REFLECTION FROM BARRY REINHOLTZ - OHIO DOMINICAN

How I Feel About Beginning Dominican Young Adults.

      For years, a movement has existed in the international community, a movement which has brought change and revitalization into the Church, particularly within the Dominican Order.   Dominican Young Adults of the International Dominican Youth Movement have ushered in a new period of the Order, one in which a particular group of the laity can make a special connection with a tradition begun nearly eight hundred years ago.   Their desire to praise, bless, and preach in the footsteps of the Dominican tradition has united them from countries across the world, rallying one another in their common charism and call, working to aid those in need, and preaching with the light of their lives.

      At last, this movement has officially found a home in America.   In July, Dominican Young Adults from across the country met at Ohio Dominican University to decide if they should announce their commitment to the IDYM.   These students, whose hometowns and lives varied as much as Ohio weather, came to the conclusion that now was the time to commit themselves to a calling that brought them onto the world scene.   Granted, the group which met each day at the Martin de Porres Center was no larger than fifty people, yet it is their conviction which makes them all the more powerful.   The formation of these far-flung American Dominicans into a united body, one which is to represent the hopes and convictions of their peers across the country, is no small matter.   Simply creating a group is one matter, creating one which is active in the world and carries out the will of God in it is an entirely different one.

      As part of this movement, I want you to know we exist.   I want you to know that all we do in the ministries we carry out at our respective universities, and our mission to be a light in this nation which is often so dark, will be taken seriously.   I have come to set the earth on fire, and how I wish it were already blazing!   Christ declares the importance of our conversion to Him, and it is to this conversion that we Dominican Young Adults must daily convict ourselves.   It is my hope that you will be hearing of us in the future, not that our works will be grandiose or appreciated for the sake of the world, but simply that we are working for the sake of Christ.

Special Angel

By Paul Gawlas

      Night dawned on the barren land, and crept down the rustic country road. Wind blew in from the west, as it danced and howled through the open window. Rain pattered on the wooden floor, as she sat in her rocking chair, still breathing in the dampened dust. Time had taken its toll on the old house. It lay now in shambles, a former palace, now nothing but dust. The deck still showed the remnants of blood from lives lost. She looked out across the old dirt road, wishing to see someone come down, but no one ever came. Only the wind rolled and danced with the damped dust. As age crept through her face, she now waited, staring onto the road, thinking of all the memories.

      She remembered the night that she came home from the cathedral, when she found them. It was a starry night. The stars shot through the sky, and the wind pounded into the car, gusting and whistling down the old dirt road. She came to the edge of the original farmhouse, and saw the blood on the stairs. She waded through and kicked open the screen door, terrified and confused. The house was in chaos, shattered by the battle waged inside for their very lives. Glass and lead covered the floor. There she found them, riddled with bullets, by the still burning fireplace. All she loved was gone, all of her life, lost, and her very being demolished. It engulfed her then, and she just stared bitterly, cursing the murderers, never to shed a tear.

      The police found the man responsible, and arrested him, after which he soon confessed. Another hit, more bodies to become random statistics in the county, one more mob story, soon forgotten. The case was quick, and the jury agreeably reached a guilty verdict. They sentenced him to life without the chance of parole; do to his confession and his apology. She wanted in her very core to she him burn in hell for every second of her grief, for ruining her life, for killing her. She was engulfed further and the hatred consumed her more and more. She began to pray death to end her wretched, meaningless life.

      Years flew by as memories absorbed her. She became rigid and bitter. She forced away the love of others. She could not feel love, only focusing on the pain that consumed her. The darkness in her heart grew, and soon there was not a glimmer of hope left. She was an empty shell, a slave to routine, trapped in life waiting for the bitter end, the final sleep, the last night. However, on that darkest night, the true dawn shined though. The angel she had waited for, though she did not know of it, for that night was the night her world began again.

