Didn't write about thanksgiving day (although had a good one with my family) as then the rest of the week was not too thanksgiving-ish and I just got too depressed-ish. Earlier in the week, a cousin in the family lost her unborn baby and then the funeral day was the 2nd anniversary of my oldest brother's passing (see Oct 9th posting.) One thing happened one after another, because when it rains it pours, like VANCOUVER. But, I was inspired (as I often am) with my friend Nathan's positive encouragement and always so so so beautifully poetic Facebook status'. I am thankful of so many things, I really am, so here it goes.
Thankful for a free 13lb turkey from my mom's friend. It was my first turkey I ever cooked and turned out just awesome; even took a photo of it 'cuz I am such a geek that way. Fed all 11 of us and then leftovers for most of the week and the best ever huge pot of soup that I made from it. Sick of it now, but it is food and for that I am grateful. (Hmmm, wish the pumpkin pie would have lasted that long; wonder who finished it off the moment the last guest left, along with the rest of the tub of cool whip? Well, at least I was good with my calories all week...)
Thankful for family that drives me crazy sometimes or a lot of the time, but when I was far away and helpless to not be able to get to them when they needed me, that was so much worse. At least for now I am with family here that has loved me for 32 years.
I am thankful for the awesome heater in my old bedroom and at least a room to myself. Even though the furnace here does not work at all and needs to somehow be replaced soon and my heater stopped working the other night, I am thankful that it is working again. And my back is oh so thankful for that. And found an old sweater and jacket of mine that still fits as I only came prepared for summer really and barely fall.
I am thankful for my mother, even with all her health issues that she's always had to live with and deal with for 32 years. I teased her a few weeks ago that her swollen eyelid reminded me of a cross between something that someone beat up in a dark alley and Jesus in the Passion of the Christ movie, and she just laughed. So the other day when she phoned me from the hospital after being in the emergency room(s) for 8 hours and how they gave her nothing for her shooting pain in her head from her bad eyes, she said how she thought of Jesus beaten on the cross and how much of a worse shape he was in.
Yes, I am now thinking of so many funny times that seemed to make the hard times so forgettable and not even worth remembering.
I am thankful for a good buddy of ours that made it possible for me to get out here this time and for all the times I made necessary and urgent trips back and forth from BC to Winnipeg and back to BC again. In pretty much all those times, I had no idea how I would pay for things, how I would get back, or how I would even pay the rest of the bills for the month. It was so stressful, but you know, I don't even remember the stress. I just remember that I made it and lived to tell and it was all worth it. And for good friends that stick by you through good and bad, because if not, they are not worthy to even be called a friend.
So many times we were on edge and never knew what tommorow would bring, but we made it through it all and now we can encourage and advise others that are going through the same.
From the Message Bible: James 1: 26-27 "Anyone who sets himself up as "religious" by talking a good game is self-deceived. This kind of religion is hot air and only hot air. Real religion, the kind that passes muster before God the Father, is this: Reach out to the homeless and loveless in their plight, and guard against corruption from the godless world."
So Nathan, keep up being positive, as it does matter and I am passing it on to every one of you.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Technology, Telemarketers, and Time for Quiet...
I am also a night person, so I have trouble shutting everything off and settling down for the evening. I have to use every force in my body to steer myself to my bed and stay in it. It's just that my mind is used to going a million miles an hour while my body lags behind. Recently, I made myself a promise that I would START to turn things off at 9pm and have some quiet time. HA; NO!!!
Plus my house duties here at my parents' house of receptionist/information desk/appointment maker/white and yellow pages/google directory/chef/transportation coordinator/financial advisor/banker/grocery shopper...and I forgot GPS. When one brother calls, I actually answer it, "Hello, reception?" and when the other brother calls from the road, I look up google or mapquest info for him. See, my multi-tasking, organizational, and phone duties from my 15 years in the career world does count for something!
