Enough

Everyone keeps asking if I'm ready for Christmas.

I think most people who ask that question are referring to Christmas shopping--have I gotten my shopping done?   Yes, because I didn't really do gifts this year.  It's not that I didn't want to give gifts--I generally enjoy giving them much more than receiving them.  It's that I can't really afford it this year, so I'm making Christmas breakfast for the fam instead.

When I get this question though, I hear--are you ready for this retail nightmare to end?  The answer to that is YES.  I look forward to spending 24 hours with my family and not having to worry that I'll get a call from work.  I am SO ready for that.

The real question though should be--am I ready for Christ?  I wonder if I've done enough this Advent to prepare for the coming of Jesus.  My holy hours were limited, my prayers barely formed, my Advent reading only a third finished, so it would seem that I haven't done nearly enough to prepare.  But when I think about the infant Jesus coming to save me from my sins, coming to love the lonely, to comfort the suffering--I know that my tired eyes and weary bones and exhausted spirit are more than ready to kneel beside the manger and welcome Jesus.

It's because I have nothing left to give--no gifts, no more effort to put into my work, nothing but my weak and weary self.  And the really humbling thing is that that is enough.  That is all He wants.  For me, for you, for the impatient and frantic last-minute customers, for us all to come to Him.  He is the Gift, and He wants to give Himself to us.

It's an awe-inspiring and humbling love.  Come, let us adore Him!

Merry Christmas!

The Girl on Fire

I have a love/hate relationship with The Hunger Games.  I never read the books, but I saw the first film (for my original thoughts on it, check out my post Two Movies).  I was appalled, but intrigued.  I wasn't planning on going to see the sequel, but I knew that it would probably happen.  Yes, this past Saturday the intrigue won out, and I decided to go see the sequel Catching Fire with my sister and brother-in-law.

Most of the movie, I was chewing on my sweatshirt strings whispering "No, no don't do it. . . This is awful." It's a roller coaster of emotions, supported by incredible acting and a spot-on soundtrack, but then it just ended, leaving us in intense anticipation of the next movie.  As we left the theater all I could say was that it was awful.  

But something about it was good.  I couldn't find the words to express my conflicting emotions at the time, but I have found them now.  [Caution, there may be spoilers to follow!]

These stories are unnecessarily violent and brutal, but the violence isn't glorified.  In the beginning of the film, the "winners" of the previous Hunger Games travel to each of the districts and face the families of the youth who died so that the "winners" could live.  We see the pain on the families' faces, on the survivors' faces.  We hear the remorse in their voices.

Rebellion begins to break out--this senseless killing of children has gone on too long and the people have found the hope to fight against it.  The hope comes from the example of winner Katniss Everdeen (I really hate that name).  Her courage in the face of fear, her sacrifice and love amid the cruelty proves that there is still goodness in humanity.

In a dystopian society of a people afraid who are ruled by phonies, she steps up as a woman who is true to herself.  In a world of imbalance sputtering along in lukewarm fear and inaction, Katniss defies tyranny and fear.  She is her self-sacrificing self, not the fearsome monster the Capitol wants her to be.  She stays true to herself and her family, and her example of simple defiance against the tyranny sparks a movement among the people to make a change and break free from the chains that bind them.  As St. Catherine of Siena said, "If you are what you should be, you will set the world ablaze."  That is exactly what Katniss, the "Girl on Fire," does.

The film was very well done.  The acting was in many cases phenomenal (I'm thinking Jennifer Lawrence, Jena Malone, Josh Hutcherson, Elizabeth Banks, Donald Sutherland, and Stanley Tucci to name a few of my favorites).  The character development that was lacking in the first film came to be in the second.  The love triangle between Katniss, Peeta (an equally awful name that reminds me of chips--or People Eating Tasty Animals--that belongs to the man who saved her life), and Gale (her childhood hunting partner) becomes deeper and more tangled.  

We see the characters all beginning to realize that their time could be up at any minute, and we see them come to the decision to use their time to fight for what is right, even though it will probably cost them their lives.

So yes, I got sucked into the story and the characters and I love them.  But there's still the violence and the unbelievable setting and I hate them.

Still, at the center is the story of a girl who struggles to be counter-cultural, to break the mold of what high society and politicians believe she should be.  As a young Catholic woman in 21st century America, I can relate to that.  I don't want Katniss's name, but I would take her spirit and courage any day.

Divine Romance

I love Jesus, but I don't always act like it.  No that's not true.  I usually act like it, but I rarely live it like I mean it.

In every moment I am faced with the choice to embrace or deny Him.  Unfortunately, I don't usually think about how the many little decisions I make each day will make Him feel, but how they will make me feel. It's so easy to deny Him, but loving Him hurts and requires more than merely going through the motions.

We are called to see Christ in others, but it's hard.  It's hard to see Christ in someone who hurts us or our pride.  It's hard to see Christ in someone who is being irrational or high maintenance.  It's hard to see Christ in a spoiled brat or in your crazy, dysfunctional family.

I find that when I've ignored Christ in these people for too long, I eventually find myself out of excuses and on my knees in tears, all those ways I failed to love staring me in the face in the form of cuts and bruises and open, bleeding wounds on the cross.

It's hard to see Christ in others, but it's harder still to see what my sins have done to our Savior.  It's hard to get angry about slow drivers when I'm looking at the Cross.  It's hard to justify my lifestyle when I read about starving children in Africa.

Just above all those wounds that I've inflicted, though, I see the face of Christ.  My tears wash a drop of blood off his feet, and He is consoled.  I am consoled.  We are not alone.

It's only when we embrace the Cross and all that comes with it--the pain, the heartache, the humiliation, the loneliness--that we are able to find that sliver of grace that allows us to smile patiently at the person annoying us, or to accept the humbling knowledge that we are the ones in the wrong.  This grace is what opens our heart to true love--love for Christ and love for others.

I wish I was better at remembering that throughout my days.  I wish I could look at every person I encounter and see Christ, but I usually only see myself.  I wish I could live life as it is with a heart full of love and mercy, and not try to make it something it's not.

Whenever I find that I've strayed far from my Love, when I feel the weight of my sins as they catch up to me, when I fall to my knees trying to wade through the mess I've made, I remember how I fell in love with Jesus.  I remember how He held me, how He picked up the pieces of my broken heart and slowly mended them back together.  I remember how He is always faithful, that no matter how many times I fall, whenever I look up, I still see His loving face.

I remember this divine romance, how He lured me away from the darkness and into the light.  I remember that it's as true today as it was when this romance first began.  Some days I don't feel it, but I always know it.

I don't really know what the point of this post is, except that it's a reminder for me to make my religion "less of a theory and more a love affair" (G.K. Chesterton).  It's less about living by strict rules and guidelines of what's right and wrong, and more about living with an open heart full of love and mercy.

Because that's what I've learned--growing in faith requires letting yourself fall in love with God, and Him with you.  It's a good thing to remember as we get closer to Christmas.  The holidays aren't about the things we get each other, the fun and crazy parties, the decorations, or the crazy-good shopping deals.  The holidays are about a baby, a baby whose Mother opened her heart completely to God and He filled her womb with His Life.  I can only imagine how desperately in love the mother of God was when she first held the Savior in her arms.  To have grown the Son of God within her, to look upon his face--there could be no greater beauty, no truer love.

This divine romance is one we are all called to, to embrace Christ in every moment of our lives, to allow Him to grow within us and consume us.  I aspire.

You Need This In Your Life: These Beautiful Bones

I was sitting outside a bar on a Friday afternoon when I saw this book trailer and my heart did a little dance:

My boyfriend and I had only recently decided that the time and financial commitment to drive an hour to and from a two hour Theology of the Body class 16 weeks in a row was just too much for us right now.  It was a difficult decision, because I had been looking forward to Into the Heart for a long time, but we just couldn't swing it.  Certain that another more feasible opportunity to take the class would come up in time, I determined to at least find a good Theology of the Body book that I could read and reflect on in the meantime--and here one was, not only dealing with human sexuality, but exploring every aspect of life:  These Beautiful Bones:  An Everyday Theology of the Body by Emily Stimpson.  

