A small thought before I turn in for the night...
Almost daily I still struggle with anxiety and fear about the future. In a way that has pleasantly surprised me, I find that it's slowly becoming easier to cope. I'm noticing the physical effects settling in, and am able to shut it down once I recognize it. And I'm learning to relax, to focus on the present, and reaffirm my trust in God.
Nothing in life is ever certain--I've said that more than once here. As much as the Church claims certainty, this humble laywoman cannot claim her faith with utmost assurance. I pray for that grace daily.
What I can give is my fiat. I can give myself up with joy to whatever He wants to walk with me through. Holding out my hand and trusting that He will not only hold it, but guide my steps on this journey is a very difficult task, but I can do it.
A few weeks ago, I sat down with my pastor who just recently lost his father. I said, "Monsignor, how did you cope when he suffered? How are you getting through it now?"
What he said resonated as a profound truth for me. "I get through one day at a time, no more than that. Sometimes, it's one moment at a time."
That's all I've got to give, my choice to believe. God sets Himself before us in the midst of a world that can be calloused, dark and terrifying, and says, "Choose."
I choose to live a life of joy, compassion, hope, redemption, and trust that the Lord I confess is One who keeps His promises.
I may be wrong. But if I am, I know that my life at the end will have been rich and honorable.
That assent is a very small step. But that's really all He ever wants or needs of us--a mustard seed.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Regime Change Revisited
Time and again, I am learning a real lesson from God this summer.
I need to rely on Him, not only most of all but as my sole refuge.
A while back, I was talking to a sympathetic and intuitive Baptist friend from my early days as a Christian. We were talking about the people that go in and out of our lives with time, and I mentioned how I sometimes miss my old confessor. More to myself than to him, I asked, "Why does God always take away the few people I've grown to trust with my faith?"
His answer was telling: "Maybe God is teaching you to be more open with others, and to trust Him."
The next day, I got the news that our chaplain has been put on part-rime status, as he's now been appointed chaplain of every state university in the diocese. Yikes.
Today, I learned that the assistant director of our Newman house has accepted a job at a different university.
Suddenly, two of the people I relied on most at school are leaving. I understand this to be God's will, not only for them, but for me as well.
My friend was right--this is a rough season for me, to be sure, and I'm grateful in saying that it's eased so much already. I worry what going back to campus will be like--will I fall back into apathy and nihilism?
Not if I rely on Him. I have always made excuses about how it's always good to have someone, "you know, tangible," to be my shoulder. I admit that with four priests now assigned to my parish, I worry about losing my confessor, too. But I have God.
The other side of this tunnel is close and bright. And at the end of it, my relationship with God will be so much stronger. That is a serious silver lining.
I need to rely on Him, not only most of all but as my sole refuge.
A while back, I was talking to a sympathetic and intuitive Baptist friend from my early days as a Christian. We were talking about the people that go in and out of our lives with time, and I mentioned how I sometimes miss my old confessor. More to myself than to him, I asked, "Why does God always take away the few people I've grown to trust with my faith?"
His answer was telling: "Maybe God is teaching you to be more open with others, and to trust Him."
The next day, I got the news that our chaplain has been put on part-rime status, as he's now been appointed chaplain of every state university in the diocese. Yikes.
Today, I learned that the assistant director of our Newman house has accepted a job at a different university.
Suddenly, two of the people I relied on most at school are leaving. I understand this to be God's will, not only for them, but for me as well.
My friend was right--this is a rough season for me, to be sure, and I'm grateful in saying that it's eased so much already. I worry what going back to campus will be like--will I fall back into apathy and nihilism?
Not if I rely on Him. I have always made excuses about how it's always good to have someone, "you know, tangible," to be my shoulder. I admit that with four priests now assigned to my parish, I worry about losing my confessor, too. But I have God.
The other side of this tunnel is close and bright. And at the end of it, my relationship with God will be so much stronger. That is a serious silver lining.
Friday, June 4, 2010
On Relevance
The other day, I was talking a lot with my friend Jenn about liturgy, and the direction the Church is headed versus where it's been. Eventually, we got into a discussion of our favorite Catholic artists, some of whom have become affiliated with the LifeTeen program.
We both have different issues with LifeTeen, but for me, it was striking that they try so hard to be "relevant" to the youth. And in today's Protestant communities, relevant is rather often a combination of emotional preaching and flashy lights and sounds.
The issue there is simple: that does not build faith. That builds a psychological response to some nice aesthetics that youth confuse for faith. It leads to an incredible mountaintop experience, but as soon as they head back to their "regular" Mass, the thrill is usually gone.
