I've been joking lately that my hair is becoming my vanity.
I'm a brunette with the blessing of natural highlights in auburn and blonde; it's almost radiant when the sun catches me just right. And these days it's longer, falling to my shoulder blades.
It's a beautiful thing, but more hair means more maintenance.
And more maintenance means more hassle.
I get these awful knots almost every time I wash my hair, tiny, impossibly tight tangles that take ages to work through. Most of the time I get impatient and either leave some in or rip through them.
Last night, standing in front of the bathroom mirror and attempting to tame that knotted mop got me thinking.
The state of my hair was a reflection of my heart: a mess.
So many different elements have woven together at the wrong time and place. They were pulled, twisted, bent and broken until all that remained was an incomprehensible, painful web.
It got that way by accident. And now, my task is to untangle those knots.
It took care and patience to fix my hair last night. Slow, gentle working strand by strand, first with my fingers and then a brush. I couldn't just run a comb through my hair from roots to ends and expect results. That would have just left me with a pound of hair in the sink, and less of it on my head. Ouch.
I had to take my time. I had to go slow. I had to be compassionate and careful.
Yes, it took longer than I hoped and I was certainly frustrated, but after some honest effort, I was back to looking my best.
I have to step back and remember to treat my soul with that same tenderness and love.
I'm realizing that I'm not going to get to where I want to be overnight or as quickly as I expected. It is becoming a true test of humility to accept that the journey toward healing will be a long one.
But if I'm prepared to truly take my time, to respect what my body and intuition are telling me, and to allow others in to give me the help I need, I think I'll be okay eventually.
Scratch that. I know I will.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Lessons from my Papa
Today the Church will say goodbye to its physical head as Pope Benedict XVI abdicates his role as Bishop of Rome.
For the first time in my life as a practicing Catholic, the Chair of St. Peter will be vacant.
There will be no Papa.
And oddly, it's not because he's died.
In so many ways, this resignation allows me to rejoice. So many young people of my generation will always hold up Bl. John Paul II as "their" pope, the one who crystallized their faith and encouraged them in times of weariness.
I never had that grace. When John Paul died in 2005, I was still actively involved in the occult. As far as I was concerned, he was not my pope.
And yet I still found myself glued to the TV that day after school, unable to turn away from the vigil taking place in St. Peter's Square.
Something flickered in me then, and I felt it tangibly. Perhaps it was the flame of grace that would lead me back home almost exactly two years later.
The flicker came again a few weeks later, when I watched Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger emerge from what we still all considered John Paul's apartment, wearing John Paul's clothes, giving John Paul's blessing.
It felt strange, even to me.
But that shy man's smile stuck with me that day. And so did the stories that poured in as we learned more: his love for cats, his classically-trained piano skills, and his reluctance to accept the papacy.
Maybe we should have known then that he would leave it this way. Indeed, it seems now that he left us little signs everywhere. We just failed to see it then.
The day Benedict announced his resignation brought a storm of mixed feelings in the Catholic circles I'm in. Most were confused. Some were even angry, asking how he could abandon us, abandon his mission, like it was nothing. They compared him to an absent parent, to a Christ who came down from the Cross because it was just too much.
And they all spoke of John Paul and the hero's death he died after bearing the terrible burden of Parkinson's disease.
But I saw something different that day.
I saw a man who grappled long and furiously with the ever-increasing demands of his Church.
I saw a man who was self-aware, honest and humble enough to admit that the role he held for eight years was now overwhelming him.
But most importantly, I saw a man who was brave enough to let go. He knew that the best thing for the Church and for his flock was to step back, lay down the Cross, and allow Jesus to care for his wounds.
I was in bed that day, still very sick after weeks of a viral infection, and crippled emotionally by the sudden, vicious return of anxiety that's stalked me for years.
And in that moment, my Papa's actions said to me, "You don't have to be superwoman. You can let go. You can get the help you need and deserve as a dignified daughter of God."
He has followed the invitation of our gentle Lord: "Come to Me, all you who labor and are weary, and I will give you rest."
He has gone to rest and gone to heal. And thanks to his example, I will do the same.