This beautiful work is broken down into easy to digest chapters, beginning with an overview of Theology of the Body, then exploring topics such as work, manners, fashion, food, technology, and prayer.  Stimpson presents her deep insight as practical advice combined with research, humor, and personal experience.  Each chapter is also followed by a mini-essay on a special topic relative to the subject.

Easy and delightful to read, she presents an everyday theology of the body that will resound with readers.  I found myself delighted when Stimpson pointed out something I've been thinking for a long time that I couldn't put into words or the big picture, and challenged when she revealed the deeper meaning of something that I wrote off as wholly unimportant.

Stimpson reveals to readers the big picture of how modernism has transformed our culture and affected the way we see ourselves and each other.  She follows with explanations of how what we do with our bodies affects our souls, and simple advice on how to live richer, fuller lives.  She reminds us who we are, and how to be our best selves, that this life isn't all about us, but about communion too.

I would like to break down the book a little bit and go over some highlights here, but I know that if I started I wouldn't be able to stop.  You can be sure that I will bring it up in future posts too, so I'll leave you with the insistence that you should read These Beautiful Bones.  Whether or not you care about theology of the body or Catholicism, you will find that it's 100% worth reading.

Fall in Love

I am that girl.

I didn't always love fall.  In fact, I used to hate it.  It was that gray, rainy season full of muddy walks to school and wet, slimy leaves sticking to my shoes. It was brown, and it required raking, which required being outside--I used to hate being outside.  Worst of all, fall held nothing to look forward to except colder and colder mornings and cars covered in frost and ice.  So much ice.

When I was a sophomore in college, everything changed.

It wasn't because I discovered pumpkin spice lattes, or cardigans, or scarves.  And I definitely hadn't gotten excited about the impending death of everything in nature.  No, it had been a combination of graces that led me to change my mind about the season one day.

It had been a mild fall, so the day wasn't terribly chilly.  Dark clouds had begun to roll in to contrast the morning sunshine.  A great breeze picked up and it was as if the sun-kissed trees were waving me on.  I felt the Spirit moving around me and I breathed deeply, and I knew that I love fall.

That semester had followed a dark, depressing summer for me.  I was struggling to adjust back to life at school, to become more financially independent, and to make new friends (some of my best friends from my freshman year were studying in Austria for the semester).  

One Monday night, I wanted desperately to just sit in my dorm room and feel sorry for myself, but some friends invited me to go bowling with a big group of people.  At first I declined.  I'm awkward around people I don't know well, and in my emotional state, I wasn't sure I'd be able to choke up the energy.

As I sat in my room I realized that I had a choice.  I didn't have to let my depression weigh me down.  I could stay there and sink further into my depression, or I could get up and go and maybe have a good time.  Besides, if I went and it was awful, I never had to go again.  Suddenly, there was a strength inside of me (the Holy Spirit, I'm sure), determinedly pushing me to my feet.  I would not let the depression win!

I had no idea that the people I would meet that night would change me forever. It became a weekly tradition--Monday night bowling followed by either Tim Horton's or Taco Bell and/or a movie at someone's house or a random dance party in a parking lot on campus.  We would always meet in the cafeteria for lunch and dinner, taking over two long tables with our laughter and conversation, sitting for hours in that gross building because we were having such a good time.  We were an eclectic group, but for the first time in my life, I felt like I had found friends with whom I really belonged.  I'd had good friends growing up, but never one solid group with similar beliefs and interests.  These people became like a family to me.  Through them, the Lord pulled me out of my depression and showed me who I am--a loved young woman.

That fall, I learned agape.

What followed was the opening of my heart to the Lord.  I gave Him everything, and the next year was the best of my life.  It was challenging and full and colorful and I thought I fell in love so many times but it was really just once--one long plunge into the ocean of Mercy.  At times it was dark and painful and sometimes so lonely I couldn't breathe, but my tears of sorrow always became tears of thanksgiving.

The following fall I was in Austria, where I fell head over heals in love with Jesus and His Mother--I heard God better in Europe for some reason.  Maybe because I lived here:

Yeah, that definitely helped.  It helped me get through the coming year of uncertainties and separation and certainties and alienation.  More pain followed me through the year and pressed on more intensely in the fall of my senior year, and in the pain I discovered real strength--reliance on God.

Strength isn't independence.  It's dependence on God.  That's a lesson I still learn every day.  It's a lesson I finally put into practice two falls later when my heart was lonely, but I placed my trust in God and His perfect timing.  The next week a young man bought me dinner, and we fell in love.  The next fall, our love only grew stronger.

And this year I hear so many people complain about fall and how it's so cold and rainy and gross and everything dies and winter is coming and that means snow and ice and cold.

And all I have to say about that is NOT "pumpkin spice latte pumpkin spice latte pumpkin spice latte" but agape. 

Agape.  The love God has for us.  The love we have for God.  The love we have for one another.  The love. There is so much love in the club!

It's what I think about when I think about fall.  It's what I remember when I wake up at 4:30 and suddenly it's 7 am and the sun still isn't shining.  I think about evenings in the cafeteria and the smokey bowling alley with the people who changed my life forever.  I think of the place of incredible beauty, the place of terrible pain, the place of love lost and love found, the place of death turned new life.

This love is available to all of us, all the time, and we have a choice--to love or to hate, to let ourselves be loved or to let our lives weigh us down, to hide from the world or face the rain with a smile and a heart full of gratitude.

Fall may be the season when everything dies, but life always goes on and starts anew.  And through all the ups and downs, we get by with a little help from our friends.

Thank You, God, for mine.

Love Good Music

I've been searching for some new good music lately, so I signed up to be a patron of Mysterium Records' Love Good Music community.  For only $10 a month, I get a CD and the inner satisfaction of knowing that I am supporting amazing artists as they "explore the mysterious intersection of art and faith in modern culture."  (Obviously, you can give more than $10 a month--if you do, you will also receive more CDs each month. . .just check the links above for more info!)

Much to my delighted surprise, this past month the CD was Army of Me's new album Searching for You.  I first discovered Army of Me a few years ago with the 5-song EP Make Yourself Naked.  I fell in love with the sound and the lyrics influenced by John Paul II's Theology of the Body.  It is deeply spiritual without sounding like it. . .if that makes sense.  In any case, it's been about two weeks now since I received Searching for You, and I haven't been able to stop listening to it.

On this album, Vince Scheuerman's voice carries his sweetly poetic and deeply meaningful lyrics across the waves of his music.  The album has heart and soul and is the perfect soundtrack for anyone searching or thirsting.

 There's just something about it all--the way the lyrics blend so perfectly in the search for light, love, and healing in this often dark world, the way the music tugs at that part of your soul thirsting and longing for more than what this world has to offer, the way you know that it all means more than you can grasp on one listen so you just keep listening, and searching. . .

Open Fire

He builds a fire like the boy scout he is--

newspapers, matches, planks of wood

that turn flames green and blue and purple.

The light autumn breeze blows

smoke in the face

but we are fine:

content.

He busts out a cast iron pan to make us a snack,

drops popcorn seeds in,

covers it with foil and we wait.  

The butter catches on fire,

and we watch the sad popcorn burn,

then try again

a different way.

It's edible this time, so we eat

content.

Sirens wail and we wonder if the drunk kids on campus are at it again.

The sirens don't fade into the distance;

they come closer.

The sirens wail for us.

The firemen come around back, 

say they got a call that a fence was on fire,

but they see that all is contained.

"What are you cooking?" one asks.

"It was a sad, half-ass attempt at popcorn."

"Glad to hear it.

You're not allowed to have an open fire in Dayton 

unless it's for cooking.  

Always make sure you've got some marshmallows handy in case we show up."

He winks, they leave, we laugh:

is that true or was he just saying that because he wants toasted marshmallows?

Redeeming Love

It was a scene in Jesus of Nazareth that struck me to the core: when the sinful woman came and washed the feet of Jesus with expensive ointment and her tears.  That woman was me.  That was me on the chapel floor letting my tears fall at the foot of the cross because I am unworthy.

And yet, I am loved.

I am loved to an unimaginable degree.  Loved beyond comprehension.  Though I stumble, though I sin again and again, I am loved.  We all are.

It is a redeeming love that pursues each of us.  A knocking at our hearts to be opened.

