See You In The Eucharist

It was my first road trip in My Little Red Car, and I was itching to escape Ohio.

I headed North and wondered again why it is that the sky seems so much closer in Michigan than it does in Ohio.  The countryside I fell in love with a few years ago--the green and gold and blue that stretched forever, dotted by red barns and silver silos and fluffy white clouds so close it seemed you could touch them--was less romantic this time around, more worn, yet still just as loved.  Nothing had changed but me.

In Michigan and Illinois, I explored small towns and churches and coffee shops--Ugly Mugs and Cheeky Monkeys and All Chocolate Kitchens--with some of my best friends.  We talked and laughed and my heart healed from all the time in-between our last goodbye and this hello.

The goodbyes came around again, like they always do, and  most of us didn't know when the next time we'd say hello would be.  The last goodbye was to a dear friend after morning Mass, and then I hit the road home.

It was a long road, full of traffic and construction (and a really slow Megabus hogging the left lane for way too long).  But the sun was shining and the trees were swaying and I stopped at Fair Oaks Farm in somewhere, Indiana just because their advertisement "dairy-ed" me.  And then they "double dairy-ed" me.  I can't resist a good play on words, or a latte made with super-fresh whole milk, or cows.

I let the joy and laughter and memories of the weekend follow me home.  I was so thankful for my adventure, and so glad to be back.

I can't help but wonder again at how different it is, those three or four or five years of life at college compared to the rest of our lives. How unfair it all seems that the people we grow and experience so much with suddenly aren't there anymore, at least not as often.  Still, I hold these people in my heart--anyone I have ever loved or have ever come across, I hold them in my heart.

When I went to Mass the day after I came home, and my heart was bursting with thanks for the last few days and for the re-connections it had made, I felt my friends with me, and it's no surprise really.

My household sisters say goodbye with the phrase "I'll see you in the Eucharist."  And it's true.  When we participate in Mass, we participate in the heavenly feast, with all the angels and saints and souls.  When we receive the Body and Blood of Christ, we receive His whole Body.  We are the Body, and so we receive one another.  The love that binds us--Love Itself--is there on the altar, ours for the taking, for the receiving for the giving.  When we receive Communion, we are in communion.

So, though I miss you all, my dear friends, I will see you in the Eucharist.

I Stumbled Upon Grace

It's been a strange week.

I have a lot of ranting and raving I'd like to share here about the usual suspects, i.e. abortion, smart phones, the stupid, childish game they call politics. . .I could go on, but fear not.  I have instead decided to post something positive(!), a blog post I stumbled upon recently.

The post "I Don't Wait Anymore," is from a blog called Grace for the Road.  In it, the writer writes about the purity ring she received when she was sixteen, with the inscription "True Love Waits."  She writes about how this message affected her view (and the views of many young women) of love, of life, of God, of faith.

This is a topic that I am seriously passionate about--not just saving sex for marriage, but letting God be first, front and center, loving Him above all else, and trusting in Him enough to live a full life, instead of sitting around "waiting" for it to begin.  I used to write another blog with that focus, on being single and struggling to live that vocation according to God's will, so I thought it only fitting to share the wealth I found in this post.

Read and share!
http://gracefortheroad.com/2012/02/03/idontwait/

A Mirthday Celebration

Our family has had a tradition of praying the rosary together on Sunday evenings for as long as I can remember.  When we were younger/ unruly teenagers, it usually took quite some time to drag everyone away from our television shows or homework or whatever it was we did on Sunday nights that was so much more important than family time.  Once gathered and calmed down, we knelt in a circle, brought to our knees by Dad's insistence (until we were deemed old enough to not have to kneel but usually did anyway out of guilt) and recited our prayers.

Somehow, something or other would end up making us laugh, sometimes to the point of tears.  Sometimes just one or two of us (almost always me--my brother just had to look at me for me to lose it), sometimes all of us.  Dad was usually the rock and kept praying even if the rest of us were doubled over and unable to breathe.  (As long as Mom laughed with us, we didn't get in trouble.)

Last night, in honor of Our Lady's birthday, my parents and I gathered to pray to our Mother.  We lit a candle in front of the Our Lady of Guadalupe icon in our living room, sang "happy birthday," and began praying.  Mom was racing through the prayers so fast it was funny.  Dad and I asked her to slow down, but instead, she just started laughing.  Then I started laughing.

For the next three out of five decades, Mom and I were too overcome with laughter and tears to pray out loud.  Dad kept chugging along, chuckling every once in awhile at our squeaking.  I tried to join in again for the fourth decade, but somewhere in the middle I lost it again.

You may think we are completely irreverent, or just prone to ridiculously uncontrollable laughter.  You may be right.  But really, this spirit of joy springs from the love that binds us together--the love of God.  Our faith brings us together--sometimes begrudgingly, sometimes sorrowfully, sometimes hilariously.  And for all the grief we give each other, we are connected by blood and in this family for life.  Thank God.

FoCuS

"Happy Labor Day!" they say, and you wonder what that means when you're the one laboring and you're not happy.  
But coffee sparks the soul, gives you energy to turn the frown upside down so that you focus on the happy--
GRATITUDE--noun 1) I have a job.  2) I am able to work.  3) ‎When I get off, I'm going to go home and watch White Christmas and eat delicious pasta and drink peppermint tea--because I can.
Still, so many reasons to complain bubble up and you just want to, but. . .

"Now let me tell you that the will of God is all that is necessary, and what it does not give you is of no use to you at all. My friends, you lack nothing. You would be very ashamed if you knew what the experiences you call setbacks, upheavals, pointless disturbances, and tedious annoyances really are. You would realize that your complaints about them are nothing more nor less than blasphemies--though that never occurs to you. Nothing happens to you except by the will of God, and yet his beloved children curse it because they do not know it for what it is."

-Fr. Jean Pierre de Caussade, Abandonment to Divine Providence

What gets me the most is that these complaints are "nothing more nor less than blasphemies."  Blasphemy, unfaithfulness, lack of trust, ingratitude--all of these separate us from God, turn our focus to the dark un-pleasantries rather than to the greater goodness.

God works in mysterious ways.  I'm beginning to understand that to trust means embracing the mystery in all its seeming injustice.  I, therefore, reaffirm my trust in His Mercy.  All is out of my control and all in His, and so, all is well.

*thanks for the quote, Justine!