Bob Giusti 2000 AD

It was Thursday, May 15,1969, that my sponsor drove me down this dark country road to the St. Ann retreat house in Bristow, Virginia, to begin my Cursillo weekend (Men’s 5^th). I wondered what was in store for me when I saw men hugging each other and wearing crosses around their neck. For the next three plus days I sat with a group of men, who I did not know, but by Sunday we were Brothers in Christ.

My table of St. Paul included a Xavarian Brother, a Monsignor in the Diocese, and 3 other laymen. I learned more about the human aspects of Christ and his workings in team members lives that weekend than my previous whole life in Catholic schools. Most importantly, I learned that the clergy and religious did not have it all together and they told us lay folk that they needed me and others for support and help. Throughout the weekend the Monsignor (well respected) was emotional as were others, including myself, and I truly believe it was the work of the spirit. There was much diversity on the weekend from age, job, family, and religious experience.

The talks and the personal witness by team members had a major impact on me but the most significant thing were the human aspects I learned about Jesus and his love for me and others. Personal palanca letters from a few friends (not many people had made Cursillo at this time) were also special as were the 30 or so people and a few friends who woke me up to song (Mañanita) on Sunday morning and then left. And then Closing!! It was 50 people coming to welcome me. I realized that this was the community of people that team members were referring to in their talks all weekend. It was a joyful celebration and something I wanted to hold onto. All of this is what made the weekend so great and yes, AUTHENTIC.

After I came off my Cursillo, there wasn’t any sudden, overnight change in my life, but the seed had been planted. I knew that if I was to be a good Christian, instead of a good Catholic, I would have to reorder my priorities, and nurture that seed. Our relationship with the Father is a living thing that needs constant care and nourishment, so it will blossom and ultimately bear fruit. Left on its own, it will soon wither and die. I’ve learned that every day is important and is to be lived fully.

My journey with the Lord over the past 30 years, although difficult at times, is still one of increased spiritual growth and every step that I take which brings me closer to Him brings me more of that true peace which I believe can be found nowhere else. These past six years have been spent dealing mostly with two wonderful grandsons, family illness (the death of my father and father-in-law), and some other painful news. That has resulted in lost contact with many Cursillo activities that my wife and I were involved in for so many years. After serving in many leadership roles and teams, it has been hard. However, I have stuck to the Cursillo method of piety, study and action and that has been my “lifeline” for the past 30 years. Without it, I would never have been able to deal with those dark sides of life.

Initially, I was in a couples group reunion and it was good for awhile because we each had a small young child and it was in the home. In 1972, I joined a men’s group that met on Saturday mornings in our parish. That has been my support, encouragement and you name it for all these years. I meet every Saturday with Ray (since 1973), Jim (since 1985), Bob (since 1986), Harry (since 1990), Brad (since 1986), Nick (since 1997) at 7:30 am. My present group reunion is a true gathering of friends, I can be myself and share my life freely with them and know that I can count on them for prayer and support. Its a constant reminder of who I am and where I m going and most important, it keeps me accountable to friends. No matter my mood--enthusiastic, filled with the spirit, or barely dragging myself and feeling empty, I almost always leave with something that I can hold onto to keep me going. Someone seems to say the very thing I need to hear, sometimes not even being aware they did so. I find encouragement and support in moments of doubt or hesitancy, a pick me up after a fall. I am greatly blessed by these men I share my life with each week. Christ has not worked in extraordinary ways but mostly in the nitty-gritty of everyday living of trying to be a good Christian.

In recent years, Spiritual Direction has also been a source of strength and I am grateful for the Sister’s of the Cenacle, who through their programs and individual guidance have helped me to know this God of ours and recognize His humanity and His love for us. It was the Cenacle who helped me to understand that Christ laughed, cried, got mad, and enjoyed many things.

Cursillo has been a powerful force in my life. It continues after 30 years to be a way to examine a part of my life where I might live His gospel in the day-to-day events of my life. It has provided much more for me than I ever expected and it truly has been the means that has helped me to recognize that as I try to serve others, I am reminded of Christ’s special moments in my life.