Jesus came for the sinners, not the righteous.  To the would-be killers of the adulteress he says,"Let he who is sinless cast the first stone."

 

No stones were thrown that day.  Why?  Because no one is perfect.  We are full of weaknesses, struggles, fears.  We make mistakes and bad decisions. Therefore, Jesus came for all of us.  He died for all of us.  As he hung on the cross, in the last breaths before his death, he forgave all of us.  By his blood, we are forgiven, and redeemed, no matter how grave our sins.

I've learned that this redemption is not exactly passive on our end.  God has done all the work, yes, but it comes down to a movement of the will to believe.  Often this is the hardest part--getting over ourselves enough to be humbled to the point of of accepting that we need Him.

Sometimes we believe that we are righteous enough, that our sins are not so great that we really need him.  I really am a good person, and that's enough.  It's not enough.  Heaven isn't earned--it is desired with the whole will, with all heart and soul.  You have to really want it.

When we want it, we find ourselves confessing our sins regularly.  I find that I confess the same sins over and over, and Jesus says "Go and sin no more," and I wonder how that's possible.  I wonder if I've really even been set free.  If I were truly set free, wouldn't I be able to stop doing the same stupid things?  Why can't I make it out of the church parking lot before sinning again?

"Forgiveness is only real for those who have discovered the weakness of their friends and the sins of their enemies in their own hearts, and are willing to call each human being their sister and brother." (Henri J. M. Nouwen)

I'll be honest--I'm generally not willing to call the angry, hateful customer my brother.  I'm not willing to call the obnoxious woman in line in front of me my sister.  I'm not willing to acknowledge that I have neglected to use my turn signal before too.  I'm not willing to let other people have their bad days.  I am not willing to forgive, but I expect to be forgiven.

"To be a Christian means to forgive the inexcusable because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you." (C.S. Lewis)

It all comes down to a movement of the will to believe.  And maybe the truth is that I don't want to believe.  Maybe there's a part of me resisting, because I know that to go and sin no more is going to be extremely painful--the death of my pride and my self.  Maybe I believe the fact that I am forgiven just as much as I believe the fact that I will sin again.  That is where the problem lies--when I focus too much on my own faults (or even too much on the faults of others), and weaknesses, and sins, and not nearly enough on Jesus.

His grace is enough.

He does not condemn us.  Neither should we condemn each other, or judge each other, or even criticize each other.  We need to try to understand each other, because "To understand all is to forgive all."  (Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited) 

I believe that this is key to learning how to love our neighbors as Christ loves us.  To try to understand where they are coming from, and to meet them where they are at is what we are called to do.  It's what Jesus does for us.  It requires patience, and the constant swallowing of our pride, and often we fail, but that's what confession is for--to receive that kiss from Jesus on the forehead, to hear him say, "Neither do I condemn you.  Go and sin no more."

I aspire.

And I'm finding that the best way to do all of this, is to come to know Jesus better, through the gospels, the sacraments, the liturgy, prayer.  The more I seek him, the more I find him.  He's often in the most unlikely places, but he's always there, waiting with open arms for us to come to him.

I want to believe, Lord; help my unbelief!

The Fountain Pen and the Crayon (part two)

Continued from The Fountain Pen and the Crayon (part one) by guest writer Nick Scott.  I hope you enjoy this concluding piece to our adventures in Baltimore as much as I did!

Ah the open road. . .anything can happen on a road trip. Everything is fresh, new, and filled with excitement around every turn. I have always found driving to be a passive form of amnesia. Forget where you’re going, forget where you've been. Allow the wind to whistle through open windows, let the sun shine from above and fill the cabin with music. Days like this are meant for cruising and not blind speed. 

Dear God, this is a beautiful country!

Climbing up the mountains through the clouds, we pass a scenic overlook where all we see is fog. On a sketchy road through uncivilization we seek food and fuel but only find fog.  Then the clouds break and the sun shines and suddenly we are surrounded by water—a mountain lake shimmering deep blue diamonds beneath green slopes, and boats--lots of boats. This then becomes the highlight of our drive--such an oasis of beauty could not be found on the turn pike or toll road.

Our arrival in Baltimore was without trumpetis convocation.  You see, Baltimore isn't really a roll-out-the-red-carpet kind of town. It’s more smile-and-compliment-as-you’re-stabbed-in-the-side--“Charm City” it’s called. Still though, we were together and not in Ohio for a full weekend.

Back home, my Fridays are usually spent at the corner seat of a finely established Irish bar in Dayton, Ohio. Myself, a man named Jackson, Shamu (like the famous orca whale), Rob, Whitey, our benevolent host Mr. Flanagan, and occasionally countless others all seem to cross paths on Friday afternoons. We discuss life, fullfillingly meaningless things, topics of good nature, and just enjoy the breaks from the ordinary before the avalanche of the weekend crashes down upon our heads.  Occasionally Jackie will receive a pass from the purgatory of her day job and swing in wildly like Quasimodo yelling "Sanctuary!" (*editor's note:  this is only a slight exaggeration. . .) cornering up for a Guinness with the rest of us.  Given that Friday was our only semi-full day together in Baltimore, we felt compelled to carry on our Dayton routine to settle our souls before the wedding festivities began.  I had heard from the man named after a famous whale of a place in Fells Point in Baltimore called Leadbetter's.  Since you should always follow the orders of men named after famous whales, we went off in search.  

Fells Point  is an oasis from the grime of the city. I imagine that since it is filled with countless bars, restaurants, and old television landmarks, it is populated by a decent kind of people, the kind who don’t stab you in the side, but rather smile and just steal your wallet. We walked along the water's edge enjoying each other’s company as we searched for our original destination and the purpose for our adventure to Never Never Again Land.  We found the hole in the wall called Leadbetter's only to discover that on a holiday Indy race weekend in a major metropolitan city a bar didn't open until 4pm. What manner of hysterical nonsense is this? I see the people on the loose in search of food and beverage and this place offered none. We were desperate now, our plans thwarted, time was short and we needed to act quickly to salvage our day. Back-tracking toward the car we noticed a place called Slainte on the horizon. It seemed yuppie-Irish but for sure they would have another culture's good food. We popped in, settled up to a table, and placed our order.

I must be honest, as I don’t even remember what we said or if either of us spoke. I felt we were the silence in a storm; people flying by in all directions surrounded us.  Our thoughts were on the day to come, and, distracted, I left my wallet on a bench by the water.  I realized when we had returned a half hour later to the hotel.  Sure that someone would have taken it by now, but hoping for the off-chance that it was still there, we made the thirty minute drive back to the water.  Much stress and prayer later, the wallet was found exactly as I left it.  In the 8th most dangerous city to live in, my wallet sat safe on a bench in public for over an hour--a Baltimore Miracle!  But now we were late for the rehearsal. . .

Racing downtown we were dressed to our best ready to stand in support for these two preparing for their day of celebration. I was semi-instructed to put my normal nonsense aside. We would from this point on direct our focus toward the one we would soon call Krevin. Intrigue is my only feeling this wedding eve. When it's close family or a couple you know well getting married, you understand what’s happening and in many ways it can almost be boring and uneventful. Not the joining of two as one, but the motions of the days leading up to the big day. This was different, strange being a wallflower at this lovely occasion. It was clear from my view that this evening and the next day would wrap around these two like a thick cocoon and fill them with God, love and excitement.

Is there a more beautiful setting for two people to join hands than a well sorted old church? It’s like having the home court advantage, it has to help the occasion even if only slightly. Friends and family are gathered, music is playing and it’s almost time. I must point out however that I fear some who were in attendance might focus on the heat of this sweltering August day. Was it actually heat? Or was it something greater, far beyond our understanding? I was there and I felt something else:  love. This same wedding between these two people in the middle of winter would have felt the same. I truly felt like God was warming each of our souls in attempt to share the feelings these two had for each other. 

The parties have assembled and the music has heightened--it’s time. At that moment, whatever anyone felt about the thought of “heat” was gone. Stricken instantly from the conscious mind all our focus was on the celebration. Music filled the air accompanying a liturgy that felt like a floral breeze. We should all be thankful to have savored this brief moment in time. I’m a man of top tens and this one was up there.