And then there are telemarketers, which account for maybe 30% of the 20 calls a day we seem to get here. Although they are a great anonymous cover so that I don't always have to be nice sweet Maria, they are so frustrating as you all know. The caller id's could show cell number, unknown, private, or the old 1-800 number at any time of night or day, and no respect for what you are going through in life. Hello!!!??? I have nothing better to do than answer you during all the other calls from hospital, care home, doctor, eye specialist, arthritis specialist, furnace repair (cuz our heat doesn't work), bank, family, friends. (The last two I always look forward to though.)
I have it downpat like a fine art. When they say "Hello, Can I talk to __________ (my parents)?" I say right away, "No, I am handling the calls; what company are you calling from?" Sometimes they actually tell me and I can barely understand what they are saying or they could be insistant and won't. Doesn't stop me whatsoever. I say, "Sorry, we are not interested, goodbye" and hang up on them (nicely if that is possible). If they're rude, talk over me, or get snotty as if they are the most important person I will talk to that day, I am extra pleasant and add, "Please don't call here ever again" before I hang up. It works.
Although I do thrive in these environments in a strange way, yes, you could say I really miss my quiet time. Quietness is the only way we can really hear God better and ourselves. If we're always around work, technology, or things every single minute of the day, sooner or later we will stop even noticing the things that are truly important in life. We will overlook human beings because we are just too busy. Too busy for ourselves, too busy to help others that need us, and too busy to connect to God, who is in the middle of it all. It is as if the huge loud noises of life drown out the little still small voices of our God inside us. There were so many inspirations and ideas and encouragement that came to me when I was quiet and not doing anything at all and not even when I was expecting it. When I really needed it badly.
I remember one year in the middle of Lent, our computer crashed and I was without it for about a week while it was being fixed. Oh my gosh, are you kidding? I just sat in my computer chair wondering what I was going to do next and wandering about the house aimlessly. That is pretty sad, but I know 99% of you reading this would feel the same way, even if you just use a computer for Facebook?
Really, I just need to take more time to smell the roses. Or in my case, time away from telemarketers.
Friday, October 9, 2009
IN MEMORY OF MY BROTHER...AND ALONE WITH MY THOUGHTS...
Exactly 2 years ago Saturday, my oldest brother passed away. I will never forget it because I was in my apartment in Winnipeg in the wee hours of the morning (something like 3:30 am there.) I had been feeling sick in the middle of the night, taken too much advil (and discovered I am allergic to it) and finishing an almost fainting spell and throwing up. Shortly after, the phone rang.
No call is ever good when it comes at 3:30 in the morning. All I remember was the silence of the apartment and me standing there staring at the phone while it was ringing. I knew I didn't want to walk to the phone; I just couldn't do it. I couldn't pick it up, because then it would mean he was really gone. It was one of my other brothers on the phone and there was probably only a few words said, like "Flav's gone" and then I just said, "OK" and hung up.
Sometimes there are moments when time freezes and everything around you stands still, as if you were on the outside of it all looking in. And the things you thought were so important in your own little world are a complete nothing, a zero in comparison.
I moved from BC to Winnipeg 2 summers ago and I remember being bummed because Flavio didn't come see me before we left. No one ever really saw him much just because that was just the way he was. There was so much of my life that he never knew. Him being 15 years older, I remember him teaching me how to ride a bike, sneaking me out of the house to take me to White Spot, taking me to the Zoo, Stanley Park, and the PNE. Always wanting to know what I wanted to do with my life, living simply, and the only person in the world that truly didn't care what other people thought or said of him. He was oh so funny in his quiet and sarcastic way and many say I look like him, even though I was blessed to somehow grow into a somewhat combination of all 3 brothers.
Not even 2 months after I moved away, I got the news that he was very sick. I don't even remember if it was someone else that told me or if it was him in his very casual usual sort of way. He never wanted anyone to know a thing and he wanted to protect us all, joking and laughing and talking as if nothing had changed and there was no hospital bed and tubes in the way. It was just too big though at that point.
