Carmel Day Quotes

Guys," he says. "After this is over, can we go get a burger or something?" "You're thinking about food now?" Carmel asks. "Hey, you haven't spent the last three days fasting and doing herbal rue steams and drinking nothing but Morfran's gross chrysanthemum purification potions." Carmel and I grin at each other in the mirror. "It isn't easy becoming a vessel. I'm freaking starving.

The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad;         the desert shall rejoice and blossom like the crocus;     2 it shall blossom abundantly         and rejoice with joy and singing.     The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it,         the majesty of Carmel and Sharon.     They shall see the glory of the LORD,         the majesty of our God.

Mondays taste like split-pea soup, Tuesdays taste like gobbledygook, Wednesdays taste like licorice, Thursdays taste like deep-fried fish, Fridays taste like the color red, Saturdays taste like gingerbread, Sundays taste like chicken breast, But birthdays! Birthdays taste the best! Birthdays taste like chocolate cake, Balloons, presents, and sirloin steak.

Pray the Rosary every day to achieve peace for the world and the end of the war,' said Our Lady on May 13, 1917. This insistent recommendation was not only for the three poor and humble children; it is a call to the whole world, to all souls, to all humanity, believers and unbelievers, because Faith is a gift from God and we are to ask Him for it: ‘ask and you shall receive.’ You who have no Faith, ask it of God and He will grant it, because you who have no Faith have a soul that you need to save so that you will not be eternally miserable.

SAMUEL 30 Now when David and his men came to  uZiklag on the third day,  vthe Amalekites had  wmade a raid against the Negeb and against Ziklag. They had overcome Ziklag and burned it with fire 2and taken captive the women and all [1] who were in it, both small and great. They killed no one, but carried them off and went their way. 3And when David and his men came to the city, they found it burned with fire, and their wives and sons and daughters taken captive. 4Then David and the people who were with him raised their voices and wept until they had no more strength to weep. 5David’s  xtwo wives also had been taken captive, Ahinoam of Jezreel and Abigail the widow of Nabal of Carmel. 6And David was greatly distressed, for the people spoke  yof stoning him, because all the people were bitter in soul, [2] each for his sons and daughters. But David strengthened himself in the LORD his God.

I want to feel you.” “You feel me every day,” he pulls my hand to his lips and kisses the inside of my palm. “No, I want to feel you my way,” I say uneasily. He stares down at me with mesmerizing eyes. They are so lustrous they even seem to glow in the darkness. He is contemplating my request. He takes my hand from his lips and carefully moves it towards his chest; I can’t explain the fear I have from just that small gesture. The anticipation of what I will find excites me and terrifies me all at once. The last time - the only time - I felt Justice, he literally lit me on fire. As I apprehensively touch his skin, it washes over me. The tender warmth he holds inside, like I’m being wrapped in warm blankets on a cold autumn morning. “Feel what you were looking for?” he asks. “Yes,” I say, as I spread my fingers over him. The sensation is glorious. “Good,” he leans down and kisses me, his lips holding the same warmth as my insides. Without even thinking, I wrap my arms around his neck and jerk him in closer.

Give your morning to God, and he will give you your day.

