. Some of the people had signs with pictures of him saying “We love you.”

We seemed to stand there a long time. I didn’t know many of the others though I could guess who many of them were. I introduced myself to some I had heard the most about. I regretted that I somehow forgot my rosary. I always have one in my pocket but I didn’t remember today. I made desultory conversation with an interesting young person next to me whom I had met several times before. It was awkward or I worried it was.

I repeated “Jesus Maria” in my head as I tried not to let my emotions or my social anxiety overwhelm me.

In High School my best friend, Philip, was killed in a car accident. I remembered vividly watching his mother, Helen, go stoically through all of the necessary procedures. Afterwards I tried to stay close to her through the varying stages of her grief and mine.

A lot of feelings from my past came up standing there because I felt so terrible for the family. I remembered the last time I would ever see my first husband’s face after he had died in a car crash when he was twenty-eight. I had to ask my dad and brother to remove me so the funeral home people could close his casket because I just couldn’t leave Marc’s side. Standing and waiting today I kept thinking of the trauma, shock and horror this family must feel in these last moments with the body. I felt those feelings of horror and bottomless darkness from my past that I wish I could save them from.

I had to sort things out. I didn’t want to avoid my own grief for this person now. But I also needed to be present and remind myself that this is not my trauma. This is their trauma. This is their day, his day. I wanted to pray and to be there. I wanted to grieve this person and not my other people I’ve lost. I so wanted to strengthen the family and love them. As someone who is all full of trauma and loss myself this was hard to do.

Staff handed out water bottles and tissue. I noticed I was crying a little bit. That’s a sign of healing for me because I did not have that ability for many years. It is a recent development.

Finally the hospital bed carrying our person was pushed between the two lines of people from the other end of the hall. Everyone stood in silence. After the family had passed we followed. He was propped up on pillows. His eyes had some kind of shiny stuff on his closed eyelids. There was a ventilator tube coming out of his mouth. There was the face I loved, empty of expression now. He didn’t even look that empty when he was sleeping. He was definitely gone. Still I mentally told him I loved him knowing he could spiritually hear. I asked him to look after his family.

Finally we came to an open door leading to a kind of dock. A chaplain invited us to pray together which we all did. A hospital staff member of some kind read out some words of gratitude for what the family was about to do, and a blessing. She cried while she did it. The mother of our person spoke to him for a while some loving words. I couldn’t hear them exactly. And he was sent out.

I saw a beloved grandmother in the hall and hugged her and the weeping grandfather too.

The parents hugged me. I so wanted to be a comfort to them. I think I was. It seemed that way.

We were all guided back out to the lobby where I joined my step mom and daughter who had come with me, having known him too. I had stood with the family and close friends. My step mom had pushed me over there. I hadn’t been sure I should be so forward but it worked out.

I thought the honor walk was beautiful. It was fitting. It was just like the family, who are so loving, to do this.

I will think about it for a long time.

This is not my trauma but the family’s. However, I grieve. I do grieve terribly.