I will never forget the next call in only July (a month after I heard he was sick) to basically get out there as quick as I could to see him while he was still alive. I always had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, even though there are many people that get dignosed with cancer and live quite a long time or even get it several times and live for years. I remember being so stressed at work and overloaded with no one to train me and a huge project underway. When that call came, everything else meant nothing; Ie just packed a suitcase and took off. I didn't know what to expect, but I just knew that God would keep him alive till we got there. I just knew.
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I thank God I had the chance to see him in the hospital, at least for a short visit, but I wish I would have stayed much longer. I felt so helpless, not being there after, as it just got harder very quickly for everyone. Looking back, I would have gladly endured job and home loss just to have been at his side more. But I knew I had to leave eventually, plus I didn't know what to say; this now growup sister and this dying brother. None of us knew how to handle it though and it was hard to be faced with such a time shortage in our "reuniting" with a brother/son/uncle and all the mixed bag of emotions that came with it. I felt like an outsider and so detached from everyone else as I had such a different (and shorter) history with him and such a big age gap.
I was upset that I never had alone time with him as there were always other people around and I never fought for it as I was too scared and didn't even known what to say. He was a man of so few words anyhow. At the same time, I could tell he was so happy that I was there just in the special looks he gave me and the way he would stop and stare at me, regardless of what was going on in the room. On the last visit, it was so hard to leave because I knew I would never see him again. How can you put all the love that your heart contains into a few words like, "Bye Flav, see you later..." I don't know how I managed to get on the plane back to Winnipeg and leave him there.
I tried to call him after I got back, but I even knew then that it was just not enough. I was too scared and didn't know what to say and so I could not bring myself to call. I wish I had called him everyday, but I cannot go back in time and he would not want me to either. I had to deal with everything I felt and I know he (and God) understands. It was a short 2 months later (4 months from when I found out he was sick) that I got the last call on that quiet October morning to say he was gone. Again, when I flew out for the funeral and left to return to Winnipeg, it was hard to "leave him" behind.
That last trip was different. I saw something different in our tiny family. Through the sadness and grief, we all bonded together more than we had ever had need to do. We had some silly times in the middle of it, that we can't really tell too many people as they would think we are crazy, and it made me love my dysfunctional family even more. The only other time I felt it was when my nephew was born stillborn; at full term and the first big loss that I had gone through in our family (at least at an adult age.) I cannnot even begin to imagine what a parent goes through as it must be a million times beyond what my heart has ever felt. And I see in those parents an incredible strength that is out of this dimension.
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Sometimes when people die, they tend to become idols in our minds like a god. Maybe it's because we knew them but now they have attained eternal life, which we cannot wrap our minds around. Maybe it is to honor them because we didn't when they were alive. Maybe we can't let them go and want to keep them alive and close to us somehow. Why is it so incredibly hard to part with an item they gave us or an item that belonged to them? We just don't want them or our memories to fade into nothing, like their earthly bodies.
I have already talked alot in my blogs about my faith, heaven, and all that spiritual stuff, and there are many really good bible passages about resurrection that would make my blog another 8 pages. My hope in this life is actually the next life. I still give this life my all, but when it's your time to go, you can't do anything to change it. Christianity is worth nothing to me if I don't believe I will see Flav, my other relatives, and loved ones. Then there is also no point to following Jesus, going to church, reading the bible, or praying.
Was debating all week whether I should go to the cemetary (was there for the burial) as I am still out here. I love the earthly place where his body is as my dear and much loved brother and respect it for that reason, but his soul is not there and it is just not the same. Maybe next time. I know that at least I've come along far enough to not feel like I am "leaving him" again and that feels good and freeing.
The songs below were some of the versions of the songs from the funeral as there was no way I wanted it to be a stranger playing slow dark gloomy depressing organ songs (not to knock organs as they have their place), but a beautiful memorial of old meets new, to celebrate his life and the life to come.
