Abiding

The creeping cold of winter freezes the soul, and the dry darkness sets in.

In those dark moments, everything you do feels like failure, and everything you want to change you can't change yet.  Patience isn't asked; it's required.  Virtue by default.

The weight presses down, squeezes out a tear here and there.  And then there's the darkest moment--when the soul is black and blends in with the darkness, but the Shepherd's voice calls out, searching for His beloved lost sheep.

In the darkness, you, His beloved lost sheep, cannot see Him, but you hear His voice:  "My child, I am here."

He is here, and you feel His presence.  You see before you a heavy wooden cross, splinters sticking out at the ends.  He hands it to you and you see all of your weaknesses and all of those things beyond your power  nailed to the cross.  It's too heavy for you.

"I can't--" you say, but He puts His arms around yours and embraces you with the cross.

"I am with you," He assures you.

You can't help falling in love.  You embrace the cross too, and light fills you.  The weight is not lifted, but you are able to carry it.

"I will do these things for you," He says.  "Just stay with me, daughter.  Abide with me, in my love."

You nod and say, "I trust You.  I trust You, my Jesus. I trust You."

"I will be with you always.  Stay with me, and abide in my love.  I will make you new."

O my God, fill my soul with holy joy, courage, and strength to serve You.  Enkindle Your Love in me and then walk with me along the next stretch of road before me.  I do not see very far ahead, but when I have arrived where the horizon now closes down, a new prospect will open before me, and I shall meet it with peace.  ~St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross (Edith Stein)

Mallows

On New Year's Eve we drove to Minnesota for a wedding.  The new year dawned somewhere between Indiana and Illinois.  It had started snowing and he was focused on keeping the car under control so that we didn't die.  I was marveling at how quickly the roads had gone from black to white.

As we slipped between time zones without a countdown or a ball drop or waiting around watching the clock, the new year slipped in without fanfare, just a continuation of the year before.

But then, aren't they all anyway?

I think about last year, how I considered it The Unexpected Year.  I had no real expectations for myself or the year.  I had no idea what it had in store, but I offered it to God with my trust, knowing that all I could do was change my attitude.  I call the result growing pains.

I was promoted at work to a manager in training, then when my former boss quit, I got her job.  I achieved a new level of barista certification.  My old college roommate got engaged.  My brother got engaged.  My friend from school got engaged to my cousin.  I turned another year older and I realized that I was too focused on what would happen next that I forgot to enjoy the moment.  From then on, I let myself enjoy the moments and feel the pain.

I learned to take stress at work in stride, to do everything in my power to handle stressful situations, and let the rest go.  I learned so much from the incredible women I work with.  I learned to do my job the best I can, but to not take it or myself so seriously.

I took a road trip to the mountains of Pennsylvania with the man I love.  We took a road trip to Baltimore for my brother's wedding where we had a great time and I gained a sister.  I took a road trip with some family to Iowa for the wedding of my friend and my cousin and I was so happy I kept crying.

I came home and celebrated two years with the man I continue to fall deeply in love with everyday.  We geared up for the holidays and our big road trip to Minnesota at New Year's, but tragedy hit.  A close family friend was diagnosed with stage four cancer.  He fought bravely, and I prayed that he would be able to at least have a peaceful Christmas at home.  God took him to his eternal Home for Christmas, and we mourned our loss.

The holidays carried on, as did the wake and the funeral.  Family I hadn't seen in years came in town to visit and that bittersweet week was one of the longest of my life.

Then came the epic road trip to Minnesota, the one we'd been gearing up for for quite some time.  It was an adventure through snow and ice and negative temperatures and the stomach flu, and the culmination of an unexpectedly action-packed year.  It was a beautiful wedding and a chance to see friends I hadn't seen in years.

And as we drove home through a dark Indiana night after the snow had stopped falling and traffic had lightened, the wind kicked up and in the distance were red blinking lights.  They were the big white windmills, eerily lighting our way, and I thought the same thing I do every time I see them:  wouldn't it be fun if instead of being white they were colorful, like giant pinwheels?!  (If you disagree, you're lying to yourself.)

And it reminded me of something he had said in one of our many conversations during that 15 hour road trip, how some people are the campfires that bring other people together.  "I was not the campfire," he said.  "I was the weird kid with the marshmallow stick."  I was the weird kid who avoided the campfire altogether and hid in the cabinet to stuff my face with marshmallows (or so my mother tells me. . .I was four).

So even though this year was off to a weird and rocky start, I am determined that it will be a good one.  We will paint the windmills to look like pinwheels, eat marshmallows and be happy.

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.