Now, I'm not saying the whole program is a wash. I tend to support them--and when they hit a kid with the real truth of the Church and Christ in the Eucharist? The changes are profound. But let's be honest with ourselves. How often does that happen there before the sounds and shininess of it all gets to them?
Beyond that, there's something very obvious here that's telling. Our definition of "fresh" and "progressive" and "exciting" changes over time. And so often, a lot of denominations are constantly stretching themselves in trying to reach others by using the things that are fresh and relevant. But what happens when the cool things change so much they can't keep up? We lose the core.
And then, despite all of the ridicule and pressure she receives from both within and outside her boundaries, Catholicism remains mostly unchanged. Certain huge denominations in the United States are being ripped apart right now over ordination of women or GLBT individuals. Every denomination has accepted birth control now, a reversal of position that we all held universally until the last century.
God is unchanging and beyond our whims. Truth, then, is the same.
Where, then, is the Truth? I would say it's where the Truth and foundation of worship remain unchanged.
"Upon this Rock I will build my Church, and the gates of Hell will not prevail against it."
I'm so glad to be Catholic.
We both have different issues with LifeTeen, but for me, it was striking that they try so hard to be "relevant" to the youth. And in today's Protestant communities, relevant is rather often a combination of emotional preaching and flashy lights and sounds.
The issue there is simple: that does not build faith. That builds a psychological response to some nice aesthetics that youth confuse for faith. It leads to an incredible mountaintop experience, but as soon as they head back to their "regular" Mass, the thrill is usually gone.
Now, I'm not saying the whole program is a wash. I tend to support them--and when they hit a kid with the real truth of the Church and Christ in the Eucharist? The changes are profound. But let's be honest with ourselves. How often does that happen there before the sounds and shininess of it all gets to them?
Beyond that, there's something very obvious here that's telling. Our definition of "fresh" and "progressive" and "exciting" changes over time. And so often, a lot of denominations are constantly stretching themselves in trying to reach others by using the things that are fresh and relevant. But what happens when the cool things change so much they can't keep up? We lose the core.
And then, despite all of the ridicule and pressure she receives from both within and outside her boundaries, Catholicism remains mostly unchanged. Certain huge denominations in the United States are being ripped apart right now over ordination of women or GLBT individuals. Every denomination has accepted birth control now, a reversal of position that we all held universally until the last century.
God is unchanging and beyond our whims. Truth, then, is the same.
Where, then, is the Truth? I would say it's where the Truth and foundation of worship remain unchanged.
"Upon this Rock I will build my Church, and the gates of Hell will not prevail against it."
I'm so glad to be Catholic.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Patient Affliction
(I had set a private quota of four posts a month. I fell short for May, so look out. I'm gonna set the place on fire for June. Get ready!)
Admittedly, when the dark night first came on me in February, I dropped mostly everything spiritual from my life. I still went to Mass three times a week, but my appearances there were more physical in nature. More often than not, I found myself in front of the tabernacle just...sitting there, waiting for something to happen.
And then, on Pentecost(!), something did.
Really, should I be surprised? How big is God? Alleluia. :)
The reading we used was one from Ezekiel, where he is given the power to create life from dry bones. Something stirred within me. We humans are little more than sinew and bone, knit together by millions of cells and kept alive by the blood coursing through our veins. It's all so simple, yet at the same time, so terribly precise and complicated.
Had one thing gone wrong in our evolution, we'd not have survived. Had the world not been created in the exact circumstances it was, there would have been no possibility for life. The odds of it turning out just right like this are billions to one. And all of that hit me in the midst of a thirty-second reading.
There is a God.
Couple that with the reverence around me and my confessor's homily spearing that core desire for revival in everyone's soul...and like that, I was back. I believed again.
Since then, the Holy Spirit has been tugging at my heart something fierce, likely wanting to make up for lost time. I've compensated by catching up on the 2.5 months of daily Mass readings I never read when I was feeling down. Over and over again, the theme of patience under affliction came up, like this from St. Peter:
"Beloved, do not be surprised that a trial by fire is occurring among you, as if something strange were happening to you. But rejoice to the extent that you share in the sufferings of Christ, so that when His glory is revealed you may also rejoice exultantly."
And then of course, "My peace I give you. Not as the world gives do I give it to you."
Christ's peace isn't going to feel like the comfort we often wish it would. Our reward isn't here. This isn't home.
But James tells us if we endure to the end, we'll be crowned with glory. Revelation says every tear will be wiped away.
We just have to tough it out, and trust. Easier said than done, that's for sure, but for now, grace is with me.