I Can Only Imagine:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0xwzItqYmII
I am the Bread of Life (I will Raise him up):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M2bQ0Z_F9BY
You are Mine:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8vMYP4uJAqY&feature=related
No call is ever good when it comes at 3:30 in the morning. All I remember was the silence of the apartment and me standing there staring at the phone while it was ringing. I knew I didn't want to walk to the phone; I just couldn't do it. I couldn't pick it up, because then it would mean he was really gone. It was one of my other brothers on the phone and there was probably only a few words said, like "Flav's gone" and then I just said, "OK" and hung up.
Sometimes there are moments when time freezes and everything around you stands still, as if you were on the outside of it all looking in. And the things you thought were so important in your own little world are a complete nothing, a zero in comparison.
I moved from BC to Winnipeg 2 summers ago and I remember being bummed because Flavio didn't come see me before we left. No one ever really saw him much just because that was just the way he was. There was so much of my life that he never knew. Him being 15 years older, I remember him teaching me how to ride a bike, sneaking me out of the house to take me to White Spot, taking me to the Zoo, Stanley Park, and the PNE. Always wanting to know what I wanted to do with my life, living simply, and the only person in the world that truly didn't care what other people thought or said of him. He was oh so funny in his quiet and sarcastic way and many say I look like him, even though I was blessed to somehow grow into a somewhat combination of all 3 brothers.
Not even 2 months after I moved away, I got the news that he was very sick. I don't even remember if it was someone else that told me or if it was him in his very casual usual sort of way. He never wanted anyone to know a thing and he wanted to protect us all, joking and laughing and talking as if nothing had changed and there was no hospital bed and tubes in the way. It was just too big though at that point.
I will never forget the next call in only July (a month after I heard he was sick) to basically get out there as quick as I could to see him while he was still alive. I always had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, even though there are many people that get dignosed with cancer and live quite a long time or even get it several times and live for years. I remember being so stressed at work and overloaded with no one to train me and a huge project underway. When that call came, everything else meant nothing; Ie just packed a suitcase and took off. I didn't know what to expect, but I just knew that God would keep him alive till we got there. I just knew.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I thank God I had the chance to see him in the hospital, at least for a short visit, but I wish I would have stayed much longer. I felt so helpless, not being there after, as it just got harder very quickly for everyone. Looking back, I would have gladly endured job and home loss just to have been at his side more. But I knew I had to leave eventually, plus I didn't know what to say; this now growup sister and this dying brother. None of us knew how to handle it though and it was hard to be faced with such a time shortage in our "reuniting" with a brother/son/uncle and all the mixed bag of emotions that came with it. I felt like an outsider and so detached from everyone else as I had such a different (and shorter) history with him and such a big age gap.
I was upset that I never had alone time with him as there were always other people around and I never fought for it as I was too scared and didn't even known what to say. He was a man of so few words anyhow. At the same time, I could tell he was so happy that I was there just in the special looks he gave me and the way he would stop and stare at me, regardless of what was going on in the room. On the last visit, it was so hard to leave because I knew I would never see him again. How can you put all the love that your heart contains into a few words like, "Bye Flav, see you later..." I don't know how I managed to get on the plane back to Winnipeg and leave him there.
I tried to call him after I got back, but I even knew then that it was just not enough. I was too scared and didn't know what to say and so I could not bring myself to call. I wish I had called him everyday, but I cannot go back in time and he would not want me to either. I had to deal with everything I felt and I know he (and God) understands. It was a short 2 months later (4 months from when I found out he was sick) that I got the last call on that quiet October morning to say he was gone. Again, when I flew out for the funeral and left to return to Winnipeg, it was hard to "leave him" behind.
