My Brother's Keeper

Wind whipped through the abandoned camp, the gaps in the barbed wire fences, the houses that evil built. 

I stepped cautiously along the cobblestone and dirt roads where evil tread, past mounds of hair that evil sheared, piles of tattered shoes that evil stole, prisons where evil sneered, walls riddled with bullet holes where evil killed, ovens where evil burned. 

Evil stirred in the wind that blew through Auschwitz that day, chilling me to my core, taunting me, asking me, "Why did God forsake this place, these people who suffered and cried out for His help? Why did no one save them?"

I remembered words written by a young girl: "In spite of everything, I still believe people are basically good at heart," Anne Frank wrote from her attic prison. Did she change her mind when she reached this place? Evil made sure that the world will never know. 

As I walked out of the ghost camp that October evening, I realized I was changed. I had seen and felt what could not be conveyed in a classroom history lesson.

I wondered how God could possibly let something so terrible happen to so many innocent people. It was easier to trust in God's mercy and love before, but now that I had seen for myself what evil could do, how could I believe?

A faint hope rose in me--at least I could rest in the confidence that we would never allow something like this to go on today. And then as quickly as hope rose, it dwindled: it is going on today. It began in our country in 1973 and continues today--55 million innocent, defenseless human lives destroyed through abortion.

A force greater than the gusty Poland wind suddenly moved in my heart--the cry of God, "The voice of your brother's blood is crying to me from the ground." (Gen. 4:10) The voice of our brothers' blood calls to us from the ground, from the dumpsters where they are carelessly tossed, from the jars that line the walls of an abortionist's office, from the execution rooms, from the battlefields, from a schoolyard in Connecticut.

There is blood everywhere, and we wonder, who is going to clean up this mess? In the film The Passion of the Christ, we watch the Mother of God drop to her hands and knees to clean up her own Son's blood after His scourging. After His death, she holds his bloodied, bruised, broken body and looks at us with haunting eyes as if to say, "See how much He loves you?" More than we can know. He actually did that for us, to cleanse us with His Mercy. He showed us what it means to be His brothers' keeper by showing mercy, by loving unconditionally, and by giving up His life so that we may live. He did this for us and said, "Now do this for others."

Tomorrow hundreds of thousands of people will gather in Washington D.C. to be a voice for the voiceless, to be their brothers' keeper.  The March for Life is quite literally a walk in the park compared to Christ's struggle up to Calvary under the crushing weight of our sins, but it is a step along the Way.  It is a small way of taking a peaceful stand against evil. 

Even though the media ignores us for the most part, and politicians are much more concerned about money these days than the legalized murder of human babies, we march on and will continue to do so as long as the truth is denied.  We will continue to be the voice of our brothers' blood crying out from the ground--the voice of truth.

You will not silence my message;

you will not mock my God;

and you WILL stop killing my generation.

(Pro-life Youth pledge, Rock for Life)

If you, like me, are not able to attend the March for Life this year, please take at least a moment to pray for the souls of our brothers and sisters who will never see the light of day, the Abels of our time.  And pray that the hearts of the people will be open to the truth.

Over the Rainbow

When I was a little girl, I wanted to be Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz.  I had a Toto stuffed animal and a basket for everyday pretending, and a blue dress and red shoes for Halloween.  One year I received a ruby slipper ornament for the Christmas tree, and it remains my favorite.  This year for Christmas, I received these gems:

ruby slipper socks

Where were these when I was five?!  They are quite possibly my favorite thing ever.  I wish I had a pair for every day of the week.

When I slip them on, I feel like a little girl again, and am charmingly reminded, as my mother puts it, "Dorothy ain't shittin'.  There's no place like home."

Sometimes I'd rather be anywhere else than here--not even necessarily over the rainbow, but somewhere that's not this house, not this town, not Ohio.  Yet here I am, watching The Wizard of Oz with my eight year old sister.