Admittedly, when the dark night first came on me in February, I dropped mostly everything spiritual from my life. I still went to Mass three times a week, but my appearances there were more physical in nature. More often than not, I found myself in front of the tabernacle just...sitting there, waiting for something to happen.
And then, on Pentecost(!), something did.
Really, should I be surprised? How big is God? Alleluia. :)
The reading we used was one from Ezekiel, where he is given the power to create life from dry bones. Something stirred within me. We humans are little more than sinew and bone, knit together by millions of cells and kept alive by the blood coursing through our veins. It's all so simple, yet at the same time, so terribly precise and complicated.
Had one thing gone wrong in our evolution, we'd not have survived. Had the world not been created in the exact circumstances it was, there would have been no possibility for life. The odds of it turning out just right like this are billions to one. And all of that hit me in the midst of a thirty-second reading.
There is a God.
Couple that with the reverence around me and my confessor's homily spearing that core desire for revival in everyone's soul...and like that, I was back. I believed again.
Since then, the Holy Spirit has been tugging at my heart something fierce, likely wanting to make up for lost time. I've compensated by catching up on the 2.5 months of daily Mass readings I never read when I was feeling down. Over and over again, the theme of patience under affliction came up, like this from St. Peter:
"Beloved, do not be surprised that a trial by fire is occurring among you, as if something strange were happening to you. But rejoice to the extent that you share in the sufferings of Christ, so that when His glory is revealed you may also rejoice exultantly."
And then of course, "My peace I give you. Not as the world gives do I give it to you."
Christ's peace isn't going to feel like the comfort we often wish it would. Our reward isn't here. This isn't home.
But James tells us if we endure to the end, we'll be crowned with glory. Revelation says every tear will be wiped away.
We just have to tough it out, and trust. Easier said than done, that's for sure, but for now, grace is with me.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Do You Know Pope Benedict XVI?
I'm a media nerd. And I'm also a little bit of a fangirl for PapaRatzi.
Now, thanks to Phatmass, I found a video that combines both the incredible legacy our current Holy Father is establishing for the Church, and some pretty freakin' incredible video editing.
Check it out!
Now, thanks to Phatmass, I found a video that combines both the incredible legacy our current Holy Father is establishing for the Church, and some pretty freakin' incredible video editing.
Check it out!
The Collegiate Prayer
God grant me the humility to accept that I do not know everything,
The grace to understand that you are much bigger than me,
And the faith to know that in the end, all manner of things will be well.
I found myself being moved to pray these words before Mass last weekend. It started when I said, "Father, help me to follow You with every decision I make, and to accept whatever You send my way with class, grace and style."
I laughed. Boy, if that wasn't a college kid's prayer, than what was? I turned inward and sought my muse, and this was the result. :)
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Faith and the . . . Muse?
When I first launched this blog in 2007, I was both a new Christian and a zealous urban fantasy writer. At the time, I was seeking a space to blog about both of my passions at once. That didn't quite pan out, and FatM has almost always been an exclusively introspective spiritual blog.
Tonight, though, I think the revelation I had in the shower (surprised?) manages to nail both topics squarely.
My bio at the top of this page is outdated now, and even inaccurate in some ways. I'm no longer an amateur journalist--to call myself such would be downplaying the experiences and skills I've gained through my college years thus far. I'm now 367 days away from my bachelor's degree, having already spent countless hours in both university and professional newsrooms. Next month, I'm honored to begin an internship with my local Gannett daily. In September, I'll assume the role of head copy editor for my university weekly. Both are huge steps up that I am blessed to take on.
This brings me to the whole point of this post. I've been writing since I was about 12 years old, but it never developed into a potential career path until I was a sophomore in high school. Beyond that, I didn't discover my love for copy editing until I was Editor-in-Chief of my community college's paper last fall and spring.
When I interviewed for the internship two weeks ago, my supervisor asked me why I was so interested in copy editing. It's an immensely tedious job, and it takes a special kind of crazy to do it, let alone enjoy it.
I told him that I found it soothing. That's bizarre, yes, and I've never really been able to explain why I'm so content while editing. In the shower, I think the reason finally came to me.
As a copy editor, it's my responsibility to read all the copy--raw text--that will go into the paper, and check it for errors. We go over each piece for grammar and spelling, adherence to the Associated Press Style of writing, and also check all of the names and facts for accuracy.
Essentially, it's a job for perfectionist control freaks. And I think I can own up to that.