DeColores, Bob Giusti

Pat Gerkin 2000 AD

If someone were to request that all the evangelists in the house stand up, I’m sure I would remain seated. I can’t be accused of being my best self most of the time either. But God doesn’t seem to mind the flawed vessel. God just uses us, in spite of our perceived flaws, in the way that we can best represent Love. I have a lot of friends who are evangelists of the sort that bring many people into the Cursillo Movement or back to church or to their knees before God, etc. That doesn’t seem to be my role in the body of Christ.

I think I am a seed-planter, and I am ok with that. After all, there won’t be a harvest season if there is no planting season. The harvest season is the glorious season. It’s when the fruits of the labor can be seen. We’d all like to be part of that season. Jesus exhorted us to “Go forth and bear fruit…fruit that will last.” And I believe that I am doing my part, however small it may seem to me or to others. I heard a song recently that talks about the date tree and the dreamer who brought that date tree to life. The dreamer was the seed-planter who would not live long enough to see the date tree bear fruit (apparently date trees don’t bear fruit for some 80+ years). But the dreamer was sure that the tree would bear fruit to feed someone who would, in turn, choose to be a dreamer and plant another seed. And so it goes on perpetuating itself. The environments that I work in, both as an artist and as an arts administrator, provide me with opportunities to do a lot of seed-planting--and a lot of dreaming.

Most artists that I know are already working through their own spirituality, using the most creative means they have—their art. It takes a lot of courage to be an artist in these days of high tech stocks and millionaire lifestyles. Putting your art out there is a lot like bearing your soul in a Cursillo talk. It’s risky, because there is nothing between your truth and the audience.

I had an occasion to plant a seed, albeit a small seed, during a recent art show I participated in. We six artists planned four receptions, and one of them fell on Holy Thursday. I told them I couldn’t be there because it was Holy Thursday and I would be in church. Silence. It came up several times in the course of the month and each time I planted my little seed. Once they even started asking about what happens there, and what do you do on Good Friday, and what about this Virgin Mary? I thought, “Well, it’s a start.” I told them that I wouldn’t gallery sit on Easter Sunday either, and they decided they would close the gallery that day. I praised them for their wisdom. Who knows if, and when, those small beginnings may bear fruit? But I know that I did the part that was assigned to me. I planted some seeds.

People from all walks of life are craving something deeper than the superficial lives in which they often find themselves. What is missing, they ask? I planted more of my little seeds in a show that I named “Parable”. Each piece in the show has a message or a parable for those who could see it. You wouldn’t believe the questions I got from the audience. People who might otherwise never speak a religious word in such a public place (It’s not “politically correct,” you know), talked of Mary Magdalen, the Evangelists, loneliness, living too fast, the women of the Bible, places of peace, and places of yearning—places in the heart, as it were. Seeds.

At my workplace, as an arts administrator, one of my co-workers became interested in this “Cursillo thing that Harry talked about.” Harry planted the seed, and I had the pleasure of reaping the harvest when Dee made her Cursillo last year. (Sometimes even a mere seed-planter gets to harvest the fruit.) Even in the harvesting, another seed was planted. Our executive director noticed Dee and I talking about different events that we were planning to attend—strange things called ultreyas, group, and closings. Several months went by and Dee and I began asking her if she were interested in making a Cursillo weekend. She said she was, and I brought in a booklet about Cursillo for her to read, as I had done for Dee. Months went by again.

The other day, I brought it up again and she said she was ready for an application. I don’t do grand and glorious things to “evangelize.” I just try to live my life as a Christian in an ordinary way. When I tell them that I am serving a meal for the seriously ill retreat, they want to be a part of it too. When I tell them about the cookie ministry in Kairos, they want to bake cookies for it. I don’t have a plan. I don’t check off my milestones. I haven’t drafted a mission statement, or goals and objectives. I just plant my seeds. It seems simple, and it is. We don’t need to do anything dramatic to fulfill our pledge to God. We just have to be the person God meant us to be. “Just do our best and God will do the rest.” Count on it.