For the first time in my life as a practicing Catholic, the Chair of St. Peter will be vacant.
There will be no Papa.
And oddly, it's not because he's died.
In so many ways, this resignation allows me to rejoice. So many young people of my generation will always hold up Bl. John Paul II as "their" pope, the one who crystallized their faith and encouraged them in times of weariness.
I never had that grace. When John Paul died in 2005, I was still actively involved in the occult. As far as I was concerned, he was not my pope.
And yet I still found myself glued to the TV that day after school, unable to turn away from the vigil taking place in St. Peter's Square.
Something flickered in me then, and I felt it tangibly. Perhaps it was the flame of grace that would lead me back home almost exactly two years later.
The flicker came again a few weeks later, when I watched Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger emerge from what we still all considered John Paul's apartment, wearing John Paul's clothes, giving John Paul's blessing.
It felt strange, even to me.
But that shy man's smile stuck with me that day. And so did the stories that poured in as we learned more: his love for cats, his classically-trained piano skills, and his reluctance to accept the papacy.
Maybe we should have known then that he would leave it this way. Indeed, it seems now that he left us little signs everywhere. We just failed to see it then.
The day Benedict announced his resignation brought a storm of mixed feelings in the Catholic circles I'm in. Most were confused. Some were even angry, asking how he could abandon us, abandon his mission, like it was nothing. They compared him to an absent parent, to a Christ who came down from the Cross because it was just too much.
And they all spoke of John Paul and the hero's death he died after bearing the terrible burden of Parkinson's disease.
But I saw something different that day.
I saw a man who grappled long and furiously with the ever-increasing demands of his Church.
I saw a man who was self-aware, honest and humble enough to admit that the role he held for eight years was now overwhelming him.
But most importantly, I saw a man who was brave enough to let go. He knew that the best thing for the Church and for his flock was to step back, lay down the Cross, and allow Jesus to care for his wounds.
I was in bed that day, still very sick after weeks of a viral infection, and crippled emotionally by the sudden, vicious return of anxiety that's stalked me for years.
And in that moment, my Papa's actions said to me, "You don't have to be superwoman. You can let go. You can get the help you need and deserve as a dignified daughter of God."
He has followed the invitation of our gentle Lord: "Come to Me, all you who labor and are weary, and I will give you rest."
He has gone to rest and gone to heal. And thanks to his example, I will do the same.
Friday, February 8, 2013
Waiting in the Wings
Happy New Year. I missed it all in the flurry of holiday parties and cold nights curled up with that man I love so much. I've been feeling guilty, almost, about not being present here. It's that journalistic urge to archive and document. It gets upset when I let the moments pass undocumented.
But I wanted to forget all that for a while and just live.
I wrote this after some time spent poring over the beautiful soul that is Sarah Koller. Her words woke up my muse again.
My resolution this year is to be real. Normally, I would hesitate to post this ... but it is about as real as I get. I won't hold that back.
~*~*~
I am a bundle of unopened potential.
So often I look at myself as a butterfly still encased in her chrysalis, her wings still knitting together bit by bit, cell by cell. The process, the waiting, it's all painstaking. It makes me want to MOVE.
I don't want to wait. I want those wings, here and now, today. There is a place for me, a ministry, and God pulls with such vigor on my heart that all of me aches to GO.
But I can't. Not yet. I need to still the longings that threaten to burst out of my seams long enough to realize a bit of truth. I am living with my head, my heart, my soul engaged in a moment -- a version of myself, even -- that hasn't been born yet.
I ache for Wife. I ache for the moment when I can do more than sit and watch two separate and separated lives unfold. I am restless with My Life and all its beauty because my heart is so invested in the hope that is Our Life.
I ache for Mommy, for the grabbing little hands at my skin and little smiles at my heart. Even if they aren't my flesh and blood, I want nothing more than to pour love out on little souls like water to flowers. I want to watch them blossom. I want to raise up love and joy and courage in young hearts, so that they can mend a little of this world's broken one.
I ache for youth minister and blogger and teacher and freelancer and neighbor and a million other things.