O my Beloved! this was but the prelude of graces yet greater which Thou didst desire to heap upon me. Let me remind Thee of them to-day, and forgive my folly if I venture to tell Thee once more of my hopes, and my heart's well nigh infinite longings—forgive me and grant my desire, that it may be well with my soul. To be Thy Spouse, O my Jesus, to be a daughter of Carmel, and by my union with Thee to be the mother of souls, should not all this content me? And yet other vocations make themselves felt—I feel called to the Priesthood and to the Apostolate—I would be a Martyr, a Doctor of the Church. I should like to accomplish the most heroic deeds—the spirit of the Crusader burns within me, and I long to die on the field of battle in defence of Holy Church. The vocation of a Priest! With what love, my Jesus, would I bear Thee in my hand, when my words brought Thee down from Heaven! With what love would I give Thee to souls! And yet, while longing to be a Priest, I admire and envy the humility of St. Francis of Assisi, and am drawn to imitate him by refusing the sublime dignity of the Priesthood. How reconcile these opposite tendencies? Like the Prophets and Doctors, I would be a light unto souls, I would travel to every land to preach Thy name, O my Beloved, and raise on heathen soil the glorious standard of Thy Cross. One mission alone would not satisfy my longings. I would spread the Gospel to the ends of the earth, even to the most distant isles. I would be a Missionary, not for a few years only, but, were it possible, from the beginning of the world till the consummation of time. Above all, I thirst for the Martyr's crown. It was the desire of my earliest days, and the desire has deepened with the years passed in the Carmel's narrow cell. But this too is folly, since I do not sigh for one torment; I need them all to slake my thirst. Like Thee, O Adorable Spouse, I would be scourged, I would be crucified! I would be flayed like St. Bartholomew, plunged into boiling oil like St. John, or, like St. Ignatius of Antioch, ground by the teeth of wild beasts into a bread worthy of God. With St. Agnes and St. Cecilia I would offer my neck to the sword of the executioner, and like Joan of Arc I would murmur the name of Jesus at the stake. ...Open, O Jesus, the Book of Life, in which are written the deeds of Thy Saints: all the deeds told in that book I long to have accomplished for Thee.

The ten messengers looked like warriors more than messengers, so Nabal surrounded himself with his bodyguard of twenty men to receive the visitors. “Shalom be upon your house, Nabal of Maon,” said the lead messenger. “My name is Joab, and this is my brother Abishai. We serve our lord, David ben Jesse.” Abishai nodded respectfully, as did the nine others with them. Nabal eyed them suspiciously. The leader named Joab had a nasty scar down his forehead and cheek that made him appear like a devious wolf. Joab continued, “Our lord understands that you are shearing your sheep now in Carmel.” Nabal replied with sarcasm, “I can readily see your lord takes such dedicated interest in my property. So important is it to him that he sends his warriors instead of messengers.” “We are warriors, it is true,” said Joab. “But we come in peace. We have watched over your shepherds for these past weeks and have done them no harm. Indeed, we have protected them from hostile outsiders, so that not a sheep has been taken.” Nabal knew exactly where this was going. He continued his sarcastic drawl, “What a privilege indeed is such peace. And what do I owe this son of Jesse for such unrequested protection?” Joab said, “May my lord find favor in your eyes. For a feast day is upon us. He only asks whatever food and drink you may spare for your servants and your son, David.” “My son, no less,” said Nabal. “And how many does this ‘son’ of mine employ in this protection business of his?” “We are six hundred.

Most would find it surprising to learn that America was consciously, intentionally, and specifically founded and formed after the pattern of ancient Israel. Its founders saw it as a new Israel, the Israel of the New World. It was their exodus from Europe like the Hebrew exodus from Egypt. The New World was their new promised land, and the Massachusetts Bay Colony was their New Jerusalem. As for the legal system of the new American commonwealth, the Puritans sought to incorporate the Law of Moses. They instituted a day of rest after the pattern of the Hebrew Sabbath. And the American holiday, Thanksgiving, was formed after the pattern of the Hebrew Sukkot, the Feast of Tabernacles. They named the mountains of America after the mountains of Israel: Mount Gilead, Mount Hermon, Mount Ephraim, Mount Moriah, Mount Carmel, and Mount Zion. They called their towns and cities, Jericho, Jordan, Salem, Canaan, Goshen, Hebron, and Beersheba. They named their children Joshua, Rachel, Ezra, Zechariah, Esther, Jeremiah, and a host of other names derived from the people of ancient Israel.