Pat Gerkin

Michael Flach, 2000AD

It has been more than four years since I made my Cursillo weekend. I was part of the 95th Men's Cursillo at Missionhurst in Arlington from Nov. 21-24, 1996. We were blessed with an outstanding leadership team, including Father Tuck Grinnell, Deacon Jim Bayne, Tom Silva, Stan Prochaska and Ed Dervan. Many others worked behind the scenes to assist our spiritual journey.
Growing up Catholic in Philadelphia, and now working for the Catholic paper here in Arlington for 18 years, I've always had the sense that God was moving my life, or guiding me, along a preordained path. Shortly before my grandmother's death in 1982, she encouraged me to apply for a job with the Catholic Standard and Times in Philadelphia. There were no openings on their staff, but resume found its way to the editor in Arlington. I was hired in August 1982.
During the early part of my faith journey here at the Herald, I often thought I was reflecting the face of Christ, but was I really? Did I reach out with compassion and understanding to those I wrote about? Certainly since my marriage in 1985, and the arrival of my five children, the road has become clearer for me. It is more in focus. My wife and children have defined and shaped my life.
Christ no doubt guided my journey to Cursillo. In 1995, Bishop John Keating told me about the appointment of Bishop Anton Justs as head of a new diocese in Latvia. Bishop Justs was a priest of the Arlington Diocese. He was pastor of St. Mark Parish in Vienna when he was asked to teach at a seminary in Latvia following the collapse of Communism in 1989. Bishop Justs was scheduled to be ordained by Pope John Paul II at St. Peter's Basilica on Jan. 6, 1996, the feast of the Epiphany.
My good friend Deacon Larry Ziemianski from St. Mark Parish called to see if I was interested in accompanying a group of 30 people from Arlington to Rome for the ordination. Larry put me in touch with Russ Stube, a Cursillista, whom I didn't know at the time. We were supposed to room together in Rome. But Russ already had two other roommates, one of whom was Tom Ryan, another Cursillista. We spent a glorious four days together in the Eternal City. I got to know both Tom and Russ, who impressed me with their deep-seeded faith. They seemed to sense right away, almost instinctively, that I should make a Cursillo weekend. Through their encouragement and enthusiastic support, I wound up at Missionhurst in November 1996.
I journeyed far that weekend. I realized that despite my avocation with the paper and the Church, I didn't always reflect the face of Christ in everything I did. It wasn't from lack of effort. But something seemed to be missing. Prior to making my Cursillo, I found it harder to focus on my job. I was growing short and impatient with my family and co-workers. I was not acting as Jesus would act.
We were invited to take a “new direction” in our lives. As members of the lay faithful we are called to be ministers and witnesses of the faith. God never leaves us alone, but saying “yes” means taking risks. There are many traps along the path toward holiness, including fear, immaturity and selfishness. Calling ourselves “Christian” is not enough. We must exercise apostolic action by reflecting Christ in our words and actions. We often don't seek out leadership roles. Sometimes they seek us out. To be a dedicated Christian leader means recognizing that evil exists in this world. We must not be afraid of doing something about it.
My life has not been perfect since 1996. The death of my father last year was spiritually and emotionally difficult. There have been many professional hurdles to face along the way. I need more discipline in my prayer life. But I've been able to face life's challenges with certain peacefulness and calm. During that weekend in 1996, I heard Jesus call my name. “Michael,” he said, “come follow Me.”
— De Colores, Mike Flach

Martha Esser, 2000 AD

DeColores, Brother and Sister BabeChicks:
I made my Cursillo in Norfolk/Virginia Beach area in the Spring of 1993. I am proud to say that many wondrous and marvelous things have been bestowed upon me in my 13 years as a Catholic and 7 years a Cursillista. My life just keeps on getting better and better. My Blessing cup overfloweth!
I have a very firm and childlike faith from my Baptist rearing though I certainly hope I do not come on too strong as being a "bible thumper," ( ... become like little children or you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Matt 18:3) I was personally never comfortable in the Baptist "hellfire and brimstone" beliefs and evangelized by example. As a Catholic I continue my evangelization in this fashion along with emphasis on exerting a very conscious effort to amplify Our Father to encompass all those around me, including total strangers. I venture to be a handmaid/disciple/servant spreading seeds of kindness and compassion. In my daily conversations with God I ask for his help so that I might reflect HIM in all I say and do.
I am a full time at home Mom of three adopted sons. (Such Blessings!) The two older boys are grown and only my nine year old remains at home. And, I am blessed with a part time home based business. I evangelize to my business associates, clients, friends and family by the business name of "His Harmony." He is in charge of the business, not me. One of the ways I choose to be a servant is by providing an alternative to conventional medicines to relieve aches, discomforts and tension by the use of the God given natural resource of magnetism from the earth. I am building the business by word of mouth and reaching out to those in need that God sends my way. I am truly blessed because I keep extremely busy with requests and referrals. And, of course, it is fun to see who God sends to cross my path and brighten my day!
As I meet new people through my business, my son's school activities, family and friends I put forth the effort to genuinely listen to the conversation and unreservedly respond accordingly. Such as . . .