Life is such a mess. So many things happen that are out of our control--bad economy, family issues, sickness, death. In my darkest moments it can appear as if I'm just a prisoner to it all, out of control with no idea where I'm going to land. That's terrifying.
Nothing in life is 100% certain. But when I edit, I have the full assurance that messy things are going to be made right, errors corrected, and all under my control. Like Pilate, a good journalist asks herself, "What is truth?" and sniffs it out to the end. I'm not sure about God right now. I can be sure that the facts I check are accurate, however.
That's why it's so soothing. It's a perfect outlet for my imperfect, uncertain life. :D
My confessor asked me Saturday where I thought my talents as a journalist came from. He was trying to illustrate that God is in charge of making our strengths into something much more...and now, my sick obsession with grammar is turning into a career. Like balm for my soul, it all makes sense. And that's a beautiful thing.
Tonight, though, I think the revelation I had in the shower (surprised?) manages to nail both topics squarely.
My bio at the top of this page is outdated now, and even inaccurate in some ways. I'm no longer an amateur journalist--to call myself such would be downplaying the experiences and skills I've gained through my college years thus far. I'm now 367 days away from my bachelor's degree, having already spent countless hours in both university and professional newsrooms. Next month, I'm honored to begin an internship with my local Gannett daily. In September, I'll assume the role of head copy editor for my university weekly. Both are huge steps up that I am blessed to take on.
This brings me to the whole point of this post. I've been writing since I was about 12 years old, but it never developed into a potential career path until I was a sophomore in high school. Beyond that, I didn't discover my love for copy editing until I was Editor-in-Chief of my community college's paper last fall and spring.
When I interviewed for the internship two weeks ago, my supervisor asked me why I was so interested in copy editing. It's an immensely tedious job, and it takes a special kind of crazy to do it, let alone enjoy it.
I told him that I found it soothing. That's bizarre, yes, and I've never really been able to explain why I'm so content while editing. In the shower, I think the reason finally came to me.
As a copy editor, it's my responsibility to read all the copy--raw text--that will go into the paper, and check it for errors. We go over each piece for grammar and spelling, adherence to the Associated Press Style of writing, and also check all of the names and facts for accuracy.
Essentially, it's a job for perfectionist control freaks. And I think I can own up to that.
Life is such a mess. So many things happen that are out of our control--bad economy, family issues, sickness, death. In my darkest moments it can appear as if I'm just a prisoner to it all, out of control with no idea where I'm going to land. That's terrifying.
Nothing in life is 100% certain. But when I edit, I have the full assurance that messy things are going to be made right, errors corrected, and all under my control. Like Pilate, a good journalist asks herself, "What is truth?" and sniffs it out to the end. I'm not sure about God right now. I can be sure that the facts I check are accurate, however.
That's why it's so soothing. It's a perfect outlet for my imperfect, uncertain life. :D
My confessor asked me Saturday where I thought my talents as a journalist came from. He was trying to illustrate that God is in charge of making our strengths into something much more...and now, my sick obsession with grammar is turning into a career. Like balm for my soul, it all makes sense. And that's a beautiful thing.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
To Bring Us Back
and did not let my enemies rejoice over me.
O LORD, you brought me up from the netherworld;
you preserved me from among those going down into the pit.
--from Psalm 30
This week, we celebrated Good Shepherd Sunday, and for me, it's a very important weekend. The Third Sunday of Easter marks the day, liturgically, when I returned home to the Church. Of course, I didn't know that at the time, but in retrospect the irony makes me smile. I was much happier feeding on the grass from the other side, even though I was unsatisfied and flying by the seat of my pants more often than not.
It was also Family Day at Newman, and my parents both accompanied me to meet my friends--indeed, my second family--and chaplain. They also stayed for Mass, and their presence meant more to me than I can really articulate. I surprised them by playing piano, and they were both super impressed by the amount of work that goes into playing for a Mass. It's good to know that they'll always love and support me, even though we don't share that perspective quite yet. I'll keep praying.
Jesus is full of that same loving concern, only infinitely greater. He'd go to the ends of the earth and the depths of hell--and He did!--just to be with us through all of life's joys and sorrows. The humbling thing is that He still desires this regardless of whether we choose to recognize His Presence.
There are black sheep who have rejected Him outright, white ones who have never strayed, and then there are those like me...who, in the effort to be happier with the grass being greener, actually wander far, far away from home. By the time we realize, it's long past dark, we're lost and utterly alone.
Or are we?
He's always there. All we have to do is ask for the eyes of faith...these days, I know I am.