Was Paul unloving when he disputed daily in the marketplace about the things of God (Acts 17:17)? Was Jesus unloving when He contradicted the teaching of the Pharisees? Were the prophets of ancient Israel unloving when they rebuked and admonished the false prophets? Was Elijah unloving when he disputed with the prophets of Baal (1 Kings 18)? I cannot imagine someone in the crowd on Mount Carmel that day saying: “You people can follow Elijah if you want to, but I’m not going to. He may have truth on his side, but he is not loving. Look what he did to these prophets of Baal. How unloving!” Contending for the truth of God is an act of love, not a sign of an absence of love. If we love God, if we love Christ, if we love the church, we must love the truth that defines the very essence of Christianity.

On January 3, 1950, everybody got up early and came on deck to see the Land, as we approached. The day was cool and clear and soon the mountains were visible - Mount Carmel, of the Bible and of song was clear to see. The Bay of Haifa, instead of an expanse of blue water, was filled with boats of all descriptions. The variety of vessels with immigrants was staggering the imagination. We thought that our big ship would have to wait for ever for an opening at the pier. Everybody was impatient but could do nothing about it.

Shura, I did quit. I want you to quit, too.” He sat and considered her. His brow was furled. “You’re working too hard,” she said. “Since when?” “Look at you. All day in the dank basement, working in cellars... what for?” “I don’t understand the question. I have to work somewhere. We have to eat.” Chewing her lip, Tatiana shook her head. “We still have money— some of it left over from your mother, some of it from nursing, and in Coconut Grove you made us thousands carousing with your boat women.” “Mommy, what’s carousing?” said Anthony, looking up from his coloring. “Yes, Mommy, what’s carousing?” said Alexander, smiling. “My point is,” Tatiana went on, poker-faced, “that we don’t need you to break your back as if you’re in a Soviet labor camp.” “Yes, and what about your dream of a winery in the valley? You don’t think that’s back-breaking work?” “Yes . . .” she trailed off. What to say? It was just last week in Carmel that they’d had that wistful conversation. “Perhaps it’s too soon for that dream.” She looked deeply down into her plate. “I thought you wanted to settle here?” Alexander said in confusion. “As it turns out, less than I thought.” She coughed, stretching out her hand. He took it. “You’re away from us for twelve hours a day and when you come back you’re exhausted. I want you to play with Anthony.” “I do play with him.” She lowered her voice. “I want you to play with me, too.” “Babe, if I play with you any more, my sword will fall off.” “What sword, Dad?” “Anthony, shh. Alexander, shh. Look, I don’t want you to fall asleep at nine in the evening. I want you to smoke and drink. I want you to read all the books and magazines you haven’t read, and listen to the radio, and play baseball and basketball and football. I want you to teach Anthony how to fish as you tell him your war stories.” “Won’t be telling those any time soon.” “I’ll cook for you. I’ll play dominoes with you.” “Definitely no dominoes.” “I’ll let you figure out how I always win.” A Sarah Bernhardt-worthy performance. Shaking his head, he said slowly, “Maybe poker.” “Absolutely. Cheating poker then.” Rueful Russian Lazarevo smiles passed their faces. “I’ll take care of you,” she whispered, the hand he wasn’t holding shaking under the table. “For God’s sake, Tania... I’m a man. I can’t not work.” “You’ve never stopped your whole life. Come on. Stop running with me.” The irony in that made her tremble and she hoped he wouldn’t notice. “Let me take care of you,” Tatiana said hoarsely, “like you know I ache to. Let me do for you. Like I’m your nurse at the Morozovo critical care ward. Please.” Tears came to her eyes. She said quickly, “When there’s no more money, you can work again. But for now... let’s leave here. I know just the place.” Her smile was so pathetic. “Out of my stony griefs, Bethel I’ll raise,” she whispered. Alexander was silently contemplating her, puzzled again, troubled again. “I honestly don’t understand,” he said. “I thought you liked it here.” “I like you more.

