Archive for May, 2014

We are ciborium


I heard it said that Jesus tabernacles in us.

St Faustina asked Jesus to remain with her until the next communion, and He did!! He remained with her until her next communion. But I don’t think He tabernacled in her. I can’t imagine Jesus sitting quietly in a tabernacle. I can’t imagine Jesus sitting quietly at all!! He is shown like that, sitting still on His throne, His Divine Hand in fixed blessing.


Image taken from Direction for Our Time

I know that it is said that Jesus waits for us in the tabernacle, silent, alone. St Faustina said that He was trapped there, held by His own Love.

His Love, His Infinite Love. I just can’t imagine His Infinite Love just quietly, silently trapped there by His own Infinite Love.

I think when He comes to us in Holy Communion, He does not enter to tabernacle in us, but to momentarily remain in our hearts and we become ciborium.

And that ciborium that we become is a precious vessel, made of gold, of great value because we hold the One of priceless value. He chooses to enter us and I don’t think He sits, He remains, I think, eagerly, embarking with us in search of to whom He will enter in Holy ImageCommunion.

We, as ciborium, carry Him out to give Him in Holy Communion to all we meet, we must, that is what a ciborium is for. To take Jesus to give Him away to all we meet.

We are ciborium. Image

Blessed be Jesus in us, as ciborium to bring to all we meet.



by Yolanda Bello


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Today my Marylou Died

We met 2 yrs ago, when I went to her house as an interpreter for the visiting nurses. She sat at the head of her dining table where she sat always when we came. She was surely striking, her hair cut like the Indians in the deep forests of Brazil, a little bowl cut to the middle of her ears.  Her very dark skin, reminded me of my own grandfather, far more red than brown. And then, her most striking green eyes put her in a level of a National Geographic cover. She was 65 then, 4 yrs older than me, but she looked 25 yrs older than me. Perhaps it was the 6 am trip 3 times per week to dialysis for her diabetes.

I was there 3 times per week with 2 therapists, the nurse and the social worker. She was chipper, aware, and when she spoke, she was particularly loud, from what I would come to know as the hole in her ear, and the pending operation to repair it.  I took about a year for her to come to call me “Yola”, a common nickname among the Spanish for Yolanda. One day she asked me for a favor, she was visibly uncomfortable about it. She needed to go pay for a bill and she had not transportation. So after the nurses left, we left too.

That became a frequent outing for us. After about 3 times she asked to take me to lunch. Of course I said yes, even though I really felt far more uncomfortable than her now. She really wanted to go to a Chinese buffet, about the worst thing for her. She would sit eating quietly, no conversation at all, she would just get up and het her next plate, all carbs and sweets……

One day she actually said something, she said that she had never asked anyone to lunch, she did not like eating with anyone. She did not know why she liked me and trusted me enough to ask out to eat. I felt so honored yet clueless why she would feel that way about me, but I loved the complement. Two more times later, she said her name was Mari Lou. Not Maria as she appeared on the paper work. I think we were officially friends.

I’ll miss you Mari Lou,

The visits with the nurses were lively as they would ask her questions about her faithfulness to the diet she was given and she said always YESS YESS!!, to which I would interpret : “She says yesss, but I believe the answer to be bogus” I don’t know if she understood me, but I think we all were on the same page about her self-discipline.

One day, the nurse said to her to explain the fall she had and she had called her doctor about it. The first time she fell she was coming back from dialysis and she described her fall as though she was running forward. I think she saw the floor coming up to her face.  Then it was every couple of weeks that she would fall, some she could explain, some she just said she got dizzy.

Last summer, September, her social worker stressed more than ever that she needed to consider assistant living.  She really, really did not want it. I persuaded her to just go visit, I would take her to some places and she would see how it worked.

That would never come to be. She was hospitalized for the next 3 months. But I did not know for weeks where she was. When I finally got to go see her, I found her tied to her bed. Her eyes in desperation fixed on me,….”Yola!! ayudame!! Help me, what am I doing here? I did not do anything wrong!!!! Why am I in jail?

I was speechless. I looked at some staff doing I don’t know what about the room.  I asked why was she tied? They ever so casually said: “She became combative”

I didn’t know if to go untie her, to demand of the staff to do so, or to attend to Marylou’s questions….

I swallowed my tears hard, and knelt next to her as asked her how she was, what happened?.

She truly did not know. I turned to the nurses and asked to untie her, she is not combative, and she would not be combative. They murmured something about the doctor, so I stood up and with a very angry quiet look I demanded that doctor come immediately and explain this.

In no time at all, 8 doctors came into the room. Deep, far in the back of my mind I was surprised that they came. Who am I after all?

So I took a very aggressive manner of explaining her questioning of thinking she was in jail, that she was considered to be combative, and then I asked why was she tied to her bed,

Her doctor calmly said again she was combative.

