SAINT PAUL VI BLESSED THE TOWN OF KROONSTAD

Angel of the Resurrection

Catherine Nicolette

No-one was more thrilled than I was when I heard that Pope Paul VI was to be canonised. Pope Paul was a figure of my childhood for whom I had the greatest respect. During my youth, the second Vatican Council and the sweeping changes it wrought were an everyday phenomenon. I loved reading the Council documents, and there is no doubt they were a significant part of my theological formation.

Also beloved in my youth were the great Bishop Brenninkmeijr of Kroonstad and Sr Bernwarda OP, my charismatic art teacher. One day during art class, Sister told me that the Cathedral of Kroonstad had been graced with new art which would be famous internationally. I listened wide eyed to this new development. 

What I did not know was that Saint Paul VI had personally donated the obelisk with an angel of the resurrection.  Zoltan Borboreki - the esteemed South African artist (1907-1992) - had executed the sculpture, and Bishop Gerard van Velsen OP had dedicated the Cathedral. The then developing mission territory gratefully received all gifts. 

Pope Paul VI was instrumental in assisting far flung corners of the Church, from laying the Regina Mundi foundation stone in Soweto to donating an angel to the Free State. I only wonder how many acts of kindness and evangelization may be attributed to the saint from Concesio.

Saint Paul VI not only brought new life into the Church, but in the miracles attributed to his intercession before God has protected unborn life within the womb. 

It is a glorious day that this Saint who - so many years ago - thoughtfully helped the people of Africa with material and spiritual aid, has at last been recognized as one of the luminaries of heaven.

Luky

Correction, Nicolette.  I am sure I was even more delighted than you were to hear about St Paul VI's canonisation for unlike you, I was an adult member of the Catholic Church  who witnessed his spiritual martyrdom for telling the truth in Humanae Vitae.

I suffered to see the pictures of that saintly man and the  patient humility with which he bore all the denigration. At that time in a column I wrote for the Catholic press, I stated:  "Starting the Second Vatican Council, Pope John XXIII opened the window to let fresh air into the Church, but it was Paul who bore the icy blast that followed."

Whenever I read about Jacinta, the little Fatima visionary, now also a canonised saint, and how she said: "Shame, the poor holy Father," I would see the tormented face of St Paul VI in my mind's eye. Today in heaven and on earth he was gloriously vindicated.  Hurrah.

St Malachy, a twelfth century bishop of Armagh, Ireland, is said to have prophesied a list of 112 papal mottos of which that of St Paul VI was the 108th.  St Malachy called him Flos Florum, Latin for Flower of Flowers.  Apparently this motto may have referred to the fleur-de-lis depicted on the pope's coat of arms. Somehow I always mistakenly thought St Malachy had called him the Angel of Angels - but Flos Florum will do. 

On this wonderful day I recall that I have honoured all the popes who ruled the Church from Pope Pius XII onwards until Pope Francis.  But among them all it has always been  Pope St Paul VI whom I have loved.  I rejoice in his newly declared sainthood. 

THE DAY A FUTURE POPE LAID A FOUNDATION STONE

Catherine Nicolette
THE NEWS THAT POPE PAUL VI OF BLESSED MEMORY IS AT LAST TO BE ACKNOWLEDGED AS A HOLY SAINT HAS OVERJOYED MANY WORLDWIDE. 
  I was fascinated to hear from Mom that the holy pontiff laid the foundation stone of the famous Regina Mundi Church during his visit to South Africa many years ago.
  After initiating the building of the sanctuary church Cardinal Giovanni Montini returned to Rome to become pope. 
  
The beleaguered pontiff steered the Barque of Saint Peter through some very stormy times.
  I well remember as a child being somewhat confused by the rapid changes which swept through the church.
  One week I heard the Mass in Latin - the next Sunday found all Latin books gone, and an unfamiliar text in English to be followed.
  Years later I found the beautiful Latin texts and Missa de Angelis choir books stuffed in a cupboard where they had gently begun aging.
  I must say there was a touch of pathos about the sight.

It is an amazing thing that many of my generation who lived through sweeping changes of liturgy are - in our maturing years - returning to more conservative forms of church worship.


Canonisation
My generation has seen much suffering. Post divorce sadness, contraceptive linked strokes and deaths among friends and acquaintances, wars with losses of treasured and irreplaceable community members have all been part of our lot.
  Now as we near our golden years, it seems only right that we return to the faith of our infancy, a return to a time when as children it seemed that God was in heaven and all was right in our parish world.