• When they say something unpleasant has happened to them I respond by simply saying, "This too shall pass." (This is my all time favorite scripture that has sustained me through all the hills and valleys.) [Cast your burden upon the Lord, and He will sustain you. Psalm 55:22]
• If they share a moment of despair I respond to them that if only they have the faith the size of a 'mustard seed' then all will be well with them.
• If someone cuts me off in traffic I simply shake my head (in bewilderment) and smile to them as I whisper a "Hail Mary" to lift them up for whatever problems they have allowed to make them be so very rude.
• I hear a siren blare and respond by the bow of my head to whisper a prayer on behalf of those in need and/of comfort.
• If someone says they are experiencing a headache I give them kind words of empathy and offer them a magnet from my pocket to place on their forehead (to increase the blood circulation) to relieve tension and headache as I whisper a prayer of comfort on their behalf.
• If they are experiencing arthritis in an achy hand I offer them the magnetized bracelet off my wrist to ease their discomfort and somehow subtly let them know they are in my prayers and thoughts.
• And, friend or foe, if you call me and say you need some little something, no matter what, I am there to assist whether it is by deed or spiritual uplifting.

In all that I say and do I first ask myself "What Would Jesus Do?" Then, I seek to implement and serve my Lord, as He would have me do by extending kindness, love, prayer, deed and encouragement to all His children. Not only do I feel good about serving others but the blessings that come with being His servant comes back to me in overwhelming abundance.
De Colores, and May the Peace of the Lord be with Each of You, Always, Martha Esser

If I can ease one life the aching, or cool one pain,
or help one failing robin unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain. --Emily Dickinson

Bill Eager 4/3/00

Dear Brother and Sister Cursillistas,
When Joan Brown asked me to write a witness for His Banner, I thought not me. It wasn't so much that I'm not worthy but rather that I really didn't have that much to say. How hard is it to be a witness in a Catholic school? Well, Joan was encouraging and so I said "yes". She told me to focus on how I have worked to change my environment, a good Cursillo word.
I made my Cursillo in May, 1985. I have a picture on my desk of "the laughing Christ". I think I've only seen one such picture in all my Christian bookstore shopping. If you have a "picture" in your mind of what I'm referring to, I'm sure it's the one on my desk. Anyway, that picture best describes my Cursillo weekend. My weekend was a living experience of the real joy of what it means to know the Lord and to know how much he loves you. It was the celebration of what I had believed my whole life. It took my belief system and put it into a relationship with real people.
At the time of my weekend, I had been a Catholic school principal for about six years. I am now in my twentieth. I went from over ten years in corporate life to the ministry of catholic education. Twenty years later, I am very grateful the work God has allowed me to do and I am totally happy in my job.
My sharing begins about three years ago. My wife, Carol, and I have eleven children. When my daughter, Elizabeth, (#5) graduated from college, she became a volunteer in a catholic teaching program serving inner-city schools. She requested southeast Washington, D.C. and was assigned a 4th grade class there. I had spent 13 years in a suburban school on this side of the river; talking to my daughter, I became aware of the special needs and challenges of some of the city schools. I requested a transfer into the city and had several interviews. I accepted a position at St. Anthony Catholic School "in the heart of Brookland." My first goal was to get to know the faculty. Since it was the end of the school year, I decided to meet with each faculty member over the summer. I asked each one to sign-up to meet with me individually for four hours.
As you might imagine some of the "veterans" wondered what we would do for four hours! Well, for two hours we had a conversation. I wanted to know what was their passion for catholic education and St. Anthony's. I wanted to know what they wanted me to keep and what they wanted me to change. We went to the noon Mass and then to lunch together. For the most part, I listened but also planted the seeds of several new ideas that I planned to initiate. They were relatively simple things but they would change school life. I told the teachers that beginning the next school year we would meet every morning for prayer. I explained that the prayer would rotate each week from teacher to teacher. Each teacher would be totally responsible for the content, style and length of the prayer. After the prayer, we would discuss issues of the day.
I also told them that each week would begin and end with an all-school prayer service. All of our students along with their teachers would come together in prayer to open and close our week at school. Each week the prayer service would rotate from class to class. Some teachers liked my ideas but most felt it was another stress on an already difficult schedule. I appreciated their concerns but was determined to have these prayer times become part of our school environment.
As you know, there are no "magic wands", but I love gathering with the faculty to begin each day. Remember the old adage, "the family that prays together stays together?" It works for catholic school faculties, too. I find there's not too much "small talk" in the faculty room when you acknowledge your common unity each day.
Each Monday and Friday we gather in the hall as a particular class leads us in prayer. We always close by joining hands and praying the Our Father. There is an energy and a power in the hall when this happens. Often this is my closest moment to Christ for the week. Afterwards, I take a few minutes to talk with the students. I feel very fortunate at these times. These minutes and times like them are the major reason I have stayed in catholic education all these years. I get to share with our students what I "felt" in such a strong way on my Cursillo weekend; God loves you. Now love somebody else.
Earlier, I said these changes were rather simple ones. God works, however, in our simple efforts. At the end of this year a second teacher will leave our school to become a principal in the Archdiocese of Washington. We are all proud of that. When our first colleague became principal, he called me. He wanted me to know that in his new school they had begun to meet each morning to pray and plan. He also wanted me to know that their school community now began and ended each week in prayer. One of the most encouraging words came on our recent faculty retreat. During a sharing about the good things at our school, our most senior teacher(33 years of service) stated that the most positive thing in the school over the past few years are the weekly prayer services.
Thank you, Lord, for faithfulness in blessing our small efforts at acknowledging your presence where we live and work.
DeColores, Bill Eager

