Celebrating

As I write this, there are five minutes left until Good Friday and, dutifully, I am shoving as much fiber and protein into my mouth as humanly possible.

Meanwhile, just a brief post tonight.

Last night (Wednesday), we celebrated an annual tradition at Newman: senior dinner. We all cook for one another as a rule, but once a year the underclassmen team up to prepare and serve something a bit more "fancy" to the graduating seniors, who enjoy candlelight, good china, and conversation by themselves.

There are ten of us this year, a huge chunk of the crowd. Many have been integral. The underclassmen tell me I am one of the ones that have made a difference.

(Midnight. Good Friday.)

Before breaking away to eat, they surrounded us in a giant huddle around the table while Father gave us a blessing. And afterward, one at a time, we had the opportunity to offer whatever was on our heart. Advice, thanksgiving, love.

All of that happened and there were lots of tears. As for me, I was toward the end of the line and had a decent amount of time to think about what I wanted to say. I wasn't sure until my turn arrived, but I kicked things off this way:

"You know, it just hit me. Tomorrow, April 21st, will be four years since I came back home to the Church..." Here, there were cheers and applause. It was a perfect way to finish my thought: "And ironically, almost four years to the day, I'm celebrating with the people that have helped me keep that faith. I came here isolated, and I'm leaving here with family."

It's not been an easy ride, by any means ... even recently I found myself being carried on the journey when I couldn't face hard times alone. But every year I am a little stronger, and a lot more humbled by how much God is teaching and transforming me every day.

Growing pains hurt like hell. But they, like anything worth having, are so worth it in the end.

Acting in Agony

I keep thinking about the Agony in the Garden. It's the time of year for that, both in liturgy and in that aching in my soul that I can't seem to kick.

Before He was betrayed, Jesus begged and pleaded to be set free of the circumstances that led Him here. No longer could He put the future out of mind. He was to go and die for people who didn't really know Him and mostly didn't care. What's worse is that He had to do it all alone.

And then what? He returns from that plea to find Peter and the others passed out. It's a beautiful piece of irony. I can almost see the slightest bitter smirk on His lips before the crushing sadness comes again. Just when I need someone to be there for Me, they aren't, Jesus might have thought. That sight was the salt of the earth He preached about being rubbed into the wound of grief.

Yet He went and did it again, and then once more, praying with a passion so intense and a grief so penetrating he sweat blood. Really. The capillaries burst under all of that strain and blood came out of the pores when there was no more sweat to give. How many people do you know who have done that?

But what happened next is perhaps the most important part of the whole story. He knew there was no choice but to go through with His Passion -- after all, it's not as if you can resign being the Messiah, or just erase whatever your life circumstances are. So He got up off the ground, dried His tears, and moved forward.

I can't even imagine the strength it must have taken for Him to rise from there and walk away. 

We can't change the past, and we can't freeze the present moment. Sometimes, things happen that are well beyond our control. The only thing to do is play the cards we're dealt the best we know how.

And we live with the promise that when we go to die, we will live again.

"I have promised, and I will do it," says the Lord.

Do we believe Him?

Daily Prayer for Personal Crosses

God, give me the grace to carry the cross that you've given me.
Help me to remember that You made it the perfect size and shape and form.
Keep my eyes forward and my heart steadfast as I continue this journey.
And may I never, ever forget that You are my Simon of Cyrene.

Amen.

Finding Shelter

We will never walk alone again...

Well, after almost a year of admiration, I finally got to see live my two favorite Catholic artists ever, Matt Maher and Audrey Assad. They opened along with Derek Webb for Jars of Clay, and while I was a casual fan of the headliner going in, I now love them to bits.

Buy "The Shelter." Right now. Do not wait.

I have to admit, I knew that Christian concerts were different from their secular counterparts, but it's an entirely different thing to actually experience it. It was beautiful knowing that hundreds of people were all brought together for love of great music and faith. But it also goes even deeper than that: it's a celebration of the One who loves us more than we could conceive.

Beyond that, it was definitely the most joyful show I've ever been to. I'm almost reluctant to admit it, but I found a charismatic streak in me. It was a refreshing change, that's for sure.

In all four sets, there was a common thread: no matter what we're going through or where we stand in faith, we are never alone ... "The Shelter" is based on an old Irish saying that says we will live in the shelter/refuge of one another. That's how life works, and how the Church works.

We're a communal people, and most of the time I forget that. Despair is a tricky one for me to dodge, and when I'm not on point, it's easy for me to get lost in it.

It's funny, though. Whenever I really start to lose my footing, it seems the Lord is armed with people to put in my path. And this concert was one more slap from Him: Wake up, doofus. Look around. I am with you.

For once, I could finally answer as I should have been all along. "I know it, Lord."

Unity and Eating Dirt

After youth group last night, I spent a while praying with a couple of friends, new and old.

As we prayed, I found myself impressed again by this new crowd. The Spirit is allowed to move freely, and it makes a tangible difference in the way the ministry runs.

Just as I pondered that, someone in the darkened meeting room said softly, "I pray for unity here, and that we all work together to seek the presence of the Holy Spirit and the will of God in us."

Zing. Once again, we were of one mind.

I say this cautiously, but will stand by it: these guys are doing what Newman is failing to do. That hurts to write, and I pray that the changes many of us hope for will come next year. The underclassmen deserve it.

But, I digress.

My friend Jesse from Newman introduced me to this new group, and he and I spent a while chatting. Something he said innocently struck a chord with me, especially in light of my recent "growing pains."

He said, "The first thing Jesus did when He received the Cross was fall down and drop it."