Along with our return to more conservative mores comes the welcome news that a man - both pontiff and prophet - is at last receiving the honor which was always his due.
  Cardinal Montini - Pope Paul VI of blessed memory - is to be recognized as a saint later this year. Miracles through his intercession - his pleading with Almighty God on behalf of another - have been attributed to this great man.
  
Sanctity of human life
Prolifers everywhere have always known the depth of sanctity of Pope Paul VI - Vox populi as it were. Blessed Paul VI stood fast for the rights of the unborn child at a time when to do so, proved exceedingly unpopular. In 1968 his prophetic encyclical Humanae Vitae stated that 'Human life is sacred'. [1]
  This Saint of the unborn child has been respected and loved everywhere by those who defend the right to life of the infant within the womb.
  
  Pope Paul VI was beatified in 2014 after a first miracle was attributed to him, the healing of an unborn baby in California in the early 1990's.

  During her pregnancy, the baby's mother heard from doctors that they had found a problem with her baby that would likely result in brain damage.
  The physicians suggested abortion. The mother refused and trusted her baby to the intercession of Pope Paul VI. The infant was born with no disability. [2]  

Second miracle
Earlier this year a Vatican theological and medical commission approved a second miracle attributed to Pope Paul VI. [3] A miracle is the medically inexplicable healing of someone. 
  This second miracle concerns the healing of an unborn child in the fifth month of pregnancy.

  The mother, from Verona Italy, reportedly had an illness that risked both her own life and the life of her unborn child. She was advised to have an abortion.
  A few days after the beatification of Paul VI by Pope Francis in October 2014, the mother prayed to the now blessed pontiff at a shrine in Lombardy and the baby girl was later born in good health. [4]

  It is a source of joy that at last Pope Paul VI - the man who so courageously wore the crown of thorns of prophetic ministry - is at last to receive the universal acclaim for the depth of holiness his life for Christ bore witness to.
  

Prayer to Blessed Paul VI for your unborn child
http://churchinterfaith.blogspot.co.za/2016/09/ 

[1] Humanae Vitae
http://w2.vatican.va/content/paul-vi/en/encyclicals/documents/hf_p-vi_enc_25071968_humanae-vitae.html 
[2] Saint of the Unborn Child - Blessed Pope Paul VI
http://churchinterfaith.blogspot.co.za/2016/09/saint-of-unborn-child-blessed-pope-paul.html 

[3] Late Pope Paul VI to be made saint this year, Pope Francis says
https://www.reuters.com/article/us-pope-paul-sainthood/late-pope-paul-vi-to-be-made-saint-this-year-pope-francis-says-idUSKCN1G10LH 

[4] Vatican approves second miracle needed for canonisation of Pope Paul VI
https://www.irishtimes.com/news/social-affairs/religion-and-beliefs/vatican-approves-second-miracle-needed-for-canonisation-of-pope-paul-vi-1.3382583



With thanks to vatican.va, reuters.com and irishtimes.com

MY DAUGHTER SOCKS IT TO YOU STRAIGHT

LUKY
"PLEASE JACK", MY SECOND DAUGHTER SAID SOLEMNLY, HER BROWN EYES FIXED EARNESTLY ON THE MAN WHO HAD BEEN VISITING US: "TELL ME, WHY DO I LOVE YOU SO MUCH?"
  It is at times like these that I'm reminded of the rhyme: What are little girls made of? 
  Sugar and spice, and all things nice; that's what little girls are made of.
  How many times a day do your children and mine make us smile or chuckle? 
My second daughter, then four years old and like all four-year-olds, was full of enthusiasm and sincerity, and spread these qualities unstintingly among everyone she met.

She had a special soft spot for me. Small children and animals often have, not on account of my deep-seated nobility of character, but because I can't always be bothered with them.
  There's nothing like a limited amount of wholesome neglect to make oneself popular with children. They resent too much fussing.

"Kiss me, you rubbishy mom!" she used to plead, fondly believing she was paying me a great compliment. 
What she really meant was to call me was "ravishing". Even in my most unbothered moments I could not be impervious to such a tribute.