The typical day went something like this. I’d wake up at 4:30 a.m., munch a banana, and hit the ASVAB books. Around 5 a.m., I’d take that book to my stationary bike where I’d sweat and study for two hours. Remember, my body was a mess. I couldn’t run multiple miles yet, so I had to burn as many calories as I could on the bike. After that I’d drive over to Carmel High School and jump into the pool for a two-hour swim. From there I hit the gym for a circuit workout that included the bench press, the incline press, and lots of leg exercises. Bulk was the enemy. I needed reps, and I did five or six sets of 100–200 reps each. Then it was back to the stationary bike for two more hours. I was constantly hungry. Dinner was my one true meal each day, but there wasn’t much to it. I ate a grilled or sautéed chicken breast and some sautéed vegetables along with a thimble of rice. After dinner I’d do another two hours on the bike, hit the sack, wake up and do it all over again, knowing the odds were stacked sky high against me. What I was trying to achieve is like a D-student applying to Harvard, or walking into a casino and putting every single dollar you own on a number in roulette and acting as if winning is a foregone conclusion. I was betting everything I had on myself with no guarantees.

Everyone has demons, and don’t think for one second that your demons are worse than anyone else’s. But faith, faith will guide you over any obstacle. Choose faith over fear, be wise, be brave and I promise you’ll come out on top every single time. So, this is me, from this day forward, choosing faith over fear. God got me.

At the end of the day, the only gift I came to give the world is my hope for it to get better.

long for the day when I can go to Carmel to concern myself only with Him, to abase myself in Him and so to live His life alone: to love and suffer to save souls. Yes, I thirst for souls because I know that it is what my Jesus craves more than anything else. Oh, how I love Him!

Fern, I’m glad I ran into you,” Carmel says, even though she was not running and nor had we made physical contact. She is wearing a bold yellow dress that suits neither her skin tone nor her personality. “I notice you haven’t put your name down for the staff bowling day.” She pauses expectantly, as if waiting for an answer, even though no matter how many times I replay her comment, I can’t find the question. Once, years ago, Rose told me that conversations were simply a series of questions. One person asked a question, the other person answered, and it went back and forth like this until the questions ran out. This explanation has assisted me through countless episodes of small talk. But lately, it feels like more and more people are opting for statement-to-statement types of conversation. Which generally leaves me at a loss. I am still searching for an appropriate response when Carmel continues.

The city had not yet woken on the frigid Sunday morning of February 20, 2011, when the body of a young Irish woman was found outside St. Brigid's Church in Manhattan's East Village. The news reports cited alcoholism, homelessness, and hypothermia as contributing factors in her death. They said that earlier that month, on St. Brigid's feast day she had turned thirty-five years old. They said she wanted to be an artist. They said her name was Grace Farrell.

Women and children were not afforded the rights of citizenship, of subjecthood, of being. They lived under threat of being erased, hidden, buried. This is why my mother tells me - halting, hesitating - that in her day it was the worst thing in the world for a girl to find herself pregnant, but worse still was for her to talk about it.

Feed thy people with thy rod, the flock of thine heritage, which dwell solitarily in the wood, in the midst of Carmel: let them feed in Bashan and Gilead, as in the days of old .” (Micah 7:14)

Today the Book of Kells is housed in Trinity College, Dublin, where it is displayed to tourists in its own interpretive center at the university. The book is in a protective glass case, and a new page is turned each day.

She is with DJ at the hotel,’ Ruth said. Relief made Tom shake. He had been so worried. ‘We do not have your rucksack,’ Ruth said. ‘I have to get it back. It’s important,’ Tom said. ‘You are alive. That is the most important thing.’ ‘It had my stethoscope in it. My parents gave me that. And a grey cushion. I don’t care about anything else, just those two things.’ Ruth watched raw, visceral pain twist her friend’s face. The room swelled with the unanswered questions. What happened to Tom that made him like this? A doctor, happily married, now living on the streets … She had to find a way to keep Tom inside once he left this hospital. While there was never a good time to be a rough sleeper, the current cold spell was disastrous for anyone stuck on the streets. She would not let this kind man end his days broken, bruised and perished. Ruth said, ‘I have some savings. The deposit I got back from my flat. And despite my best efforts I am unable to find a suitable flat in Dublin to rent. It’s enough for you to take a room at The Silver Sands Lodge when you get out of here.