Percatory: Just a sip away from Heaven

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Because it's Sunday

May 30, 2021

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Sounds Good...

The low, bass rumble entering the parking lot was unmistakable. My sister, sitting in the back seat of our truck, her frail body racked with the pain of cancer and weak, straightened, and a gleam appeared in her eyes as if waking up from a long dream to a clear day. I could clearly see the transformation in her eyes, the depth of her soul recounting memories of decades past. She had been widowed long ago and had been battling cancer for at least half of that time. "Sounds good...sounds real good." That low rumble was a Harley Davidson entering the parking lot of Dairy Haven; a place my husband and I had come to each time we visited my sister, who was in hospice at home with one of her sons and his family. She had fought the cancer long and hard, never wanting pity or to feel sorry for herself. Rarely did I see her cry as she strove to keep a good humor about her. After months of suffering with a hospice care facility that offered little in the way of compassion or relief (

The Barque of Peter (or, One With the Ship)

Our Lady of Czestochowa, St. John Cantius Church, Chicago, IL. (photo by Betty Parquette) Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, Springfield, IL. (photos by Betty Parquette) This is the Cathedral for the diocese of Springfield, Illinois. The ceiling was fashioned after the Basilica of St. Mary Major in Rome, Italy. To be honest, I've never truly been drawn to the interior here. I prefer the womb-like quality of Gothic style churches. They give me a sense of the warmth of a mother. My affection however has changed as of late for our cathedral. One evening Mass in early summer, while safe inside our Mother Church, the skies darkened and thunder rumbled outside the safety of those walls. As I looked up towards the ceiling I had a profound sense of being inside Noah's Ark. The more I gazed, the more I recalled the plans for the Ark which God so meticulously gave instructions for, and how the models have looked by those attempting to recreate it's features. A profound sense of

The Road Less Travelled

Our Lady of the Highway sign I remember as if it were yesterday. Looking back nearly 20 years has gone by as quickly as the signs on the highway. I relaxed in the passenger seat as my husband skillfully maneuvered our SUV through the swift traffic of I55 toward St. Louis. I watched the farms and fields fly by as I mindlessly gazed out the window. That's when it happened. That's when I saw Her. She stood on a pedestal atop a wall of stone. Majestic she looked as with folded hands she looked down at me...at us...at every passerby. As if being drawn by some unworldly voice calling to me I found my hand raising gingerly to my forehead, then to my left shoulder, and again to my right. I did it....a Baptist girl...made the sign of the cross! "What did you just do??" my shocked husband exclaimed! Oh yes, silly me. I thought I had been pretty slick, making this gesture as quietly and subtly as possible. Nothing gets past a Trooper though...what on earth was I thinking? "

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Because it's Sunday

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