She loves God, or Lord as she calls Him. On a visit to the church I showed her the tabernacle, explaining that the cross is a statue but that Jesus Himself lives in that small house.
  You could see her pondering. 
Then she said: "How does Lord get out if He wants to buy a piece of chocolate?"
  You can't laugh it off. The Bible says that on His first visit to the apostles after the resurrection, Jesus asked for food and was given a piece of grilled fish.
  "There's so much about God we don't really understand", I said. "But we'll ask Him to explain everything when we get to heaven."

Our Lord is going to be busy answering questions when my children get up there. 
  Among other things my eldest son was going to request Him to walk straight on a crooked line, and my third son wanted to ask Him how He came to have no beginning.

Of all my children, my second daughter was the one who most missed her brother at boarding school.
  "If Joe was here now, he wouldn't let you scold me!" she said. She's quite right, because he guarded her with a loyal devotion.
  Although at the time she reached just above his waist, they spent their holidays walking hand in hand like Hansel and Gretel, talking nineteen to the dozen.

She had a little Afrikaans friend nicknamed Little Flea who lived behind us, and they had their quarrels.
  "Vlooitjie don't loves me any more", she would inform me sadly on these occasions.
Her father loved to tease her, and usually got a rise out of her.
  However, she always felt she needed one of us on her side. "Ek stem vir Mama", she would tell him. "Mom gets six points, you get none. I've had you in chunks."
It took all his diplomacy on these occasions to get points for himself too.

When I realised how little time I spent with the small ones as compared to the bigger children, I used to feel guilty.
  Once my daughter asked me to sing Goosey Goosey Gander to her:
There I met an old man who wouldn't say his prayers
So I took him by the left leg and threw him down the stairs.

While I sang, I wondered:"Should I be teaching her words such as these?"
 I do get so tired of bending over backwards trying to do the right thing.
  "It's not like that", she interrupted. "My sister taught me like this:
There I met an old man who wouldn't say his prayers
So I took him by the hand and helped him down the stairs.

This was one occasion when I was taught by my children, rather than the reverse.

Catherine Nicolette
In my tender years, some nursery rhymes slightly daunted me until I learned to tweak them to my taste.
  In my version, you should have heard how polite Mister Wolf was to the three little pigs. He gave an awful sneeze and knocked their straw house down, whereupon he humbly offered to rebuild a sturdy brick house.
  The pigs used to enjoy his regular visits to their new home. They used to bake pies with the wolf's favourite filling - raspberries and sugar.

Jack of Beanstalk fame had tea with the giant, and they would visit at holiday time. The giant being extra careful where he placed his feet when visiting Jack's house, of course. 
  He didn't want to inadvertently squash the neighbourhood.

Mind you, the cow still jumped over the moon, and the dish still ran away with the spoon. A little high spiritedness passed my youthful test.

  I never held with violence on stairs, particularly for the younger set.

THE DESPAIR OF DADS MAY BE GOD'S DELIGHT

LUKY
TWO MEN WERE STANDING ON A LONELY STRETCH OF BEACH REGARDING WITH AWE THE GREAT FOAMY BREAKERS.
They were neighbors, and over their garden fences they had discovered that both were to go on leave to spots within thirty minutes' travel of each other.
  Earlier that morning one man had arrived with his family on a visit to the other. 
  Now they were standing together, the great sound of waves booming over the delighted shrieks of their children who frolicked nearby.
  At that moment they were feeling closer to one another than they ever had back at home.

Indicating the children, the taller man said: "You know, I've got one worry in my life. 
There he is - my five-year-old son Billy. You know what he's doing with that stick now? 
  He's fondly hoping to upset some perfectly inoffensive fish family into swimming for their lives.
  "Just look at the little imp, lazy, dirty, cheeky. 
His wants in life are few - cowboy suits, hiding in bushes, jumping out and startling people.
  See those goggles he's got on? Well he'll be wearing them.
Whenever I'm about to take a bath I make sure to get in before Billy has his.
  Even before undressing he dons his flippers. Plop, plop he goes into the bathroom and gets his frogfeet wet before he realizes he forgot to bring the Navy in. 
  Before we can catch him he's into his bedroom for his boats."
  The man sighed. "I've resigned myself to the fact that I shall have to support him all all my life. 
I love my son, and I don't known where I've failed him. Can you give me any advice?"