Ah wedding receptions, a reason for guests to be appropriately drunk. Just a short trip downstairs and we as guests were treated to what could have passed for a hidden Tuscan hideaway. Lights circled the space with laughter and smiles filling the air. A unique calm settled over those of us in attendance and we were treated to tales of each half of Krevin past. We sat, chatted, and enjoyed the most delicious dinner one could ever have. I mean that in all sincerity. Our meal felt homemade and that is something special. A homemade meal is like a lighthouse on a shoreline, it will always lead you home. I believe strongly in the power of a meal, the combination of family and friends around a table creates an impenetrable force. It reminds us of what is really important, and will always warm the soul.

I should emphasize one thing about this entire tale of nonsense, fountain pens, and drunken crayons.  It's not the sights or sounds that any of us will remember, not the words that were spoken or the delicious food we ate.  What each of us will remember is how these two made us feel.  For a few special days in August, two people were kind enough to share their love for each other with their closest friends and family.  To Krevin I say, may your days be filled with smooth seas and calm breezes.

The Fountain Pen and the Crayon (part one)

"Sometimes I use a fountain pen, other times I'm a drunk three year old with a crayon." So says Nick Scott about his writing.  The following is the first part of a series of creative nonfiction guest posts he's been working on to describe our latest adventures.  His creative prose weaves a descriptive story of our excursion to German Fest and preparation for my brother's wedding in Baltimore with a social commentary based on our everyday ponderings of the American Dream.   It began as Fear and Loathing in Baltimore, inspired by Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by his favorite author Hunter S. Thompson.  Editing was my job, and I loathed it, because it was all so good, but for the sake of brevity, I kept only the main points.   Enjoy! 

        The air is positive this day, strong and willful. Surrounded by an unflappable presence we are guarded. Strange how those around us don’t seem to notice. No time for this strong presence to be wasted on the herds. We are absorbing all greatness and through glory we would prevail.

       We can be found sitting full and fat, a glutinous mood we are enjoying. People talking, children running--are they finding enjoyment in the finer things in life, or blocking out the darkness for a quick glimpse of happiness? We are here for purpose: this is a day of exploration. Together we are finding our balance of love and togetherness. These are pigs free on a weekend pass. Slaughterhouse Monday can be spotted on the horizon and soon they’d all be butchered, sold off for another week of blood letting in corporate America.

     Gentle horn-blowing of oom-pah music rounds out the senses as we sit strong like pillars of society enjoying the fruits of Bavarian flavor. Wondrous feelings of longing and intoxication on this sunny afternoon. An effervescence of flavors sight and smell consume the conscious mind. Who has created this unique layer of festive flavor this cross between beer, almonds, sunshine, happiness and love? Our discussion swings wildly between love, displeasure in our work, and upcoming wedding travel but it's clear love is the root of the grand tree that is growing strong. We stand tall meeting the sun with our faces and march toward another location.  How will we survive this unfortunate circus? Where is the love and the longing? Is it there or here, we shall see where this journey leads and wonder how it will end.

    On the journey we often find ourselves fighting against Corporate America--where is the American dream? What has come of possibility? Today’s future is ripe with uncertainty and hopeless doubt. Many of us are told to chase that collegiate immortality and then when complete we stand before an elderly robe handing us a certificate of completion. Go forth and forge a prosperous path through a labyrinth of bottomless debt. Some manage to tackle this tower head on and come out the other side with the appearance of being unscathed. Prices will be paid with bits of the soul if not careful to maintain a sense of purpose and humanity whilst forging ones path. We see this everyday as the good or former good rise and fall with the changes of season.  Finding balance between want and need, desperation in the mind and desire in the heart I see as the ultimate challenge to survive in this new world. . . We don’t know what tomorrow will bring but we will through faith and love walk on. . .

      Our destination was Baltimore for a wedding, a joining of two souls into one. What frivolous family frolicking fun we will have. I have never attended many out of town weddings, but I understand the trauma that can befall anyone involved with an at-home wedding. I fear then that these emotions can increase rapidly the further from home one travels. My only real worry was our sanity. A human mind is a powerfully fragile thing and we were already under an increasing emotional strain. In order to protect ourselves we would need a mountain of prayer and strong defense mechanism to fall back on. Prayer is an easy and effective way of settling ones mind. It keeps us from becoming too over whelmed. Yet when suffering under the strain of what would undoubtedly be a wild family trip, sometimes the simplest defense mechanism is childish narcotics:  we had 2 pounds of gummy bears, four bars of imported chocolate, bags upon bags of mini bags of chips, and gallons of sugary sweet tasty beverages. Would more be necessary? Perhaps not but during long trips its best not to take any chances when dealing with matters of the mind.

     Route planning is important for any trip. An appropriate discretion of time must be allotted for each variable within the journey. When to leave, which direction to take, where to eat, and when to rest. Avoiding the uncommon (communist’s) states would be a priority for safe travel. I once got food poisoning from a Pizza Hut in lower Tennessee. I was discovered by friends lying near a water runoff from a nuclear power plant. Absurdity of this level would not be tolerated, and I knew it.

   We were set then--5 am Thursday morning we would depart Dayton bound for the disaster of Columbus, Ohio and The Ohio State University. Our passengers would be the best man and his keeper, Jan and Den, I call them. Our plan was to arrive early load up and be gone before the corporate zombies had time to endanger our lives by being late for work. If all goes to plan we will be out of Ohio before 10:30 am.

to be continued. . .

Two Movies

There's been a lot going on with not much time left to write here.  No worries--there will be a spectacular guest post here on our return from Baltimore.  Get excited.

For now, all I have to offer are some random nagging thoughts and observations on two unrelated movies I recently watched. . .

I watched The Hunger Games once, and then again with my parents.  Dad, who appeared to be engrossed in it, later said, "That was the stupidest movie I ever saw."  Mom asked, "Where is the entertainment value?"  I didn't have an answer, since Hollywood destroys the value in just about everything it produces these days.  I could tell from watching the movie that the book was probably better at conveying a believable setting, but still, the violence seemed over the top and unnecessary.

The whole movie is a roller coaster of emotions, as we watch the poor and powerless in society forced to sacrifice their children to a "game" where the young will fight to the death for survival (on TV--this is a TV show in their world).  There can only be one winner.  It's gruesome and violent, and so horribly difficult to watch at times, but then occasionally something good happens to redeem it, to intrigue you to keep watching.

Some characters fight only to survive, others fight to win. We see humanity in its ugliest, cruelest state.  We are dragged into the desperation of persecution in a mess of ugly, senseless violence.  In a way, it touches the human center of us all that needs to find hope in suffering.  There must be something good that comes out of this.  There is a glimmer of hope, then Hollywood ties it up in a cheap bow and baits us on for the sequel, but we are left somewhat wounded.

There is so much violence in our world, so much senseless violence and death that I don't need my "entertainment" to echo that.   I don't need a fictional story to glorify the violence, because I know that in real life, not this fictional nightmare, there is hope in suffering, and we find it on the Cross.

My dad has tried to get me to watch A Man for All Seasons for as long as I can remember.  As kids we always poked fun at him because it's not at all an exciting movie, yet he claims it's the greatest of all time.  I finally caved and watched it with him.  It tells the story of St. Thomas More, who refused to accept King Henry VIII's marriage to Anne Boleyn after the pope in Rome denied his appeal for divorce.  (This is the king's first divorce and remarriage, the one that led him to split from the Church of Rome and give himself authority over the Church of England.)

The film is witty, intellectual, thought-provoking, a little dry at times, but inspirational.  Sir Thomas firmly stands his ground, refuses to sell his soul to acquiesce the king.  As the Duke of Norfolk tries to convince Sir Thomas to take the oath to the king, he points out all the men who have taken the oath and says, "Why can't you do as I did and come with us, for fellowship!"  Sir Thomas More replies, "And when we die, and you are sent to heaven for doing your conscience, and I am sent to hell for not doing mine, will you come with me, for fellowship?"

In the end, Sir Thomas dies a martyr among spineless politicians who were willing to sell their souls to save their lives.  We are left pondering the question, "Dare we to enter the kingdom of heaven with ease when Our Lord Himself entered with so much pain?"

. . .