This is Paul Alan's "To Bring You Back." Its message is profound for this season. Please continue to pray for me and all those who are lost.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Living in the Present Moment
Some wonderful thoughts that soothe my soul tonight from the diary of St. Faustina, one of my "rockstar saints."
When I look into the future, I am frightened,
But why plunge into the future?
Only the present moment is precious to me,
As the future may never enter my soul at all.
It is no longer in my power,
To change, correct or add to the past;
For neither sages nor prophets could do that.
And so, what the past has embraced I must entrust to God.
O present moment, you belong to me, whole and entire.
I desire to use you as best I can.
And although I am weak and small,
You grant me the grace of your omnipotence.
And so, trusting in Your mercy,
I walk through life like a little child,
Offering You each day this heart
Burning with love for Your greater glory.
~*~*~
I live from one hour to the next and am not able to get along in any other way. I want to make the best possible use of the present moment, faithfully accomplishing everything that it gives me. In all things, I depend on God with unwavering trust.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Revelation
I do some of my best thinking in the midst of a piping hot shower at the end of the day.
I hopped in this morning at around 1:00, as some activities in my townhouse (for lack of a better word) kept me confined to my room for a while. By then, I was exhausted and depressed--after spending the night with great friends, the adrenaline and caffeine wore off, and I crashed hard.
Though as I accidentally tried to lather up with shampoo instead of shower gel (did I mention exhaustion?), I had a random thought that stopped me in my tracks.
I spent a few peaceful moments yesterday in front of the tabernacle in our tiny upstairs chapel. While there, for once the emptiness dropped away, replaced with calm. I can't say I had faith in that moment, but I prayed with ease for the first time in a long time.
Pondering over the afternoon, I was cheered up by Father dragging me out to sit in the sun, and the unprompted support of several close friends. The gratitude was humbling.
And then it hit me:
What if...it's not God who's ceased to console us, but us who have shut out His love?
Have you ever been so emotionally raw, perhaps after a great loss, that the embrace of a loved one doesn't even begin to mend the wound? I'm beginning to wonder if that just might be the case with me.
Just before this whole mess began, I was dealing with a terrible anger at God over some issues. Rather than working through them, I chose to pretend He just wasn't real--it would be much easier than accepting the Cross, I thought.
And when I shut that door, it suddenly became too heavy for me to open again. Literally overnight, my heart grew hard, and I was completely unconvinced of God's reality. Like quicksand, I found myself sinking and with every step I made to escape, I went deeper.
That's where I find myself right now. But I think there is so much to be said for just opening ourselves up to that Love! We celebrated Divine Mercy Sunday this weekend, my favorite feast, and essentially that devotion is rooted in the belief that God's unfathomable Mercy is beyond even our greatest pain.
He wants to heal me, and like a wounded animal, I'm too ensnared in my fears and worries to let it take root. I think it's time to try.
Please pray for me!
I hopped in this morning at around 1:00, as some activities in my townhouse (for lack of a better word) kept me confined to my room for a while. By then, I was exhausted and depressed--after spending the night with great friends, the adrenaline and caffeine wore off, and I crashed hard.
Though as I accidentally tried to lather up with shampoo instead of shower gel (did I mention exhaustion?), I had a random thought that stopped me in my tracks.
I spent a few peaceful moments yesterday in front of the tabernacle in our tiny upstairs chapel. While there, for once the emptiness dropped away, replaced with calm. I can't say I had faith in that moment, but I prayed with ease for the first time in a long time.
Pondering over the afternoon, I was cheered up by Father dragging me out to sit in the sun, and the unprompted support of several close friends. The gratitude was humbling.
And then it hit me:
What if...it's not God who's ceased to console us, but us who have shut out His love?
Have you ever been so emotionally raw, perhaps after a great loss, that the embrace of a loved one doesn't even begin to mend the wound? I'm beginning to wonder if that just might be the case with me.
Just before this whole mess began, I was dealing with a terrible anger at God over some issues. Rather than working through them, I chose to pretend He just wasn't real--it would be much easier than accepting the Cross, I thought.
And when I shut that door, it suddenly became too heavy for me to open again. Literally overnight, my heart grew hard, and I was completely unconvinced of God's reality. Like quicksand, I found myself sinking and with every step I made to escape, I went deeper.
That's where I find myself right now. But I think there is so much to be said for just opening ourselves up to that Love! We celebrated Divine Mercy Sunday this weekend, my favorite feast, and essentially that devotion is rooted in the belief that God's unfathomable Mercy is beyond even our greatest pain.
He wants to heal me, and like a wounded animal, I'm too ensnared in my fears and worries to let it take root. I think it's time to try.
Please pray for me!
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