  The other man threw out his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
"Who am I to guide you?" he asked rhetorically.    "Just look at the heir to my debts over there - a scapegrace of the first water.
I drop him off at school mornings and fetch him again at lunch. 
  So I see to it that his blazer is on nicely and his tie straight. 
  Shoes polished, shirt tucked in all the way, hair combed, and off he goes.
  "At lunchtime I pick him up. There he is, dirty, shirt handing out, tie twisted around like a noose...
"Looking swiftly to left and right for fear someone I know is near, I quickly open the door, let him in and off we go.
  "I get a beautiful smile - that I can't deny - and take heart. 'How did you do at school today, son?' I ask, my hopes high. 
But my courage drops to my boots when he answers:
  "Tell me Daddy, did George Best score six in the 8 to 2 cup win on the sixth or seventh of February, 1970?" 
  Why, I wonder, is he so keen on all knowledge and information barring that contained in his school syllabus?
  "Sometimes I despairingly tell him that if he grows up to be a dropout I'll support his wife and children only.
  Him I'll chase away - or so I tell him . . ." and again he threw his hands out in a gesture of despair.

The wife of one of the men had been listening to their conversation and moved off quietly, smiling to herself. 
  "Silly men," she thought, "Why are you so concerned? Look at the order of the magnificent sea round you.
  Do you think the God Who created all this grandeur without your help needs the two of you in the shaping of the future of your sons and his?
  You just work for them, set them a good example, and teach them to love HIm.
Then He will look after them for you - never fear."

GREY BRIGADE OR THE WISE ONES?

Catherine Nicolette
WELL READERS, WAS I SLIGHTLY AGEIST IN MY YOUNGER YEARS? 
Very possibly, very possibly: I simply could not conceive of ever getting older.
I was young; I was strong; the world was my oyster. 
I drank my orange juice, did my exercises, and was going to stay forever young.
Ha.

The sands of time have kept on running, and fortunate as I am, I have had a lot of sand run through my particular glass
Which brings me to my point; recently I have been the unwilling recipient of remarks such as the following, 
"Well, of course, at YOUR age ... " and 
"You really mustn't keep on at this pace. You're not forty anymore, you know."

I know I'm not forty: but why do I still feel seventeen in my heart?
The older I get, the younger I feel - even though the early autumn of life is gently starting to make its presence known.

Grey Brigade
I read of the 'grey brigade'. Why does that remark seem so sad? 
What on earth is wrong with being grey? 
Why not call those of us gently silvering 'the wise ones' or 'they who have valiantly paid taxes and borne the heat of the day with love for their family and community?' 
That has a certain ring to it, and often is quite true.

Recently I was fortunate to be welcomed into an Asian home. 
While there, I was asked by the family to bless them.
Apparently older people in the community are viewed as wise, and thus able to bestow a special blessing on the younger members of society.
I blessed them, and received a small gift and fruit. When the impromptu ceremony was over, the family, beaming, waved me off at the front door.

Please don't age
Contrasted to this joyous inclusion of the older individual into the younger community are the communiques I have recently been receiving.
I sometimes feel that I am being begged not to age - or at least give the appearance of not ageing.

I have been exhorted to consider Restylane. Apparently I am in dire need of injections into my face to look like a teenager again.
Another offer - at a price which made me look twice - is to have needles punctured into my face with a roller, so that collagen can grow again and make me look - you've guessed it - like a teen.

Look, believe me, it is wonderful being a teenager. I know. I spent some years as a teen, and enjoyed every minute of it.
Just as every day I am enjoying being in my fifties. 
I do yoga, try and think kind thoughts, happily live in the light of God's love and remember every day that one day will be my last.
And I'll want it to be my best.

And no, I don't want to have my skin cut with a scalpel and tightened in order to feel younger. 
It sounds painful, I'd be afraid of infection, and really why on earth would I want to cut away the years that God has signed on my face?

How did we become the way we are?
Let's look at our older selves. Yes, many have stretch marks. 
And standing next to them, the beautiful children they grew and nurtured. 
The marks are a glorious remembrance of life.

Some have wrinkles - lo and behold, I have lines at the ends of my eyes. 
You have no idea the number of laughs that have gone into making those.
They show that not only did some rain fall into my life, but a lot of sun shone too.

Great friends who are excellent raconteurs, funny happenings which have brightened my days, joyous moments and adorable children and animals who have made me smile.
I really earned those crinkles - as I used to call them when I was a child.

Some have spider veins on the legs.
Often these were earned during long hours standing in dedicated and loyal service of others at home and at work.
Many of the wise ones have arthritic joints.
There is usually a story behind each twinge which comes on with the onset of rainy weather.
Many an old injury has been in the care of a loved one, or during the call of duty.