It's true, of course. I've read the Gospels; I've seen that passage many times before. But to hear him put it to me like that was something else.

It's okay to struggle. It's okay to fall. It's okay to feel so overwhelmed by the weight of our burdens that we just collapse.

The trick is to get up and keep going. We can't get to Heaven eating dirt. ;)

Just a Reminder

"Beloved, bear your share of hardship for the Gospel..."

It was one of those Masses where all I could do, hidden safely up in the choir loft, was throw my hands up in a silent gesture of exasperation: You have got to be kidding me.


Shortly after that, I went to my knees and cried.

When I first came to Christ in 2006, I wasn't prepared for the onslaught of difficulty my new faith would bring. People around me who were Christians were so happy -- they had joy and peace, they said. And He could give that to me, too, if only I would ask for it.

What they never did tell me was that "in this world you will have trouble." I missed that part. I wasn't ready to drop my past, and when I did, the backlash was ugly not only within me, but in the reactions of those around me.

I had bitten off more than I could chew, and opted to put on a smile ... after all, we had to be examples at all times. We were witnesses.

You can probably guess what happened next: I fell on my butt. It took a couple years and some much-needed formation once I came back to the Church, but I'm so much more well-adjusted to the ebb and flow of faith.

Of course, I still have my moments. Sometimes, it feels like I can't live up to who I'm called to be. There are seasons where I grow so weary that I just...quit.

Then I read the second half of Paul's message to Timothy:

"Bear your share of hardship for the Gospel with the strength that comes from God."

God can overcome anything.

"In the world you will have trouble, but take heart, for I have overcome the world."

And God can -- will -- see me through even the worst of trials. Sometimes, all I need is a reminder.

Still, small and hidden...

There isn't much left of winter now. As long as it's still relevant, I want to post this video from the beautiful and talented Audrey Assad (who, I'm sure you know by now, I never shut up about). I'm going to see her in three weeks!!!

This song has always spoken to me, in the sense that I am always looking for neon signs along my faith journey. Predictably, I usually only find them when I learn to rein myself in a bit, take a breath and humbly listen for His voice.

Enjoy.

A Very Acceptable Time

Courage is not the absence of fear, but the mastery of it.

I have a feeling that this Lent is going to be eventful for me. Eventful, and very productive. I'd love it if I emerged at Easter 47 days from now a bit less tied down by the roller coaster of my worries.

For starters, I'm going to get eight hours of sleep a night, no excuses. I think that a healthier sleep cycle will make everything else a whole lot easier.

My friend Megan and I are going to embark on some kind of Biblical journey together, too. She's mentioned something about a devotion to the shoulder wound of Christ, the wound that was formed as he carried the cross and all of our burdens.

It seems like it's just what I need.

I sit here now with a grilled cheese and a smudge on my head, a walking and talking "I'm Catholic!" sign. Last year, it was scary. This year, it was pretty fun.

There's never been a better time for change -- the second reading even said so. Rather than blanching this year, I'm embracing this opportunity. I'm not going to squander it.

For now, it's time for some much-needed food.

Courage

Lent is coming.

Lent is coming with all of its somber, relentless reminders that if we're going to walk this road, if we're really going to follow Christ, we've got to go to Calvary and die.

I don't like that. I've never liked that, and I'm not about to start. This woman's no masochist.

So, I pull up my big girl pants and do what the Gospel asks of me -- pick up the cross and follow. And now and again it gets way too heavy for me, and I drop it or fall on my face. Most of the time, it's both.

And then I run as far and as fast as I can, telling myself that I just need to get away from the burden of it for a little while until I can clear my head and get my courage back. If there's one thing I've needed in the last five years, it's courage. When I lose it, I crash. What you see instead is a pretty little brave face, but I've only been really good at faking it onstage. ;)

Okay, enough with the metaphors. I ran myself into the ground for the millionth time last week, after a month solid of ignoring it. Vice gets my mind off the fact that life is hard. It also gets me into a mess. That was fun in the confessional.

It's dealt with now and behind me. Redemption is still fresh in my soul. But...the cross is still sitting there, and I know it's time to get moving.

Yet all I can do is stand there and look at it. That's too bad, because in 24 hours I'll be "rending my heart" and starting the long journey to Easter.

Maybe somewhere along the way, I'll find my courage again.

Unexpected Surprise

At the beginning of this week, I sat at my computer desk like a sack of potatoes, nursing cramps and trying hard to console myself with sushi. It's been a weird few days -- a faith-based documentary we critiqued in a class led to a small crisis, but eventually, I got some interesting news.

There was a job opening in my field, and I was encouraged by the person who was supervising it to come in for an interview. This person knows me well. No application or resume was necessary.

After a 90 minutes of questions -- both from the relevant editors and many from me -- I left there with a job. A real job, post-graduation.

Blessed be God!

The position is a bit more than I would have expected for part-time work. OK, maybe a lot more. It has taken me this long to answer the question of whether or not I was even ready for this. While not getting into too much detail, I'm going to be in charge of a small publication that is released once a month with a daily paper. This means I get to brainstorm all of the content, implement the steps necessary for getting the content done, and coming up with photo ideas. All this needs to be finished months in advance of the publication date, just in case something goes wrong...which in journalism, things are wont to do.

I walked out of the newsroom and my mom asked if I was going to be sick. See, I thought I was going to be writing obituaries. This huge, amazing opportunity completely blindsided me and I was completely overwhelmed with emotions.

The night before, I had asked God to do whatever He felt was best for me. And then that happened.

So, if this is what's intended for me, I have no doubt I'll succeed. All I need is time to learn and adjust.

And faith.