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?"

. . .