I remember hearing of one man who threw himself between his wife and newborn infant's bodies as they were hurtling forward in an accident.
In saving them from injury, he completely smashed the bones in his right hand.
There was a possibility he might never be able to use his hand again. 
Yet this meant nothing to him. All he felt was relief at having saved them from injury.
Arthritic joints for him would be a quiet testament in perpetuity for being a noble husband and father.

Ageing is a privilege
It seems slightly sad not to rejoice in getting older. Many of our friends of beloved memory did not have that privilege.
So I will continue to gently sidestep those Restylane offers and pamphlets offering quick face lifts [even just the thought hurts].

Plastic surgery is essential for those in true need. But I really feel we don't need to erase the character life has placed on our faces.
The best answer I ever heard to an enquiry as to whether a non essential mini face-lift should be considered was the slightly bewildered reply, "Why would you ever consider ruining your natural beauty?"

Why indeed.

BLESS THIS JOB

Luky
I HOPE YOU DON'T THINK I'M NAME-DROPPING WHEN I TELL YOU I'VE MET CELEBRITIES.
  One of the things I liked about being a reporter was that I met people face to face that I only saw on the television screen before joining journalism.

  It had its disadvantages too. It was a Saturday evening and I yearned to be with my family. 
  A celebrity was appearing at a school in a neighbouring town and he and his cast arrived half an hour later than expected.
  I waited patiently in the foyer.

When they arrived, they made straight for the stage and I followed them to ask for a photo. 
  A man I also recognized as an actor firmly told me the celebrity was running late - as if I didn't know - and that I couldn't take my photo.

  The celebrity heard him and came over to us. "I'm sure we can fit the press in," he said kindly. "Why don't we all pose together?" 
  He smiled, first at the man and then at me, and suddenly I didn't dislike the man any more and grinned at him, while he twinkled back at me.

  When I got back home, my children were watching the celebrity's extravaganza on television. 
  "I've just taken his photo," I told them.
"What's he like, Mommy?"
"He sings like a bird and is the perfect gentleman," I said.

  When I read that he and his wife were having marital problems, I really worried.
  Having met him, I could understand why she wouldn't want to lose him.
  In my hearing, people made jokes at his expense but these never made me laugh.
  Others said his wife should have more pride. She shouldn't wear her heart on her sleeve.
  "If a man treated me like that, I'd divorce him and sue him for his last cent," some women said.

  But why should his wife lose her husband, simply because a few people she didn't even know felt she should have more pride? 
  Sure, he behaved badly. He was only human and in the sort of life he led there must have been many temptations.

  That did not excuse him but he will have to answer for his own life before the Lord, as we all must, and He shows mercy to the contrite-hearted.
  If the celebrity's wife still loved him she had every right to try to win him back.

  I saw a photo of them once. He and she were at their daughter's wedding. 
  She looked broken-hearted and emaciated and he was a picture of guilt and contrition, lacking all glamour. But they were holding hands.

  I think women can learn from the celebrity's wife. She was a woman who had loved and forgiven much. 
  She had not forgotten the joys of decades of married happiness because of a husband's yielding to weakness during his mid-life crisis.

  To my mind, whether she got him back or not was not the issue.  It was her loyalty and devotion which turned a tawdry scandal into a triumph of failure.
  She knew life is simply too short to bear a grudge. And her humility and simplicity made her a legend in her own time.

Catherine Nicolette
From time to time I have heard of relationships and marriages going through rocky patches.
  Many feel free to comment and pressurize the offended partner to divorce and get on with life.
  And yet . . . there are indeed times when a relationship, a marriage can be saved.
  It takes forgiveness and, for both parties, a long time for the offended partner to rebuild the utter trust that was so badly hurt.

It is true that some, given a second chance, 
re-enact the same behaviour and permanently damage their marriage.
  But there are many, unsung and unpublic relationships that have overcome trials and seemingly unsurmountable obstacles.
  Once the pain of unfaithfulness is weathered, love may grow deeper having faced the apparently unfaceable.