I asked why,

he said she seem confused and she would not comply with the directions given.

I asked about interpreting,

He pointed to a “blue phone” used for that purpose,

I asked if she understood

They were surprised at my question,

“We imagined she did, it was told to her….”

I asked him if he understood her…..

He said, almost cynically, no..


By then I was shaking….angry

And it was pointless.

So she was moved to another place and they chained her, and another had cords so when the patient got out of bed the patient would be stopped by the cord. My Maria, on the way to the bathroom tripped on the cord, so they tied her to the bed.

She never went back home.

Last Friday, when I got there she told me  she was ready for the cemetery.

I knew exactly why.

She was always alone with a one Spanish channel TV as the only conversation in the last 7 months. Not a single staff member in any place was bilingual; they would call me to tell her to comply about something. They said she was not complying about going to therapy.

So I asked them if she could go out on Sunday. They were ambivalent, they did not trust her to not fall, so I said to my Mari Lou to prove to them that she was strong, that she would not fall, that she needs to comply, that she needs to eat. For the next 3 days she did just that in the hope to be able to go out with Rafael, her loving significant other.

She did it all just fine, until the black social worker came in. All came tumbling down in her world so fast, so hard, so sad. She did not survive that harsh talking to.

My Mari Luo died the next Tuesday at 11:30 am.

I was on my way to noon Mass at that moment, mentally preparing, knowing I had an appointment with her and her  lawyer at 1 pm. The little holy card of Our Lady od Guadalupe that had been for 3 yrs pinned to my overhead light fell. Most surprised I picked it up and put it back behind the plastic wondering how it could have fallen out….. and it fell again!!.

After Mass I was hurrying to her nursing home when the lawyer told me. Mari Lou died that morning. Our meeting is off.

I went to the hospital where she had died and they let me go to the room where she was. They had put a polka dot orange and yellow blanket over her and a rose at the door…….. while she laid there with the tube sticking out of her gaping open mouth from trying to resuscitate her, most undignified, but with the stupid orange and yellow polka dot blanket they put on all the deceased people. The female chaplain told me the put those on the deceased, to bring a touch of happy and light because of the sad circumstance.

I starred at her with great pity, but I understood her.

I drove away with my head swimming with images of all  her dreadful suffering now ended. I called my husband to pray the Pieta prayers for the dead, and I wondered just how many poor un-understood people are tied to their beds and no one knows how confused they are.


I’ll miss you my Mari Lou, my friend.

Yolanda Bello


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Reina means Queen                                                                         Image

                             I don´t think she stands 4 ft tall. She wears several sweaters, all of different colors. Any one of them could match with the turban she wears; sometimes she wears a crocheted orange hat, sometimes yellow..

                             I first met her last Sept, she was a new client of the nurses I work for and I came to interpret for her. She was in bed; the only light was a 40 light bulb which made it difficult for the nurse to read her equipment, like the thermometer or blood pressure gage.

                             I introduced myself without seeing her face, just so she would know I was also in the room with her nurse. She needed some intimate caring for so I stood behind the furniture by the door, so she would know she had privacy. The sound of her voice was tense, she was in such pain but even then, her voice sounded like little fairy dust falling on water. Light.  Buoyant.  Were I to close my eyes, her voice sounded like a glittery ball that bounces over the words so lightly. It was girlish, though she is in her 50s.

                             She had a tube protruding thru her ribs to drain her lungs. It had to be changed each visit and she dreaded it. If her lung had to be drained she panicked. It was not only painful but disconcerting to feel her lung being sucked out her side. She suffered so. I did not see her face the first time, nor did she really pay attention to me. In all that demanded her attention, my voice was the only one she understood yet it was the nurse who she saw and dealt with.

                             The second visit was not much better but at the end she was able to sit on the bed. All 4 ft of her. She hardly noticed me though all communication was thru me. She focused on the nurse and her eyes danced as she was drinking all she was seeing.

                              There is no other way to explain it; her eyes were widely taking in the nurse before her. ImageShe was smiling but the smile was like her eyes, widely taking it all in.  Like a like girl that sees a carrousel for the first time, the eyes just not big enough to see all of it. But this was no carousel; it was a nurse who spoke gently, pausingly, calmly, sitting unhurriedly on the chair provided her,  still with her rubber gloves on, on occasion moving her hair off her face.              

                              Reyna just loved to see that nurse, she exclaimed excitedly that she was awful young to be such a good nurse, the nurse replied slowly that she was in her late 40s, not such young chick any more. Reyna just could not believe it; she just looked and Imagelooked, her eyes dancing excitedly trying to get the whole image in. She loved that nurse.