Then I remember that this is the little sister I always wanted but never thought I would get.  I was 16 (my other siblings 20, 19, and 12) and pretty sure another sibling was beyond hope.  Then one rainy afternoon on vacation our parents gave us the news.

As we realized they weren't joking, the sun mixed with the rain and painted a rainbow over the mountains behind our cabin.  I was sure it was a sign from God, and it struck me with wonder--some dreams really do come true.

puffin along

*I take no credit for this photo, but I had to share it.  Thanks to Nick for sharing it with me.*

When I was a teenager I read a book called Scribbler of Dreams by Mary E. Pearson.  It is a modern retake on Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet without the tragic ending and with a slightly more substantial love story combined with a well-developed life lesson.

The tale is twisted in a web of seemingly harmless lies that we find stems back to huge lies in the family past of the two protagonists.  The teen lovebirds are distantly related (not enough to produce extra toes on any children they may have in the future), and Kait (our Juliet) discovers a dark family secret--the true cause for feuding among the families.

What I love most about this book is, well, the title, but also the way Kait comes to learn and truly understand both sides of the story.  Her blind hatred becomes a humbling recognition that each person involved (including herself) contributed fault, but all were unwilling to admit it and unwilling to forgive.

In the words of Cardinal Dolan, she essentially learns this:

But the answer to the question "What's wrong with the world?" is not politics, the economy, secularism, pollution, global warming. . .no.  As Chesterton wrote, "The answer to the question 'What's wrong with the world?' is two words:  I am."

I am! Admitting that leads to conversion of heart and repentance, the core of the Gospel invitation. 

That happens in the sacrament of Penance.  This is the sacrament of Evangelization.

I believe those words.  Things like rape and human trafficking and abortion really get me fuming about the state of humanity, but if I'm honest, I know I contribute to the problem.  By not living consistently in a way that affirms the value and dignity of every person I meet (and in so many other ways), I am what's wrong with the world.  But I also believe in grace and mercy, that Christ makes up for all I lack, and that gives me hope.

I also like to think of myself as a scribbler of dreams.  I am a writer, a scribbler, full of hopes and ideals, but with little idea how to truly live the dream.  Still, I will hold on to hope and keep puffin' along.

The Unexpected Year

I brought in the new year in denial.

For one, I was in denial that, despite all of my precautions of carrying Lysol wipes in my purse, washing my hands ten times more than usual, and taking exorbitant amounts of vitamin C, I was getting sick anyway.  Combined with the fact that I had to be up for work at 4:30 am New Years Day, I wasn't the happiest new year camper.

To be honest though, I didn't expect us to make it this far--I was in denial that 2013 was even happening.  I mean, I didn't exactly believe the world was going to end, but I don't know--I guess 12/21/12 was just too anti-climactic.  With all the joking and talking about what might happen, I kind of began to hope that something, something, might happen that would relieve me of the problem of growing up and making real life decisions.

But here we are.

The first few days of the year were a little blurry for me, buried in tissues and Nyquil and cough drops, but now that I'm thinking about it, I don't have any real resolutions.  I have the usual--eat healthier, exercise more, write more, find my dream job--but honestly, I don't have any real expectations for this year.  Not in that pessimistic if-you-have-no-expectations-then-you'll-never-be-disappointed way, but in an I'm-prepared-to-be-surprised way.

For the last few months of 2012, I felt like I was working working working and wasn't making any progress in practically every aspect of my life.  Physically, mentally, spiritually I had expectations and I knew that something had to give, but nothing budged.  I realized then that everything was spinning wildly out of my control, and I could do nothing to change it.  All I could change was my attitude.

It's been humbling, and there are days when everything in me fights against it, but I keep telling myself it's all part of the plan.  Every so often there's a moment of grace--a lost friend come home, a lesson in suffering, a new baby, a word of encouragement, a sample from the bakery--and I am reminded that yes, these coffee grounds covering the front of my shirt and sticking underneath my fingernails are all I can give to God, but I can give them with love (or die trying).  

So I'm done trying to control everything.  This year, I give God full reign.  He knows what's best, and I trust Him.  I'm learning to let that be enough.