But along the way, I feel a bit of gentle urgency in my head, a little voice of reason in the midst of all that heart: "Do not forget today. Do not abandon now. Do not bury YOU."
Sometimes, I forget to be content with me. Content with my weakness and vulnerability. Content with a hair part not quite straight, a shirt that doesn't fit quite right, a sandwich taking 20 minutes to make, a heart not quite committed, a soul not quite convinced.
But that is Me. She is ME. I love her. I have to love her now, today. Not when I get to where I'm going.
Love, it grows. It’s knit together in that chrysalis, just like me.
I need to be patient. The little growth of today is in itself, at its core, a miracle. My days are a work of God's artistic brilliance.
The chrysalis is beautiful. Its fragility, its safety, its promise ... that is where I live today.
And even though sometimes I catch myself forgetting, I do like it here.
But I wanted to forget all that for a while and just live.
I wrote this after some time spent poring over the beautiful soul that is Sarah Koller. Her words woke up my muse again.
My resolution this year is to be real. Normally, I would hesitate to post this ... but it is about as real as I get. I won't hold that back.
~*~*~
I am a bundle of unopened potential.
So often I look at myself as a butterfly still encased in her chrysalis, her wings still knitting together bit by bit, cell by cell. The process, the waiting, it's all painstaking. It makes me want to MOVE.
I don't want to wait. I want those wings, here and now, today. There is a place for me, a ministry, and God pulls with such vigor on my heart that all of me aches to GO.
But I can't. Not yet. I need to still the longings that threaten to burst out of my seams long enough to realize a bit of truth. I am living with my head, my heart, my soul engaged in a moment -- a version of myself, even -- that hasn't been born yet.
I ache for Wife. I ache for the moment when I can do more than sit and watch two separate and separated lives unfold. I am restless with My Life and all its beauty because my heart is so invested in the hope that is Our Life.
I ache for Mommy, for the grabbing little hands at my skin and little smiles at my heart. Even if they aren't my flesh and blood, I want nothing more than to pour love out on little souls like water to flowers. I want to watch them blossom. I want to raise up love and joy and courage in young hearts, so that they can mend a little of this world's broken one.
I ache for youth minister and blogger and teacher and freelancer and neighbor and a million other things.
But along the way, I feel a bit of gentle urgency in my head, a little voice of reason in the midst of all that heart: "Do not forget today. Do not abandon now. Do not bury YOU."
Sometimes, I forget to be content with me. Content with my weakness and vulnerability. Content with a hair part not quite straight, a shirt that doesn't fit quite right, a sandwich taking 20 minutes to make, a heart not quite committed, a soul not quite convinced.
But that is Me. She is ME. I love her. I have to love her now, today. Not when I get to where I'm going.
Love, it grows. It’s knit together in that chrysalis, just like me.
I need to be patient. The little growth of today is in itself, at its core, a miracle. My days are a work of God's artistic brilliance.
The chrysalis is beautiful. Its fragility, its safety, its promise ... that is where I live today.
And even though sometimes I catch myself forgetting, I do like it here.
Saturday, December 22, 2012
What Christmas really means
I've got to admit, it hasn't been the easiest of Advent seasons.
It remains and probably always will be my favorite liturgical season. I love the sense of wonder and hushed anticipation that falls over my heart that first night we sing "O Come O Come Emmanuel" at Mass.
We are waiting for the arrival of Love Himself, the very reason for our joy.
And yet, the darkness of this world has cast a somber shadow over that hope.
We know the world needs God. But then a young man succumbing to mental illness and rage takes the lives of so many little children.
We know that God provides. But then end of the year layoffs come, leaving many jobless just in time for the new year, with little or no time to prepare.
We know that God calls us very good. But then it seems like even the best of our actions with the purest intentions are tainted by pride and sin.
We know that God's ways are above our ways. But then someone barely older than you dies tragically only days before Christmas, leaving his family shattered.
Scandal, loss, death, destruction, violence, selfishness, sin ... it's everywhere. And in our grief at the state of our society, in the struggle to find answers, healthy dialogue dissolves into bitter arguments, hurt feelings, and empty political rhetoric.