Jerry John 12/9/99

Making a Cursillo will always be the pinnacle of my conversion process, but it is not the highest mountain, nor did it necessarily come before the deepest valley of life.
On November 8, 1996, I encountered life in its barest element. Our son Eric died in an accident. Eric and I were so close and shared much. I watched him grow into manhood until his skills far surpassed mine. He was a better in dealing with customers than I was. I held him in the highest esteem. Yet in a moment, he was taken away. The searing pain cannot be described, nor need it be. Suffice to know that it was beyond anything I could ever have imagined.
God came quickly. Within an hour, Al Hlavin, my group partner called me at Eric’s neighbors house to give me his support. How he found me, I still don’t know. The outpouring of love and support from the church, Cursillo and the community was most consoling. It was truly the hand of God reaching out through his people to bring his love.
My dear friends, never underestimate the power of God working through you in these times. Please do not shrink from such a moment. Even more important is the need for your ongoing love. The pain of the grieving one has only begun. Healing is aided by the love that others bring. People fear hurting us again, or causing us to cry. My friends, you cannot hurt again, it is already there. You can only help to close the wound that cries out for love, support and prayer. That wounded heart cannot hear Christ through the silence of unspoken words. We need your lips to hear the words of Jesus.
How does one cope? The power of masses and prayers are beyond measure. Jesus spoke through so many open arms and tear soaked shoulders in church, the parking lot, or where ever. Thank you, my Lord, for the many ways you come to us in our hour of need.
What could I say to a God who would take my son in his youth - and without his coming to know Jesus as I had been privileged do? On my first day at Mass back in Woodstock, I saw the statue of the Blessed Lady and my heart went to the foot of the cross. She said to me, "Come stand by me, my son..." I started to pray the Lord’s prayer. I got to "Thy will be done...," and suddenly, I knew the rest of the story. Oh, how could I ever come to accept that truth when I hurt so much?
Through constant prayer, crying out the Lord, and in my Journaling, the Lord revealed many things about life, death, his love and his mercy. I have come to believe that to live is to die. We are born for one purpose; to go back to our creator after we have finished what HE has desired us to do _ not our plan, or our time frame, or in our way. There is no way to get back to God except through the door of death.
Then why does it hurt so much? Mostly, because we who remain must let go of that which we have loved so much. In one of my journalings the Lord said, " ...Let him go. He was never yours. He was always mine." Oh, with such plain words does the Lord speak. In his love, he returns all things to himself. His mercy? I cried out, "How could you do this, Lord?" and he said, "I died for all man and I save them all lest they deny me with full knowledge." More searching led me to Sister Faustina who tells how Jesus comes to all at the moment of death, and they see him as the angels see him. Then, if they make the slightest move toward Jesus, he saves them all. My friends, how many times Jesus repeated that message to me until I have finally come to have enough faith for this small, broken, human heart to believe it. Thanks Lord, for your mercy and your love.
Healed? Sometimes I think so, only to find moments when I grieve and am depressed. Then, if I only remember to turn away from my self pity d give my pain to Jesus, I find peace again. The prayers of others help me to see again the wonders of God’s creating power shining through the fall colors, the smiles, and the love the comes through his people.
May God be Praised!
DeColores, Jerry John