That last trip was different. I saw something different in our tiny family. Through the sadness and grief, we all bonded together more than we had ever had need to do. We had some silly times in the middle of it, that we can't really tell too many people as they would think we are crazy, and it made me love my dysfunctional family even more. The only other time I felt it was when my nephew was born stillborn; at full term and the first big loss that I had gone through in our family (at least at an adult age.) I cannnot even begin to imagine what a parent goes through as it must be a million times beyond what my heart has ever felt. And I see in those parents an incredible strength that is out of this dimension.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sometimes when people die, they tend to become idols in our minds like a god. Maybe it's because we knew them but now they have attained eternal life, which we cannot wrap our minds around. Maybe it is to honor them because we didn't when they were alive. Maybe we can't let them go and want to keep them alive and close to us somehow. Why is it so incredibly hard to part with an item they gave us or an item that belonged to them? We just don't want them or our memories to fade into nothing, like their earthly bodies.
I have already talked alot in my blogs about my faith, heaven, and all that spiritual stuff, and there are many really good bible passages about resurrection that would make my blog another 8 pages. My hope in this life is actually the next life. I still give this life my all, but when it's your time to go, you can't do anything to change it. Christianity is worth nothing to me if I don't believe I will see Flav, my other relatives, and loved ones. Then there is also no point to following Jesus, going to church, reading the bible, or praying.
Was debating all week whether I should go to the cemetary (was there for the burial) as I am still out here. I love the earthly place where his body is as my dear and much loved brother and respect it for that reason, but his soul is not there and it is just not the same. Maybe next time. I know that at least I've come along far enough to not feel like I am "leaving him" again and that feels good and freeing.
The songs below were some of the versions of the songs from the funeral as there was no way I wanted it to be a stranger playing slow dark gloomy depressing organ songs (not to knock organs as they have their place), but a beautiful memorial of old meets new, to celebrate his life and the life to come.
I Can Only Imagine:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0xwzItqYmII
I am the Bread of Life (I will Raise him up):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M2bQ0Z_F9BY
You are Mine:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8vMYP4uJAqY&feature=related
Friday, October 2, 2009
ABOUT CRAZY ITALIANS, CATACOMBS, AND FAITH...
Italy is dear to me, not only because it is part of my beautiful family heritage, but because of Rome and early church history. I've never had a chance to go, but there have been many people of other countries, faiths, and religions who have gone and absolutely loved it. I've never heard of anyone going and hating it. No, it seems to change the way you look at life.
One thing about Italians is that when you are in the family (no matter how far back or how connected), you are one of them forever. That is pretty true of my brother's in-laws, which make up our family since I was in Gr. 7. With 20 years of knowing them, they're such a part of our lives that it's hard to remember when they weren't there. Fun, food, and always loud, which is just happy and normal to us. Yelling is multi-purpose; could mean you are having fun or you are really mad...
The early Christians didn't have much as far as material things go, plus their best friend and God was taken away from them by a horrible death. They were left alone, frightened, and confused---at first. They had to bond together and sold what they had to look after each other so that no one ever went hungry or homeless. Pentecost came and God's spirit shook the building, the room they were hiding in, and their souls right to the core of their being. They now had his amazing power to take on the world, preach to anyone in hearing range, heal the sick and cast out demons, and suffer for their beliefs.
Sometimes we get so used to hearing about the Saints and Martyrs that we take it for granted and what we celebrate at church becomes just a ritual, instead of realizing that it is the way, the truth, and the life. Looking up the catacombs gave me a much greater and deeper appreciation for my faith and backround. Italians were not Catholic because they were born into it, in their family/culture, or were baptized and go to church twice a year. If that were the case, it would have meant nothing to them in their daily lives or at the point of their deaths. It wasn't just about celebrating feast days or something they admired from a distance and then put back on the shelf for next time.
It was worth giving up everything for.
http://www.catacombe.roma.it/en/import.html
The Martyrdom of St. Cyprian
It would have been very useful and edifying to have the reports of the trials of the martyrs Pontianus, Fabian, Cornelius, Sixtus II, Eusebius, Cecilia... Unfortunately, during the tremendous persecution of Diocletian the archives of the Church of Rome were destroyed.
But the reports of St. Cyprian's trial have come down to us. The Acta were read in the Christian communities for the glory of the Martyr in order to strengthen others in the moment of their ordeal. We can therefore assume that the reports of the trial of the other martyrs just cited were written in much the same way.