It's enough to tempt even the most steadfast believer to ask, "Where is God?"
My heart has been heavy over the last few weeks, weighed down by both personal trials and grief for the world around me that is hurting so badly.
The other night I went to a little chapel in town barely the size of my bedroom, a property built and maintained by five generations of a local family. I admired their large Nativity scene that was set up along the entire front wall and simmered in thought, trying to make sense of all that's happened.
I came up with only one thought. It's not an answer to the "why" on everyone's mind, and it doesn't attempt to pinpoint God's will.
But what I do know is this: this is why the Christ Child came. This is the world to which he was given, a world as marred by devastation then as it is now.
In the midst of this senseless pain ... Jesus has come. And He is restoring the world, one broken heart at a time.
Jesus is our Emmanuel. He truly is "God with us."
It remains and probably always will be my favorite liturgical season. I love the sense of wonder and hushed anticipation that falls over my heart that first night we sing "O Come O Come Emmanuel" at Mass.
We are waiting for the arrival of Love Himself, the very reason for our joy.
And yet, the darkness of this world has cast a somber shadow over that hope.
We know the world needs God. But then a young man succumbing to mental illness and rage takes the lives of so many little children.
We know that God provides. But then end of the year layoffs come, leaving many jobless just in time for the new year, with little or no time to prepare.
We know that God calls us very good. But then it seems like even the best of our actions with the purest intentions are tainted by pride and sin.
We know that God's ways are above our ways. But then someone barely older than you dies tragically only days before Christmas, leaving his family shattered.
Scandal, loss, death, destruction, violence, selfishness, sin ... it's everywhere. And in our grief at the state of our society, in the struggle to find answers, healthy dialogue dissolves into bitter arguments, hurt feelings, and empty political rhetoric.
It's enough to tempt even the most steadfast believer to ask, "Where is God?"
My heart has been heavy over the last few weeks, weighed down by both personal trials and grief for the world around me that is hurting so badly.
The other night I went to a little chapel in town barely the size of my bedroom, a property built and maintained by five generations of a local family. I admired their large Nativity scene that was set up along the entire front wall and simmered in thought, trying to make sense of all that's happened.
I came up with only one thought. It's not an answer to the "why" on everyone's mind, and it doesn't attempt to pinpoint God's will.
But what I do know is this: this is why the Christ Child came. This is the world to which he was given, a world as marred by devastation then as it is now.
In the midst of this senseless pain ... Jesus has come. And He is restoring the world, one broken heart at a time.
Jesus is our Emmanuel. He truly is "God with us."
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Christmas Magic
I stumbled upon this video while browsing Facebook tonight. What a beautiful way to kick off the Advent season!
Enjoy.
Enjoy.
Monday, November 26, 2012
On catharsis and hurricanes
Last summer, Hurricane Irene barreled up the East Coast, plunging my home and my soul into darkness.
It was a pivotal time for me, a distinct event that opened my eyes to the miserable status quo I'd resigned myself to years before.
When the lights came back on, I emerged with a renewed desire to do things right. And, thanks be to God, that resolution continues to carry me through. Holiness is no longer something I achieve by "luck" in rare, isolated circumstances. It's a lifestyle choice.
But sometimes I stumble, as we all do.
And a few weeks ago, Hurricane Sandy brought with her a torrent of rain and emotion.
I was down for a lot of reasons, struggling with some old sins and past hurts in a way that made me wonder if I've really grown at all. That discouragement only further weakened my soul and stoked a nasty temper to boot.
So last Saturday, I sat in the confessional with my father confessor, lamenting my actions and berating myself in the process for feeling sad and broken.
"But what are you really angry about?" he asked.
I was confused. But he told me that all of the lashing out and other sins were rooted in deeper problems that I hadn't considered. More importantly, he identified my tendency to hold things in as gasoline for my fire.
My penance that day, in addition to some Hail Marys, was to start talking about the things that trouble me. And not only did I have to talk about it, but I had to give myself over to whatever emotions I experienced. He wanted me to truly feel in order to come out the other side actually relieved, instead of resorting to quick, random outbursts.