Rose Ann Bradner 9/29/99

On November 3, 1983 in Seoul, Korea, I began my first three days with the Cursillo Community at the table of Saint Elizabeth. I remember that there was an abundance of food, music, colorful clothes and posters. The team reviewed essential truths of our faith and gave personal witness of Christ in their lives. It was an experience I enjoyed although I felt I had missed the emotional element that impacted my sisters.
As we headed for home, many made plans to read the whole Bible or save the whole world. My plan seemed so small. I decided to become a music minister. I bought my first guitar and found two teachers. Mr. Kim was a tough taskmaster for piano and Mr. Pak was a talented guitarist. Neither spoke much English and both were unfamiliar with the 52 songs I wanted to learn from the new Glory and Praise. Somehow that didn’t seem to matter very much. I was determined. With encouragement from my “groupies” I practiced daily and finally mastered some basic chords and tunes before the next Women’s Weekend where I performed my first public rendition of DeColores.
My group was so proud! They prayed for me through team formation and our group sang at every Mananitas in Korean or English for the next full year. Jim, Vince, John and RoseAnn—an unlikely combination whose faith kept us together.
Charlie and I moved to Virginia and were lost until we found a couples group which met weekly for coffee, prayer and support. During this time we suffered some “between jobs,” transition from military to civilian life, and typical family challenges. Our group was always there for us. Food came mysteriously to our front porch, our children received Christmas presents that Santa didn’t buy, and my new group supported my music dreams and helped me get organized to team once again. They also invited me to participate in their ministries at the jail and the charismatic prayer group.
I became more adventurous and began studies at Catholic University to learn more about chant, conducting and teaching music to children. Throughout my studies I learned more psalms, more interpretations and developed a new appreciation for hymns. Often my group transported me to school in DC or met me for Mass at the Pentagon after class.
When life became fairly comfortable and I had a job as a music teacher at St. Leo’s School, Charlie was transferred to El Paso, Texas, where they sing DeColores in Spanish. I found a new friend who had also moved from VA and Fred and I practiced, prayed and played guitar together for five years.
Charlie and I moved to VA and were welcomed back into the Cursillo community. This year I grouped and teamed with the amazing women of the 108^th. My roadie, Mary Lou, and my prayer partner, Dottie, prayed for me and kept me organized so I could play some of the 52 tunes from Glory and Praise that I decided to learn on my fourth day back in November of 1983.
Thank you to all of my groups for all of your prayers and encouragement. DeColores y por eso los grandes amores de muchos colored me gustan a mi.
RoseAnn Bradner
8^th Womens English Speaking Cursillo Seoul Korea, 1983
The table of Saint Elizabeth