Carthage, 14th September 258.
" On the morning of September 14 a large crowd gathered at Sesti by order of proconsul Galerius Maximus. And the same proconsul Galerius Maximus bade that Cyprian should be brought to the hearing which he conducted on that same day in the 'Sauciolus Hall'. When bishop Cyprian stood before him, the proconsul said to him:
'Are you Tascius Ciprianus?' Bishop Cyprian answered: ' Yes, I am.
Proconsul Galerius Maximus said: ' Are you the one who has presented himself as the leader of a sacrilegious sect' Bishop Cyprian answered: ' I am'.
Galerius Maximus said: ' The most holy emperors bid you to sacrifice'. Bishop Cyprian said: ' I will not do it'.
Proconsul Galerius Maximus said: 'Think it over'. Bishop Cyprian said: ' Do what you have been ordered to do. In such a just cause there is nothing to think over'.
Galerius Maximus, after conferring with the college of magistrates, with difficulty and unwillingly pronounced this sentence: ' You have long lived sacrilegiously and have gathered many in your criminal sect, and set yourself up as an enemy of the Roman gods and of their religious rites. The pious and most holy Augusti emperors Valerian and Gallienus, and Valerian most noble Caesar, failed to bring you back to the observance of their religious ceremonies.
Therefore, since you have been seen to be the instigator of the worst of crimes, we shall make an example of you before those whom you have associated with yourself in these wicked actions. The respect for the law will be sanctioned by your blood'. Having said this he read out in a loud voice from a tablet the decree: 'I order that Tascius Ciprianus be punished by being beheaded'. Bishop Cyprian said: 'Thanks be to God'.
Following the sentence, the crowd of Christian brethren said: ' We want to be beheaded with him'. At this there was great agitation among the brethren and a large crowd followed him. Thus Cyprian was led into the countryside of Sesti, and there he took off his cloak and hood, knelt on the ground and prostrated himself in prayer to the Lord. He then removed his dalmatic and gave it to the deacons, leaving himself only in his linen garment, and so waited for the executioner.
When the latter arrived, the bishop ordered his own followers to give the executioner twenty-five gold pieces. Meanwhile his brethren held out pieces of cloth and handkerchiefs ( to receive the blood as relics). Then the great Cyprian with his own hands bandaged his eyes, but since he could not tie the corners of the handkerchief, presbyter Julian and subdeacon Julian went to help him.
Thus bishop Cyprian was martyred and his body, because of the curiosity of the pagans, was placed in a place nearby where it was hidden from their indiscreet eyes. It was then carried away at night with lighted flares and torches and accompanied as far as the cemetery of procurator Macrobius Candidianus, which is in the 'Huts' Road near the Baths. A few days later, proconsul Galerius Maximus died.
The holy bishop Cyprian was martyred on September 14th under emperors Valerian and Gallienus, but in the reign of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom all honour and glory be forever. Amen". (From the Acta Proconsularia,3-6).
One thing about Italians is that when you are in the family (no matter how far back or how connected), you are one of them forever. That is pretty true of my brother's in-laws, which make up our family since I was in Gr. 7. With 20 years of knowing them, they're such a part of our lives that it's hard to remember when they weren't there. Fun, food, and always loud, which is just happy and normal to us. Yelling is multi-purpose; could mean you are having fun or you are really mad...
The early Christians didn't have much as far as material things go, plus their best friend and God was taken away from them by a horrible death. They were left alone, frightened, and confused---at first. They had to bond together and sold what they had to look after each other so that no one ever went hungry or homeless. Pentecost came and God's spirit shook the building, the room they were hiding in, and their souls right to the core of their being. They now had his amazing power to take on the world, preach to anyone in hearing range, heal the sick and cast out demons, and suffer for their beliefs.