The Following

It's been a long week and I drive with the windows down and I hear
I'll find strength in pain and I will change my ways. 
I'll know my name as it's called again.*

The music moves and pulls me out and on and grace trickles through.
Suddenly it's clear:
when you come to know that God IS, always and forever, everything changes.

The almost imperceptible workings of grace chip away slowly at the blinders around my eyes,
and I begin to see more and more through the eyes of God.
The way of faith requires daily conversion, a choice--to choose God, to choose love, to choose life.
The choice between continuing to love Him and follow Him, or to go my own way and ignore Him.

Doubt creeps in when this self-protective heart and over-thinking mind recognize this freedom, when I realize that I could stop right here, turn to apathy and live life in comfortable indifference.

After all, no matter what I do, God will remain all-powerful, all-knowing, all-loving.  HE IS.  With or without me.  "Through it all, Love remains."**

i am, but only because of Him.  I could continue to exist for awhile without acknowledging Him, but when I took my last breath, that would be it.
We would be parted forever.

He doesn't need me, but He wants me.  He wants you.  He wants us to let Him love us.  And He calls us by name.
We try to follow, but weak and stumbling we fall.

Over and over He calls us back to Himself, and over and over we have a choice to make--to move forward or step back, to allow grace to carry us through the hard times or to determine to plunge through the hard times alone, to do all things for His glory or to do all things for our own glory.

If I am to live truly, I must acknowledge where I come from.
If I am to live fully, I must embrace Who I come from.
I must embrace the cross, and in doing so, find strength in pain.
I must change my ways, and continue falling deeper in love with the Creator, the Redeemer, the Spirit.
I must continue to center myself and my life around Him,
so that when He calls again, I'll know my name, and be ready to follow.


*Mumford and Sons, "The Cave"*
**Collin Raye, "Love Remains"**

In the Know

It began rather by accident.  Or maybe it's been building up for years and suddenly something had to give.  Either way, I stopped trying to change the world, and I started living my own life.

It goes back to about a month ago when I began to realize that caffeine was taking a serious toll on my stomach.  I said goodbye to my caffeinated love and switched from too-many-to-count cups of coffee a day to two cups of decaf herbal tea a day.

For two or three weeks there, life was brutal.  The world was against me.  I had no motivation, no energy.  Stress was mounting because I wasn't accomplishing anything and my to-do list was growing.

I gave up on working out and took to "sunshine yoga" (a more fun, more productive-sounding name for "laying out") where I lay out in the sun, soak up the rays of warm Vitamin D, and breathe deeply.  It was restful and rejuvenating.

I stopped wearing makeup.  This was partially out of laziness (but seriously, it allows for extra sleep and/or time to eat breakfast in the morning), but mostly because I'm tired of society's definition of beauty defining the way we see people.  I watched this clip and something snapped and I said, that's it.  I'm done.  I quit the makeup and accepted that my hair is an untameable beast with a mind of its own, and the world can deal with it.  God made me this way, and He loves me, and His love is all I really want.

Once I made that realization, that His love is all I want, I determined to make Him happy.  I went about it the wrong way, driving myself crazy trying to figure out how I can be like Katie Davis from Kisses from Katie.  And love reminded me that I am just me.  That the best way to make God happy is to simply be the woman He created me to be.

That doesn't mean ditching all of my responsibilities and moving to an impoverished country.  It means living every moment of every day with purpose.  It means going to work on purpose.  Dealing with broken machinery on purpose.  Helping customers on purpose.  Drinking herbal tea on purpose.  Eating my lunch on purpose.  Listening to my little sister's chattering on purpose.  Dealing with stress by tackling one simple task at a time, on purpose.

It's amazing how full life is when you look at it this way.  The days that I seem to accomplish nothing special, I've experienced something extraordinary.  I've lived each moment as it happened, and it's beautiful.

It's tricky.  I still get caught up in the rush of life and forget myself, but then I remember, and I simply come back and pick up where I left off.  I swallow my mistakes, nod in determination and keep moving forward.  I'm being proactive.  I'm learning a lot about myself, and I'm learning to see not only myself but others the way God sees us.

Sometimes I don't know what to do with myself, or I get overwhelmed with it all, or I wonder how weak and miserable me is going to get by in this crazy world, and that's when I pray.  It's in those moments that I've been discovering a simple but very real truth:  GOD IS.

He said, "I AM."  And  I believed that, but now I'm beginning to know it.  I know in my heart, in the sunshine, in the rain, in the high maintenance people, in the coffee grounds that won't go away, in the early hours of the morning when I don't want to get up and write but do anyway--I know that He is.  He never changes, He always loves.  He is.

The world is a mess, full of confusion and superficiality and meaninglessness and brokenness, but He still is.  And He still whispers to us, though we don't usually hear Him over our cell phones or Netflix marathons.  He calls to us, for us to love Him for who He is.  And He loves us for who we are.

And I don't just believe that anymore, I know it.

Convicted

In her book Kisses from Katie, Katie Davis states that Jesus wrecked her life.  I would have to say that in wrecking Katie's life, Jesus has also wrecked mine.

I have grown up in a faith-filled home, but I convinced myself that it was enough to stand firm in my beliefs in a culture that doesn't understand them.  It was as if I didn't need to go out and do what Jesus said like feeding and clothing and loving the poor.  I loved Him and He loved me and I lived in a bubble.

If I hadn't read her story, I might have continued on in this ignorance, but I read it.  And Katie's story pulled at heartstrings that were buried by protective walls of fear.  She went to volunteer for a year teaching orphans in Uganda, then ended up founding a non-profit ministry to sponsor children who couldn't afford school.  She obtained a house for her office and opened the doors to the children for studying, learning about Jesus, bathing in clean running water, and eating healthy meals.  Then a few of the girls started calling her mommy, and she began the process of adoption.  She didn't plan on any of those things happening, but she opened her heart to God's will--to His people in need--and carried it out.

The way Katie is led by her faith and her love for God is beautiful, inspiring, and convicting. I was constantly bursting into tears and wondering at how far off from truth I've been living.  Here is this young woman, practically my age, mother to fourteen, doctor, founder of an organization, mentor, feeder of the hungry--someone who has given up her previous life and the comforts of this world to not only proclaim the word of God, but also to live it.

I aspire.  But I am not Katie. I am not Mother Teresa.  I am me.  And God does not want me to pack up my suitcase and move to Africa or India.  At least, not today.

Katie often described how loving the children are that she ministers too.  She is rewarded for her work with kisses and love every day.  I look at the life I lead here in the first world and though I don't have to stitch wounds or de-worm kids or clean up dead rats, I don't have that kind of level of fulfillment from the work I do.  My attempts to be a cheerful giver in the service industry are often met with indifference or straight-up rudeness.  I can pour my heart into a mocha, serve it with a smile, and then receive a huffy, "I didn't want whipped cream on this."

Our society has become so wrapped up in this comfortable lifestyle, in getting everything we want, in living life for me.  We forget that there are people out there who don't have the basics.  They don't have food to eat, or running water to bathe in, or toilets, or roofs that keep the rain out.  They have so much more, though.  They have faith, and hearts brimming over with thanksgiving, and praise for God.

I often struggle with finding a balance.  Don't these people who think they have it all need to know God as much as those who have nothing?  Don't we all need to know God?  So how do we live this life and minister to the spiritually impoverished while also serving the poor?  Do we just ignore the high society and in doing so hope that we are leading by example?

I struggle.  I want to do more to help those in need, but stepping out of my comfort zone scares me.  Because everything scares me.  But after being convicted by Katie's story and seeing in it how much the love of God can transform us when we let it, when we suck up our fears and trust in Him, I know I can do it.  I just need to first focus my heart, soul, and mind on God.

The Wedding Party

We live in an age where marriage is constantly discredited and written off.  I hear all the time, "Oh, I don't believe in marriage."  And "You should just do what you want."  I find it ironic that in a time such as this when marriage is held in no to little regard, when people marry two or three or four times because "marriage doesn't work," everyone also suddenly wants "equal rights" for marriage.

Think about it.

Sex and children have been separated from marriage.  Sex has become a recreation, an expression, a source of "self-discovery" for teenagers who are taught birth control because "they're going to do it anyway, and we don't want them to have to face the consequences of their actions."  This is dangerously unrealistic.