Dave Kelley 05/21/99

I do not like to write. I do not generate epistles. I do not like to read them. So in deference to those of you who are of the same ilk, I’ll make this short....and I don’t have a sense of humor.
I was a little bit of everything and a lot of nothing (we’re talking religion here) as I was growing up, and much of my time was spent trying to find out where "there’s got to more to life than this" was. I finally found something that seemed to fit during college and converted to Catholicism in my senior year, before I met my first and last real girlfriend (& wife, Gail). Approximately 20 years, four children, and 8 or 9 military moves later, I was beaten into submission by Gail and our church community, & grudgingly attended a Cursillo weekend. The gate to community was open, I walked through, & my ability to "see" has been increasing ever since (of course spiritually, not physically, but that’s another story); I still withdraw sometimes, but not nearly to the extent I had before.
Isn’t that exciting? OK, then I’ll continue, at the risk that you won’t...
Gail, our natural children, and my faith aside, the greatest influence on my life in the last 10 years has been our adopted son, Manuel (aka "Manny"). I think Gail would agree. As most of you know, when she & I volunteered to become his foster parents (everyone else took a step back) he was only expected to live 6 months. I don’t consider this the proper forum to discuss his medical background or pathology; needless to say Manny, the interminable hospice patient, will be 9 years old this August 15. He can’t see or hear, and has few, if any, cognitive abilities. His needs are very basic and normal body functions are facilitated by half a dozen different medications. He has many seizures, his ears stick out and his head is sort of bullet-shaped. He is very intimidating to most folks, at least initially. In short, Manny is a lot of work and demands a lot of attention. Gail is his primary provider, and I kind of follow along behind & help when I can.
Manny is also a very gifted child; gifted in the sense that he also brings out the best in many people. Children from toddlers up through the age of 5 or 6 are usually captivated by his appearance or waggling tongue, walk up to him, innocently study him for a few seconds, and then touch his head, face, or hand. Teenagers will glance at him and either walk away or ask about him. Older folks (yeah, yeah, just like me) will normally walk up to him, touch him and smile in that soft and understanding way that life’s experiences have taught them. As Gail & I watch different people interact with him, we are continually reminded that despite his disabilities, Manny seems somehow to be able to communicate, and that communication is based on very fundamental levels of trust, love and understanding. He poses a threat to no one. His reactions seem to reflect the goodness in people.
So what does this have to do with Cursillo? It is Cursillo (particularly the fourth day) and my faith that have enabled me to understand not only that God is with this child, but why God is with this child. Manny represents truth; what you see is what he is. He represents love, able to garner affection from others (unknowingly) without any desire for personal gain. He certainly gives much more than he gets. It is amazing to me that one so little and seemingly out of touch with reality can accomplish so much. Maybe that’s the point; I should be so lucky.
De Colores, Y’all!  Dave Kelley

Mary Lou Kubic 3/18/99

When I was a kid you could always pick out my room by the array of dozens of plastic saints and ultra fancy May altars, and if you hit it just right you might catch me playing "Mass" (when Necco Wafers were in season) or under the skirt of my dressing table pretending to be one or another of the hermit saints.
No matter what, Sunday Mass was a priority in my family, so was Catholic school and being Catholic. But it was a kind of rote religion that carried me for many years, through college, a marriage and four children. As devoted as I thought I was, I never knew that there was any more to be had than church on Sunday. The hermit in me kept me isolated in private prayer that was so private that even God had no more life than the plastic statues and I had no interaction with anyone. It was lonely but it was all the faith I had.
I remember a recurring dream that I had even as a kid. It always involved a very familiar house where suddenly a door that I had never seen before would open and inside would be revealed rooms of unbelievable splendor and riches; gold silver decorations and glittering crystal chandeliers and lavish furniture fit for a king. I was scared by the dream when I was little but when I grew older I understood it to be a yearning in me for something more than what I had.
When I was 40 years old I was talked into making a Cursillo weekend. I truly was knocked off my horse and grew out of my childhood religion in an instant of revelation. The door opened and before me was the unbelievable splendor and riches of my dream - a living God who opened His arms to me through a loving community in whom I saw Jesus in all His glory every hour of the day. My hermit days were over. Everything I did became a holy act done in concert with a community that welcomed and strengthened me. I was no longer alone but I was filled with the Spirit of God and the need to serve. Of course, out of that need came a call to the music ministry and the advent of Joyful Noise, the choir I still direct at St. Mary's, and more than a few music "gigs" in the Cursillo community. I don't suppose I need to tell you that I've never had my recurring dream since my Cursillo weekend experience!
Probably most surprising to me is that the New Life that converted me twenty years ago is just as awesome today as it was then. The key seems to be my Group Reunion at St. Mary's and a loving community that keeps me in tow and doesn't allow me to slide into the dark places we like to hide in when life gets impossible. The crosses I've carried have been too heavy to bear alone. Thank You, Lord. You have always seen to it that there are many hands ready to bear me up and eager hearts who pray for me when I can no longer pray for myself.
Recently, I came across a prayer of thanksgiving that I had written in my journal close to the time of the tragic end of my marriage. It reads, "Thank you, My God, for those You've sent to work in my life and who hold me in the palm of Your hands lest I forget who loves me for all time."
De Colores, Mary Lou Kubic