Sometimes we get so used to hearing about the Saints and Martyrs that we take it for granted and what we celebrate at church becomes just a ritual, instead of realizing that it is the way, the truth, and the life. Looking up the catacombs gave me a much greater and deeper appreciation for my faith and backround. Italians were not Catholic because they were born into it, in their family/culture, or were baptized and go to church twice a year. If that were the case, it would have meant nothing to them in their daily lives or at the point of their deaths. It wasn't just about celebrating feast days or something they admired from a distance and then put back on the shelf for next time.
It was worth giving up everything for.
http://www.catacombe.roma.it/en/import.html
The Martyrdom of St. Cyprian
It would have been very useful and edifying to have the reports of the trials of the martyrs Pontianus, Fabian, Cornelius, Sixtus II, Eusebius, Cecilia... Unfortunately, during the tremendous persecution of Diocletian the archives of the Church of Rome were destroyed.
But the reports of St. Cyprian's trial have come down to us. The Acta were read in the Christian communities for the glory of the Martyr in order to strengthen others in the moment of their ordeal. We can therefore assume that the reports of the trial of the other martyrs just cited were written in much the same way.
Carthage, 14th September 258.
" On the morning of September 14 a large crowd gathered at Sesti by order of proconsul Galerius Maximus. And the same proconsul Galerius Maximus bade that Cyprian should be brought to the hearing which he conducted on that same day in the 'Sauciolus Hall'. When bishop Cyprian stood before him, the proconsul said to him:
'Are you Tascius Ciprianus?' Bishop Cyprian answered: ' Yes, I am.
Proconsul Galerius Maximus said: ' Are you the one who has presented himself as the leader of a sacrilegious sect' Bishop Cyprian answered: ' I am'.
Galerius Maximus said: ' The most holy emperors bid you to sacrifice'. Bishop Cyprian said: ' I will not do it'.
Proconsul Galerius Maximus said: 'Think it over'. Bishop Cyprian said: ' Do what you have been ordered to do. In such a just cause there is nothing to think over'.
Galerius Maximus, after conferring with the college of magistrates, with difficulty and unwillingly pronounced this sentence: ' You have long lived sacrilegiously and have gathered many in your criminal sect, and set yourself up as an enemy of the Roman gods and of their religious rites. The pious and most holy Augusti emperors Valerian and Gallienus, and Valerian most noble Caesar, failed to bring you back to the observance of their religious ceremonies.
Therefore, since you have been seen to be the instigator of the worst of crimes, we shall make an example of you before those whom you have associated with yourself in these wicked actions. The respect for the law will be sanctioned by your blood'. Having said this he read out in a loud voice from a tablet the decree: 'I order that Tascius Ciprianus be punished by being beheaded'. Bishop Cyprian said: 'Thanks be to God'.
Following the sentence, the crowd of Christian brethren said: ' We want to be beheaded with him'. At this there was great agitation among the brethren and a large crowd followed him. Thus Cyprian was led into the countryside of Sesti, and there he took off his cloak and hood, knelt on the ground and prostrated himself in prayer to the Lord. He then removed his dalmatic and gave it to the deacons, leaving himself only in his linen garment, and so waited for the executioner.
When the latter arrived, the bishop ordered his own followers to give the executioner twenty-five gold pieces. Meanwhile his brethren held out pieces of cloth and handkerchiefs ( to receive the blood as relics). Then the great Cyprian with his own hands bandaged his eyes, but since he could not tie the corners of the handkerchief, presbyter Julian and subdeacon Julian went to help him.
Thus bishop Cyprian was martyred and his body, because of the curiosity of the pagans, was placed in a place nearby where it was hidden from their indiscreet eyes. It was then carried away at night with lighted flares and torches and accompanied as far as the cemetery of procurator Macrobius Candidianus, which is in the 'Huts' Road near the Baths. A few days later, proconsul Galerius Maximus died.
The holy bishop Cyprian was martyred on September 14th under emperors Valerian and Gallienus, but in the reign of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom all honour and glory be forever. Amen". (From the Acta Proconsularia,3-6).
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