Life is a series of choices and consequences.  It kills me when young girls who find out that they are pregnant claim, "I don't know how it happened."  What are they being taught in sex ed?  Are educators sugar coating the FACTS OF LIFE with condoms and oral contraceptives?  How is that educational?  Or healthy?  Teenagers learn little except that they can do whatever they want as long as they use protection.  Well why aren't they being told to protect their hearts?  Why aren't they being told that they are valuable, they have dignity, brains, and talents and their worth is not dependent on losing their virginity?  Why aren't they being told that giving someone everything they want is not how you build a relationship of mutual trust and respect?

This distorted reality of "casual," "experimental" relationships is not inspiring people to suddenly settle down into loving, committed marriages.  Nor does it teach them the value of strong marriages as the foundations for happy, well-adjusted families.  But these families are necessary to the foundation of society.

Still, I find it ironic that it wasn't until this time when marriage and family have been obscured and broken and "modernized" that there has been an incredible increase in public support for same-sex marriage.  I guess I don't understand why the same people who think marriage "doesn't work" are suddenly so intent on letting anyone take part.  It's not that I don't think same-sex couples can have loving, committed relationships, or that they shouldn't have the same rights as everyone else, it's that I hold that marriage is not even a political issue, it's a spiritual one.

Mother Teresa spoke often of the spiritual poverty of the West.  It's a lukewarm, numbed down, "believe in anything and stand for nothing" kind of spiritualism.  Because I stand for things that make people uncomfortable (i.e. life vs. abortion, the traditions of my faith, the awesomeness of nuns, marriage, natural family planning) I am often seen as a close-minded, heartless, judgmental bigot.

Which is funny, because I'm actually a very understanding person.  Just because I believe these things doesn't mean I judge people who don't.  It doesn't mean I don't have the reason and the heart to see where other people are coming from and learn to understand why they think the way they do.  I only ask that I receive the same respect.

So when I say that I believe in marriage, that I don't believe in divorce, that I believe marriage is between a man and a woman, that I don't believe marriage is a magical spell that binds people together happily ever after, that I believe it is not to be entered lightly because it is not a walk in a park but a road to salvation, I say it from my heart, not from my Catholic cradle as a mindless recitation of old-school traditionalist beliefs that were shoved down my throat.  These beliefs come from the heart of an educated woman who has had a lifetime encounter with Christ via Catholicism, which she accepted fully only after coming into a fuller understanding of it, its traditions, and its teachings.

I also don't spout my beliefs as a holier-than-though preacher (God knows I am far, far from perfect), but as a person who loves people and desires the greatest good of all humanity.  I believe Jesus shows us what true humanity and true freedom are.

I believe that we are all destined to communion with God, which is why I love weddings.  I believe that weddings are the earthly taste of the love and glory we will find in heaven.  Yes, in a way, I believe that heaven is one giant, never-ending wedding reception, but not the kind we have here on earth (I do hope there's an open bar. . . ;-) ).  I believe it is the marriage of Christ and His Bride, the Church, the wedding feast of the Lamb.  It is something spectacular and glorious beyond all human imagination, but something we receive a taste of at every Mass, and at every wedding.

In heaven, there are no lonely bridesmaids drinking the night away with drunken groomsmen, wondering when it will be their turn.  The bridesmaids and groomsmen are the angels (this may not be theologically correct, but my friend Angie and I like to think that it is).  There are no women abused verbally, physically, or emotionally.  There are no adulterous encounters to tear families apart.  There is only God in all His Glory and endless Mercy, loving us unconditionally.

What we experience of this union on earth is imperfect, and corrupted by our sinfulness, but it is a taste of what we hope for.  At a wedding, we watch the groom's face light up with love and anticipation as the woman he loves processes down the aisle toward him.  It's the same love and anticipation Christ has for us as He waits for us in heaven.  The aisle to heaven, however, is not covered in rose petals scattered by our niece in a sparkly dress.  It is lined with roses and thorns, sickness and health, suffering and joy, good times and bad.  It is narrow, but, thankfully, we don't have to walk it alone.

God said, "It is not good for man to be alone," so he gave man a woman.  Together they sinned, he banished them from paradise, and then he sent his Son to give up his own life in order to redeem them.  We are all called to follow Christ's example, to lay down our lives for one another, to pour out our lives for one another.  Some of us are called to do this in marriage, but marriage isn't supposed to be easy--it is a way to salvation.  The wedding represents the ultimate goal of heaven, and the joyful union we'll find there.  The marriage, the life of "happily ever after" is the walk down that really long, narrow aisle--but waiting there at the end is our first and forever truest love, Jesus Christ.

The best part is that God does not abandon us during this journey.  He sends loving family and friends, as well as the Holy Spirit to be with us and guide us along the way so we can enter eternal life with him.  That's why, even when we make mistakes, even when we hurt and deny him, even when the going gets tough and we feel like he doesn't see us anymore, even when the life we planned with him doesn't turn out at all the way we dreamed it would and we want to just give up, He still loves us.

Marriage (any vocation for that matter) requires that we first die to ourselves and give of ourselves freely, totally, faithfully, and fruitfully all the days of our lives.  And when our lives on earth are over, we get to enter heaven, where there will be an epic party to celebrate.

Summer Reading

Pages worn and weathered, yellowed on the edges, spine crinkled in half and splitting at the ends--a book well loved and well read:  my copy of Ella Enchanted* by Gail Carson Levine.

It's my favorite book of all time, even now in my mid-twenties.  I read it every year, at least once, usually in the summer when I feel like going on an adventure with an old friend.

You may find it strange that of all the books this English major has read, a children's book is her favorite, but this book changed me.  It tells the classic tale of Cinderella, but with depth, believable and likable characters, humor, seriousness, and charm.  It transported me in the sixth grade to an enchanted place where even I, shy and awkward as I was, could rise up to become a heroine.

I'm sure feminists everywhere love that this heroine isn't just a timid good girl waiting for her prince to come along and save her.  She is brave, clever, and determined and takes her destiny into her own hands.  She doesn't win the prince over simply by her beauty, but by being her spunky self.  Their love grows naturally, and in the end, she sacrifices everything to save him.

Reading it now, I recognize how the simple but rich telling is similar to Ernest Hemingway's "less is more" style that I love so much.  I notice how and why the author's choice of descriptors enchanted me so much.  I pay attention to the mechanics, and wonder at the brilliant simplicity of it all.

Ella's narration heavily influenced my own voice in writing.  I realized early on that I would never conquer ogres, or amaze anyone with my quick wit.  But I could use my words in my writing to say what was in my heart, to use my power of the pen to fight the good fight.

I aspire.

*I know what you may be thinking:  "Isn't that a movie with Anne Hathaway?"  The answer is yes, and at the same time an emphatic NO.  There is a movie starring Anne Hathaway with the same title and same basic concept, but an entirely different story, different characters and blatant disregard for the brilliance of the book.  I saw the movie once in theaters when it first came out, and I was traumatized.  I had such high hopes that here, finally, people who hadn't had a chance to read the book might be able to have at least a glimpse at one of my favorite stories ever.  But it was not to be.

I realize now that this comes to mind (I try to block out the movie and pretend that it doesn't exist most of the time), that this is the real reason I never liked Anne Hathaway as an actress.  Because in my heart, as a young impressionable woman, she destroyed my favorite character on the big screen. It wasn't exactly her fault, since she didn't write the script, but she completely misrepresented my favorite literary character--something I was unable to forgive her for until she played the desperate prostitute in Les Miserables.  (I couldn't not respect her after that.)