      It was almost dusk, as the old lady readied herself for her annual pilgrimage to the cathedral, to remember the lost. She found her most respectable garments, a peach and black dress embellished with beads and lace and her black shawl, the one she wore every year. She found her rosary, her purse, and got into the old Cadillac, the very same one she drove every year. She then started on her epic journey, and traversed the thirty miles between her farmhouse and the cathedral. Arriving early as usual, she strolled down the center isle, admiring the ornate stained glass windows and the marble monuments to the various saints. She staked out the best spot, right next to the statue of the Child and his parents. She knelt down waiting for someone to notice her, for she desperately missed companionship. She thought that deep down she would receive none, as the years left her heart empty. As the mass was about to start, families came bursting in, one by one, and filled all of the rows in sight, except the one she was in. Finally, the service was underway as the organs blasted forth the harmonic symphony of pipes and strings. The lector stepped up to the lectern, and read some reading too fast for her liking. The service was better last year, she said to herself, as the message flew past her. Around the time of the homily, a young family peeked through the door and the parents led up their child to sit in the front row, right next to her. The family was dressed poorly, with patches on their clothes and the pants torn at the knees. They were dirty, covered with dust, and had little of anything. She judged them right away. They were showing no respect to the mass or to her. She could not see through them and see the treasure that they had. Soon, she glimpsed at the child and her disgust grew. She saw a little girl named Anne with a sweet smile and bright red hair. She was special, with down syndrome. The mass continued, with Anne answering every amen, almost a second late, and blurting on and off. The disgust of the old woman with that family grew. How dare they ruin her mass, by bringing that disruptive girl here! Anne was full of joy and snuggled between her two parents, with each of her hands hooked between her the arms of her parents. She peeked through her shelter as her warm eyes surveyed the faithful, and would occasionally hide back between them, always with a smile. The old lady did not see this.

      Then Anne moved right next to the old woman. By now it was the Our Father, and Anne reached out her hand, hoping to pray together. The old woman did not know what to do, but out of respect, reluctantly reached out with her cold bony hand, and they locked hands. Anne muffled though the words, trying to say every one with meaning, even if a second or so late. She held on tight, and the lady could not help but feel warmth emanating forward, through her hand. Then for some reason or other, the child squeezed her hand, on the word forgiveness. Not quite realizing what had happened, the lady was taken back, and tried to squelch the feelings. Soon, it was the gesture of peace, and Anne reached out one more time to the old lady and put her hand out to hold hers. Something happened. The child gave the old woman a hug, as tight as see could, with all she had. Then, it broke. That wall inside that she had put up to protect her for so long that at the same time was killing her, melted. It was destroyed, and a bea utiful light warmth burned away the cold hurting. It filled her inside, a warmth she had felt once before. All the years of hatred started to wither away, in that moment. They both soon embraced, an embrace that bonded the two forever. Anne preceded to go around the room, and hugging all that she could, while the lady knelt down.

      Bitter tears broke through and cascaded down her hardened face, and softened her cheeks. She knelt and finally felt alive again, felt whole. The sea of darkness receded and the glimmer of hope beamed through like a lighthouse. She relived all of the pain that the years had caused and let it all come out. She remembered all of the caring outreach she spat on. She looked up, with the loving tears in her eyes, to a darkened church, with a sole light on the statue. The eyes of the Child beamed forth the love to her, the eyes that were alive, and the little voice said

I love you

      As she rocked in her chair, the memories brought tears to her eyes even now, and the last bit of hatred left her. She rose from the dusty chair, and screamed in a loud voice, with tears in her eyes,

I love you all, yes I love you all.

The wind blew strong into her face with dampened moist air, and the wind chime rang in a symphony. The stars shot across the old dirt road, and the heavens lit up. The warm light filled her once more, the brightest light came forth. Her wait had ended. She felt lifted up by the hands of a child, and soon she was with them all. She felt the warm embrace, her saving grace from a special angel.