A Baby for Christmas

The day before the world was supposed to end, I watched life enter into it.

It was the birth of my nephew, and though my mom and sister thought for sure I'd be completely grossed out and scarred for life, I was in awe rather than disgust.

Life in its humble beginnings isn't exactly pretty--no sunshine and butterflies.  It's gory and painful, but it's how we all come into the world.  Our lives begin quietly and in secret, but we enter the world wailing and bloody.

When God sent His Son to walk among us, He didn't miss a beat.  Christ entered fully into the human experience.  When He entered the world, it wasn't even in a clean hospital with doctors, nurses and specialists around monitoring His heartbeat.  (Can you imagine Jesus' heart being monitored?  I think the machine would explode.)  He was in a stable with smelly animals and their poo.

I was thinking about all this as I cuddled my nephew close on Christmas morning.  The floor in the living room around the Christmas tree was littered with gifts and wrapping paper. The baby, just recently changed and fed, slept through it all.  He didn't care about the adorable tuxedo onesie I got for him.  He was just content to be warm, dry, and fed.

And I wondered about all the people who weren't those things on Christmas morning.  Jesus came for them, not for the pile of presents under our tree.  We always say, "It's Jesus' birthday, not ours, so we should just be thankful for what we have."  But we still give each other presents, stuff we don't need.  And what do we give Jesus?  An hour of church time?  No, that's what He gives us--Himself in the Eucharist, made possible by the Incarnation.

"To whom much is given much is expected." (Luke 12:48)  That verse haunts me.  It rattles the walls of my conviction and makes me dig deeper and wonder how firmly I really believe.  Because if I really believed it--in God's love and mercy and goodness--it shouldn't scare me at all.

I found these videos on Ann Voskamp's blog (author of One Thousand Gifts).  You're welcome.
 

Jesus wept.

My English advisor and professor asked us once what the most powerful passage in the Gospel is.  I racked my brain wondering if it was a trick question--wouldn't it be different for everyone, depending on each person's perspective?  But she told us, "Jesus wept."  Two simple words, a noun and a verb, three syllables, and they express the depth of the mystery.

Jesus, the Word of God incarnate in the flesh, became man.  Fully human, and also fully divine.  I know that I tend to take on the attitude that because Jesus is also God, He had a somewhat easy pass through life.  Sure, the Passion of His death and resurrection was pretty brutal, but again, He's God.  He can do anything!  And He has a superhuman strength with which to do it--right?  Wrong.  He has the same strength and emotions as the rest of us.

When His friend died, and even when He knew that in a few moments He would raise his friend from the dead for the greater glory of God, He wept.

The mystery of the Incarnation is expressed in these two words.  That God Himself suffered loss, experienced the pain of losing a loved one and, even with great faith that all was for God's glory, He wept.

We watch the news and weep and know that God weeps with us.  But we can trust that He receives those children in His merciful love with open arms, just as He embraces the world from the cross.

Eat the Mystery

When we find ourselves groping along, famished for more, we can choose.  When we are despairing, we can choose to live as Israelites gathering manna.  For forty long years, God's people daily eat manna--a substance whose name literally means "What is it?"  Hungry, they choose to gather up that which is baffling.  They fill on that which has no meaning.  More than 14,600 days they take their daily nourishment from that which they don't comprehend.  They find soul-filling in the inexplicable.

 They eat the mystery.   ~One Thousand Gifts, Ann Voskamp

We are wandering like the Israelites in the desert of faith on our journey to the Promised Land.  We have the choice to continue following the path of love to Truth, to continue participating in the Mass and eating the mystery that is the Eucharist, and letting that be enough for now.

I know that for those of us who have recently graduated from college in this economy, mystery is often the only answer we know.  It can be frustrating while we strive to figure out where to go, what to do next--unless we embrace the mystery that is this life, eat this mystery, and savor it.  Savor the bitterness that comes with the sugar and spice, because it is all part of the gift.