If you have seen the movie Ella Enchanted but never read the book, whether or not you liked the movie, please do yourself a favor and read the book.*

A Simple Life

It was definitely time for a vacation, so we ventured forth on

(1)  an epic road trip.
          We hopped in his silver Saturn and split out of Ohio.  Skies were blue, summer was near, and we were burnt out.  Ohio became West Virginia became Pennsylvania and we stopped to clog our arteries with sandwiches topped with french fries and coleslaw (#Primanti Brothers #totallyworthit).  The sinking sun painted the sky lavender.  The earth around us rose until we were surrounded by dark peaks.  The road became winding and I fell asleep, only to wake and see how many more stars there were out here to wish on.
           Days of new scenery in a place where life is a little slower but also a little fuller.  It was an escape from the daily grind and perpetual fake-it-til-you-make-it service, a chance to volunteer and explore and spend time with family and friends.  We ate super-fresh ice cream and possibly the best pizza I've ever had, went treasure-hunting, and found new inspiration.
          The 7 hour trip home became 12 because we didn't want to come home.  We stopped whenever and wherever we wanted--Emlenton, Muskingum, Tlaquepaque to name a few--and returned fresh and ready to tackle

(2)  this thing called life.
        Funny where life leads us when we follow Christ--on greater adventures than we ever could have imagined for ourselves.  Through the twists and turns, two old friends/roommates/household sisters reunited to share our stories and our faith over a meal of Mexican food and margaritas--a communion.  She told me about a book, how her life was changed by

(3)  Our Lady of Kibeho.
        My friend gave me a copy of the book and I was enthralled.  It was such a simple, beautiful, moving telling of the apparitions of Our Lady to the African people.  She appeared in Rwanda and warned about the genocide that would occur if the people didn't change their hearts (not their religions, their hearts).
        She spoke of the importance of kindness, forgiveness, love for each other and all of humanity.  She spoke of the importance of suffering, that we can't reach heaven without it, so we should be thankful for it, because it means we're on our way.
        She spoke of her love for all mankind, that she desires us to come to her Son through herself, and I marveled at the way

(4)  Mary constantly reveals herself to us.
         She has appeared to Bernadette at Lourdes, to the three children at Fatima, to the young women at Kibeho--to name a few.  When I was in Austria, she kept quietly revealing herself to me, leading me closer to her Son.  She called me to serve as a handmaid in Lourdes and help guide people to her by

(5)  Marian grace.
          Marian Grace also happens to be the name of a Nashville-based music group that aspires to transform the world through beauty.  Their albums Marian Grace: Ancient Hymns and Chants and What Wondrous Love have become the soundtrack of my life these days.  The beauty and the glory in the music elevates my soul and turns my heart and mind to heaven.  Listening to their music has truly inspired me and helped me find that

(6)  inner peace.
           No matter where I go in this life, I am confident that God's loving hand is guiding me.  I am slowly learning how to let go of my own whiny needs and wants to live for a greater love and glory. I've stopped comparing myself to others and started accepting my own faults and weaknesses.  I've stopped wasting around watching lame TV shows on Netflix and started spending my time doing more constructive things.  I've stopped worrying so much about getting eight hours of sleep every night and started making sure I maintain a balance of work, rest, exercise, family-time, catching up with friends, prayer, etc.  I'm working on being over-prepared but also able to go with the flow, having a lot to do, but also making time to play a game with my little sister when she asks.
           I've found that these little adjustments make a big difference, and allow me to maintain inner peace while I struggle to find my place here, to be in the world but not of it, to stand up for what I know is true.
           It's a simple life I lead, but it's rich and full, and I am thankful for every moment.

My mom used to tell me "You don't want to be in love; you want to be in love in a movie."  She was right.  I've learned a lot in recent years.  I've learned firsthand that love isn't all sunshine and roses, and that the dreams I had were only dreams of a half-life, not life lived to the full.  I've learned now that every day is a lesson, an adventure, an opportunity to grow and learn and love more.

And I found this article, thought it was interesting, and decided to post it here:
http://www.catholicvote.org/the-truth-about-men-women-love-and-porn-in-2-minutes-and-37-seconds/

31 Days of Mary

I don't remember how or when or where, but at some point while I was at school, I stumbled on a gem of a devotion for the month of Mary: The 31 Days of Mary.  For each day of the month of May, there is a virtue of Mary and a little blurb for reflection.  It's a simple way to meditate on Mary each day during the month we devote to her.  I have been posting these blurbs daily via Twitter and Facebook, but I've had several people ask where they can find the whole devotion.  I've searched online and can't find where it came from, so, hoping that I'm not infringing on anyone's rights, I typed it up, made a few adjustments, and posted it here (in the right column under "Pages").

May it bring you closer to Our Lady and Our Lord!

Ruah

It's the wind that kept on blowing that mid-May afternoon--
as shadows stretched across bending grass,
and leaves sprinkled sunshine over shivering grins--
life in its full,
joy that is complete
when you simply be.

So real it's like a dream
and you never want to wake
to find that the sun shining through the leaves
is a lie.

He takes a picture of the sun, the clouds, the sky,

and you drink it all in.
You think he's fascinating,
he thinks you're drunk.

Maybe you're right (you are),
maybe he is (he's not),
either way the bells toll for you both.

And the wind,
the wind just keeps on blowing,
and your grin begins to tremble.
As you drink the day in you begin to giggle
and think, maybe he's right--
wouldn't that be fun?

It's that moment you can't forget
when He smiles
and you are shaken
to the core
that One so Good
should love you,
that, even though
you drive west in the morning with
the sunrise in your rear view mirror,
the Wind,
that Breath of dreaming and Spirit of truth,
keeps blowing in your ear.

Endurance

I have a bad habit of thinking that I can save the world.  It's not so much that I think I have what it takes as it is that I have these desires to do more with my life than make coffee, to go out and actually help people, to see the suffering in the world come to an end.

This idea first manifested in college when I thought I could save a person close to me. That my love was big enough to change a heart turned out to be a silly dream. As I wondered at the mess I'd made, I asked God why this had to be.  After three nights of crying myself to sleep, He told me, there in the deepest part of my heart that hurt so much: "You didn't trust me."


He didn't just leave me with that somewhat cryptic message.  He guided me along the way of healing through discovering a devotion to the Divine Mercy of Jesus.  It was a journey I'd already been on unknowingly, but the pieces began to fit together and I began to see more clearly every day that I can't save anyone--not even myself--because God has already saved the world.  By His Passion on the Cross, His death and His resurrection, Christ has already set us free.

I began to reflect on the Passion, and to unite my sufferings to Christ's on the cross.  Finally, after many months of prayer and novenas (the 54 day rosary novena is a personal favorite) I reached a point in my personal life of being able to say to my friend:

I have trusted in the Eternal God for your welfare, and joy has come to me from the Holy One because of the mercy that will swiftly reach you from your eternal savior. With mourning and lament I sent you forth, but God will give you back to me with enduring gladness and joy. (Baruch 4:22-23)

My heart was finally at a point of peace knowing that when I see my friend in heaven (and I will see him in heaven), our earthly drama and suffering will be perfected in "enduring gladness and joy."

Still, I had a nagging thought that I was supposed to do more. I graduated college during a recession with a degree in English and no career goals, so while I went back to work at my high school job at the family business, I began reading about the problems of the world.

I was inspired to go to third world countries and kick down doors of brothels and save the innocent women forced to work in them.  I wanted to track down not the pimps but the men who paid for such services and so created a market for the business of selling people and objectified women everywhere. I wanted to teach children whose only chance at freedom from poverty was education.  I wanted to provide a safe haven for women who are victims of abuse, or who want to choose life but can't do it on their own.  I wanted to be Dorothy Day and Mother Teresa.

But I am most definitely not either of these women.  And from the looks of things, going off to foreign countries to fight perverts and love the poor and abused is not what God has planned for me.

Like Saint Therese, I wanted to choose all vocations, so I chose love, which encompasses all other vocations.  I began to realize that, like Therese, as much as I desired to be a missionary, I was destined to stay close to home.  I found myself making coffee (lots of coffee) and I realized that God was teaching me (slowly and patiently because the selfish brat in me won't go down without a fight) how to love.

I'm finding that all God wants of us is for us to be who He created us to be.  If we let Him love us as we are, if we stop trying so hard to be what we're not, or at least what we're not yet, He will be able to accomplish His mission through us.

As for suffering, it has been my experience that it brings us closer to the heart of Jesus.  I believe that in our sinful world, we cannot be free of it, but we can embrace it as an opportunity to take part in the redemptive work of God.  In the suffering of our neighbor, we can learn to be compassionate and understanding.  SO much easier said than done, but St. Edith Stein says it so well:

The world is in flames. The conflagration can also reach our house. But high above all flames towers the cross. They cannot consume it. It is the path from earth to heaven. It will lift one who embraces it in faith, love, and hope into the bosom of the Trinity.