If you feel your marriage has no chance, why not turn to God in prayer?
  Many miracles are quietly wrought from day to day. Perhaps a miracle may occur in your marriage.
  And, if you forgive your partner, do it wholeheartedly. It is a temptation to punish the other in perpetuity for a past transgression.
  Don't do it.  Leave the past in the past, and build a new future.
  As the luminous Marlene Dietrich said, 'Once a woman has forgiven a man, she must not reheat his sins for breakfast.'
  I add, 'And vice versa'.

Novena to Restore Marriage
Here is a novena which you can pray asking God for help in restoring your marriage. 

Pray the following prayer for nine days:
"Heavenly Father, I come before You today with a heavy heart. My marriage is in trouble and I need Your help. Make changes in my spouse's heart. Make us compatible again, and bring us closer together. Fill us with Your Love and give us the strength to love one another, care for one another, and fulfil Your destiny for us.

Show us the harm caused by careless words, and the pain caused by emotional distance. Bring us together like we once were. Show us how to love one another again.

 Heal the division between us. Make us one again.
In Your Name I pray. Amen." [1]


[1] Powerful Marriage Prayer and Prayer Request
http://www.prayers-for-special-help.com/marriage-prayer.html

With thanks to prayers-for-special-help.com

I'VE GOT A LOT OF NEW WINDOWS ON THE WORLD

Luky
THE REASON WHY I FELT PARTICULARLY CHARITABLE TOWARDS MY YOUNGER SISTER'S HUSBAND WAS THAT HE PRESENTED ME WITH A SET OF POSTERS WHICH I PUT ALL OVER MY OFFICE, TO THE EDIFICATION AND AMUSEMENT OF MY COLLEAGUES.
  He also arranged a braaivleis for me, which was not so nice since I had just bet with a colleague that she and I would each lose 5 kg during the three weeks of her absence on holiday.
  The loser would pay the other R10 - at a time when that was good money.
  I didn't have ten rand to throw around, and so I told my brother-in-law.
  "Eat, Luke," he ordered, "I'll pay your bet."

Hound humour
The posters were lovely, balm to my soul.
  "It doesn't matter if you win or lose", Snoopy proclaimed above the telex machine. "Until you lose!"
  "The clearest way into the universe is through a forest wilderness", exhorted the landscape view above my filing cabinet.

  So I'm not the only seeker who feels that life is one long groping amid chaos for orderliness.
  The post baskets were topped with another sign, illustrated by a glider floating in a golden evening sky.
  It's one I constantly need to remind me not to be lazy. It said:
  "You are never given a wish without also being given the power to make it true. You may have to work for it, however."

  Over the telephone there was a winter landscape view in a forest with a Camus quotation: "In the midst of winter I finally learnt that there was in me an invincible summer."
  How true. It is only when you've tasted the depth of grief, that you become aware of the bubbling well of joy within us which repairs all ravages of the grief we know.

  Like the Lourdes well, this is a miraculous one, granted by God for the restoration of hope and the washing away of all despair.

Calm silence
Behind my desk there was the poster of a yacht at sea during sunset: "Each life needs its own quiet place".
  Called talkative, loquacious and a chatterbox since I can remember, even I need my own quiet place, though I attain to it all too seldom.

  "He leadeth me beside the still waters", said the poster near the window. Isn't it funny how David said it all for us in his time, all the mute words seeking utterance form our hearts?
  He put into words for us in his psalms everything we strive vainly to explain to ourselves about the place God has in our lives.
  
  To crown it all, he committed some pretty bad sins. That must be why we find it so easy to identify with him, and with Saint Peter, for that matter.
  Above my typewriter there was a William Blake quotation: 
  We are put on earth a little space
  That we may learn to bear the beams of love.

  They adorned a picture of wheat in the sunlight, a symbolic picture. The sunlight is the love of God to which we are travelling, the wheat the Body of Christ give up for us so that we may reach this love when we have become mature enough to reciprocate.

  At the door, what the cynics in my family would call a touch of sanity prevailed in the picture of a spaniel in a bucket, having a bath.
  Surrounded by brushes, towels, soap boxes and covered in suds he mutely proclaimed: 
"Was today really necessary?"

  I put that picture in that spot because I hoped that if ever I became frustrated enough to write out my resignation from that job, the very different kind of resignation shining forth from the spaniel would tickle my sense of humour and make me tear up my own resignation forthwith.

Catherine Nicolette
A poster I saw many years ago and to which my mind often returns showed a little chick standing, very new and puzzled, in the midst of the shards of eggshell from which he had just hatched.
  In large black lettering above his head was his question: "What now?"