                              We met twice per week for several months, her delight in her nurse never waned.  After the chemo for the multiple brain tumors ended, her ravished little body was found to have cancer in several organs. Right away a round of chemo began for her body, I did not see how she could possibly live thru it, she was so incredibly frail.

                             Well, she didn’t.

                            To the end, her bright eyes danced like an exited little girl, she loved her nurse so much, always raving about how young she looked. Still it was my voice that carried her twinkling statements to accompany her delight. All made sense to look at her, in yellow turbans, several layers of sweaters of all different colors, over the “Finding Nemo” pajama pants; I’m sure about the few things to find in her size. The clothing was bigger than her own body mass. It was an effort now to inhale, but amazingly, her eyes danced like sparking fairy dust still.

                            ImageThere was nothing, absolutely nothing alluding the existence of Jesus there except the crucifix pinned over my heart I always wear, unequivocally Catholic, with several medals attached as well. I had to say it, totally out of turn, it would be more than what she was accustomed to hear, the medical jargon from the nurse….. I needed to say it out loud, so at the end, as we were leaving,  I turned back and said it……” May God bless you”…..

                                               She turned to me as like for the first time, and she smiled widely and held her skeletal little girl size hands out to me, and thanked Image

me profusely; she said:Image “ they don’t believe here, but I do!!!”

I said to her that I would pray for her knowing darn well that if anyone knew I did that, I’d be fired on the spot, but I had to say it.

Once outside, the nurse was waiting for me, and told me that Reina would not last much more and no one had the courage to tell her, which was making her very angry. She thought she deserved to know that she was dying.

I did not see her again. She died very shortly after.

But the nurse called me after her death and told me that at the hospital, Reina said she wanted to join my religion.

Oh God!!!                            Image

Oh God!!!  ………….  oh…. God!






May Reina rest in peace, in the peace of Jesus’ arms.





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For Lent I gave up computer games.

…..BOY!!! Was it hard!!

It became obvious that games had become a knee jerk reaction to any lull in time, any ambivalent time, any lazy time. Actually … any time time.

It gave me tremendous pause to see how ingrained under my skin games had become, first while I eat, then after I eat; well, dinner is cooking….  I’m thinking of dinner….

Without the games I faced my lull, my ambivalence, my laziness, my wasted time, what discovery!!! Such discovery showed me just how much time was lost, unused, squandered…. Yep, squandered…. It brought a mild cold sweat about me, I realized that time is among the greatest gifts from God we have. Time to conquer our iniquities and I just dwelled in mine. Oh boy!!

Years ago I learned a profound (and forgotten) lesson from the Missionaries of Charity. When Jesus says He is always with us, we have a tendency to make Him twiddle His Divine Thumbs. His Divine Lips are moving and we, oblivious, engage in whatever but His Words directed to us EACH AND EVERY MOMENT OF OUR LIVES are carried off by the spiritual winds!!! Each and every moment….. Which means each moment put together with another moment make up time. How many moments have I wasted in self, instead of Him Who not only dwells in me but accompanies me to prevent that worst should happen to me EACH AND EVERY MOMENT!!!

How I neglect Him, how much time have I lost.

So I’ve decided to live the very moment to moment He spends with me, with Him.

Guess what…….

It’s incredibly difficult….to live….

…because it brings me instantly to what His Will for me is….. and it is most usually totally against my comfort zone. I instantly am aware of what it is I am supposed to be doing, instant call to duty, responsibility, obedience, all that I had rejoiced in totally abandoning for the challenge of beating my last score….. oh yeah….. big time trouble.

Funny thing, when I chose to live the Sacredness of the Present Moment, I never was met by an impatient, frowning Jesus, NEVER! Only the action that would make me holy and responsible, my own contribution to my own growth; never an expression of disapproval that would make me contort compromise or condescend to coax a smile.

Strait shoot. Do what’s right. That’s that.

Is there anyone who does not want to be holy? To be righteous before God? To praise Him and glorify Him all the time with our lives? We Catholics sort’a want that, no?

Well, great news for those who decide for the Sacrament of the Moment, God said darn clearly what He wants best in Psalm 149:1, “…Praise the LORD. Sing to the LORD a new song, his praise in the assembly of his faithful people”.

Look what St Augustine said about that verse….. it surely made it clear to me….

“Now it is your unquestioned desire to sing of him whom you love, but you ask me how to sing his praises. You have heard the words: Sing to the Lord a new song, and you wish to know what praises to sing. The answer is: His praise is in the assembly of the saints; it is in the singers themselves. If you desire to praise him, then live what you express. Live good lives and you yourselves will be his praise.

And there He is always calling to the Sacrament of the Moment, that we may BE His praise…..

Blessed be God Almighty In His creation, His very GOOD creation, His Praise…. Us.

In His Thirst, Yolanda Bello

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