The world is in flames. Are you impelled to put them out? Look at the cross. From the open heart gushes the blood of the Saviour. This extinguishes the flames of hell. Make your heart free by the faithful fulfilment of your vows; then the flood of divine love will be poured into your heart until it overflows and becomes fruitful to all the ends of the earth. Do you hear the groans of the wounded on the battlefields in the west and the east? You are not a physician and not a nurse and cannot bind up the wounds. You are enclosed in a cell and cannot get to them. Do you hear the anguish of the dying? You would like to be a priest and comfort them. Does the lament of the widows and orphans distress you? You would like to be an angel of mercy and help them. Look at the Crucified. If you are nuptially bound to him by the faithful observance of your holy vows, your being is precious blood. Bound to him, you are omnipresent as he is. You cannot help here or there like the physician, the nurse, the priest. You can be at all fronts, wherever there is grief, in the power of the cross. Your compassionate love takes you everywhere, this love from the divine heart. Its precious blood is poured everywhere soothing, healing, saving.

The eyes of the Crucified look down on you asking, probing. Will you make your covenant with the Crucified anew in all seriousness? What will you answer him? “Lord, where shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.”

The path from earth to heaven. . . the path from suffering to glory. . .the path from self to love. . .the way is by the cross, but we must have faith, we must believe, we must hope.

I aspire.

The Infinite In-Between

Sun sifts through new green leaves across from the river
and we sit on a jacket in the grass
and eat egg rolls and fortune cookies
under the honeysuckle trees.

The breeze brings sweet snow-white drops,
and our laughter bounces around our mini-urban forest.

Birthday wishes across the years come true
in this late afternoon with the boy who brought me flowers,
and a giant jug full of Bell's Oberon, fresh from the tap.

For a moment, we are infinite.

Then bells chime the hour,
bells toll for us in all our dreaming.

I know we can't stay here--it's time to go home.

Time--and we grow older.

Soon there is no wishing on candles,
no song,
just too much ice cream.

The magic is in the moment,
and the moment is gone before I realize
how truly thankful I am for it.

I was too busy thinking about forever to remember that forever is now, in the infinite beauty of the in-between.

Photo courtesy of Southern Belle Magazine

You are a masterpiece.

Dear ladies,

I'm sure most of you have seen the Dove Real Beauty Sketches video that's floating around and flaunts the message "You are more beautiful than you think."  I'm not a fan of the video, though I like the underlying message--many women don't view themselves as very beautiful, and we are in general more forgiving of the flaws in other people than ourselves.

As a bit of a conspiracy theorist (I don't trust any reality TV, except maybe Biggest Loser, which I watch fairly regularly--while eating ice cream and potato chips--because I find it inspiring and it almost always brings me to tears), my first reaction was that the sketch artist was obviously being paid to over-exaggerate the ugliness of the woman's opinion of herself, and to make her opinion of the other woman more flattering.  

Still, the message that we are more beautiful than we think is a tear-jerking sentiment--a great one to get women to buy more of your products. . .

And certainly it helped that the women were thin, white, and consistent with society's definition of a beautiful woman. . .

And we all know that real beauty is on the outside, and we need other people to tell us how beautiful we are to feel good about ourselves. . .

. . .

No, I'm sorry, ladies.  Your true beauty is not defined by your looks, by how you dress or style your hair (thought these can be reflections of your true beauty), and certainly not by other people (nope, not even boys!).  

Your true beauty is the light of your spirit, all of the things that make you uniquely you.  It's your sass, your spunkiness,  your kindness, your ability to bring joy wherever you go, your inherent awkwardness, your quiet understanding.  There's a deep corner of your heart that is your uniquely beautiful dignity.  You don't have to go on crazy diets, and super-charged workouts, you don't have to make yourself look sexy so the boys will pay attention to you.  You don't have to give the boys what they want so that they'll like you or keep you around--they might keep you around, but they won't respect you.  They won't see your true beauty if you're pretending to be something you're not.

Something we women long for is the affirmation of our femininity.  We want men to notice us, to want us, to love us.  When they use us, or reject us, we tend to think there's something inherently wrong with us, or that we aren't pretty enough.  Basically, we feel rotten.  We mask our hurt by resorting to name calling and "boys are stupid," "he's such a d-bag," "someday he'll grow up and he'll wish he hadn't let me go!"  And we feel a little bit better, maybe even empowered, but the hurt remains.

That part of us that desires love keeps looking in the wrong places.  We either close ourselves off completely  to love, or we open ourselves to finding small satisfaction wherever we can.  Until we let that hurt be healed, until we accept that we are truly beautiful just as we are, we will keep looking in all the wrong places.

Our culture, unfortunately, doesn't treat women like they are beautiful.  They create superficial ads to try and make up for the fact that they really view things like fertility--that is, a woman's ability to grow new life--to be nothing but inconvenience, something that gets in the way of a woman getting what she wants.  But what do women want?

Don't we all just want to be loved for who we are?  We want to be considered beautiful--not just our looks, but our hearts, our truest selves.  How do we find ourselves?  Not by looking in diet fads, or fashion, or men, but by looking in our hearts, by discovering what drives us, what makes us who we are, and by simply being that.  I know that I often struggle to simply be.  I feel like I'm constantly striving, like it's an endless battle between me and who I think I should be.  But then I remember that I am beautiful, because I am--we all are--"a masterpiece of His love, wounded, disfigured by sin, but remade by the Redeemer, more beautiful than before."

Yes, we are more beautiful than we realize, because our culture tells us lies about beauty, that it is on the outside and that we should deny our greatest gift to get some small satisfaction where we can.  Beauty is not in the eye of the beholder--it's in the heart.

I want to finish by sharing this letter from a father to a daughter, and please know that there is a Father who wants you to know you are beautiful, and you are worth it, because you are His (whether or not you choose to believe it, it's true!).

from:  http://drkellyflanagan.com/2013/04/17/a-daddys-letter-to-his-little-girl-about-her-future-husband/

Dear Cutie-Pie,

Recently, your mother and I were searching for an answer on Google. Halfway through entering the question, Google returned a list of the most popular searches in the world. Perched at the top of the list was “How to keep him interested.”

It startled me. I scanned several of the countless articles about how to be sexy and sexual, when to bring him a beer versus a sandwich, and the ways to make him feel smart and superior.

And I got angry.

Little One, it is not, has never been, and never will be your job to “keep him interested.”

Little One, your only task is to know deeply in your soul—in that unshakeable place that isn’t rattled by rejection and loss and ego—that you are worthy of interest. (If you can remember that everyone else is worthy of interest also, the battle of your life will be mostly won. But that is a letter for another day.)

If you can trust your worth in this way, you will be attractive in the most important sense of the word: you will attract a boy who is both capable of interest and who wants to spend his one life investing all of his interest in you.

Little One, I want to tell you about the boy who doesn’t need to be keptinterested, because he knows you are interesting:

I don’t care if he puts his elbows on the dinner table—as long as he puts his eyes on the way your nose scrunches when you smile. And then can’t stop looking.

I don’t care if he can’t play a bit of golf with me—as long as he can play with the children you give him and revel in all the glorious and frustrating ways they are just like you.

I don’t care if he doesn’t follow his wallet—as long as he follows his heart and it always leads him back to you.

I don’t care if he is strong—as long as he gives you the space to exercise the strength that is in your heart.

I couldn’t care less how he votes—as long as he wakes up every morning and daily elects you to a place of honor in your home and a place of reverence in his heart.

I don’t care about the color of his skin—as long as he paints the canvas of your lives with brushstrokes of patience, and sacrifice, and vulnerability, and tenderness.

I don’t care if he was raised in this religion or that religion or no religion—as long as he was raised to value the sacred and to know every moment of life, and every moment of life with you, is deeply sacred.

In the end, Little One, if you stumble across a man like that and he and I have nothing else in common, we will have the most important thing in common:

You.

Because in the end, Little One, the only thing you should have to do to “keep him interested” is to be you.

Your eternally interested guy,

Daddy