And worst of all? He wanted me to do this specifically with my boyfriend. I fought Father on this, but he was unrelenting. "Hey, you want to share real love with him, right? Then you have to share yourself," he said. "Even the ugly parts."
That poor, poor man, I thought wryly. I already burden him so much. The last thing he needs is more of that nonsense...
But I listened. And this week I have soaked that poor man's chest with my sobs and given voice to deep worries I've only half talked about for years.
I'll be honest, it sucked. It hurt my pride. It made me feel even weaker and even more of a burden. I was angry all over again.
But at the end of that, I felt a relief that was palpable and lasting. I'm learning so much humility in this new little experiment.
I'm learning that flushing those emotions out makes room for a clearer, calmer head, too. It's easier to make reasonable decisions when your head isn't full of junk.
And I'm learning that love, real love, is about a lot more than the moments when you're on the top of your game.
Even with tears still dripping off my chin and snot bubbling from my nose, I am still loved. I am a hurricane in my own way, but I am still strong. I have ugly moments, but they will never take away the fact that I am a wholly beautiful woman.
What wonderful lessons to learn.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Older and Wiser
In the morning, I turn 23.
It's always a little bittersweet for me to leave one year behind and move into a new one. It's a poignant reminder that time doesn't stop for anyone, no matter how much we'd like to freeze some moments forever.
This year has been far from easy. I've been challenged in more ways and experienced more heartache than I think I ever have before.
But here's the thing: in all of that, I got stronger. I changed and grew. And I can say with a quiet sort of pride that now, on the other side of this year, I truly have come a long way.
The girl I was a year ago was someone defeated. I was trapped in sin, despair, and so much self-criticism that I couldn't even see straight. I looked to the future, to the life I saw ahead of me, and I choked on it. I didn't think I had it in me to become the woman God is calling me to be.
I learned something important about that from Simcha Fisher, a blogger at the National Catholic Register.
It's true that the present version of myself isn't ready for the future. But present-me is perfectly suited for where I am right now. And when I get to The Future, whatever it holds, I'll be ready then, too.
I've seen the hand of God all over my life, especially looking back on the tough seasons when I thought He had abandoned me. The truth is that He was never gone. If anything, He was closer then, working in the midst of it all to mold me into something even more graceful and good.
This year, he freed me from addiction. He brought me to love His wonderful Mother, who I've always been lukewarm about. He allowed me to face some of my greatest failures from the past in order to forgive myself. He showed me I could be trusted to love and support another precious soul. He showed me I'm not the failure I thought I was. He showed me that I am good, that I can love fully, and that I am, in every sense of the word, unquestionably beautiful.
If that's not a laundry list of triumphs, I don't know what is! Alleluia!
The year ahead is full of questions and difficulties; that much is certain. But it's also full of hope, discovery and transformation.
I have God. No one can or will ever take Him away from me. With Him, and with the wonderful people He's blessed me with, I really can get through anything.
All I want this year is to experience more of that beauty, love and joy in my life, and to share that everywhere I can.
I can't wait to get started!
It's always a little bittersweet for me to leave one year behind and move into a new one. It's a poignant reminder that time doesn't stop for anyone, no matter how much we'd like to freeze some moments forever.
This year has been far from easy. I've been challenged in more ways and experienced more heartache than I think I ever have before.
But here's the thing: in all of that, I got stronger. I changed and grew. And I can say with a quiet sort of pride that now, on the other side of this year, I truly have come a long way.
The girl I was a year ago was someone defeated. I was trapped in sin, despair, and so much self-criticism that I couldn't even see straight. I looked to the future, to the life I saw ahead of me, and I choked on it. I didn't think I had it in me to become the woman God is calling me to be.
I learned something important about that from Simcha Fisher, a blogger at the National Catholic Register.
It's true that the present version of myself isn't ready for the future. But present-me is perfectly suited for where I am right now. And when I get to The Future, whatever it holds, I'll be ready then, too.
I've seen the hand of God all over my life, especially looking back on the tough seasons when I thought He had abandoned me. The truth is that He was never gone. If anything, He was closer then, working in the midst of it all to mold me into something even more graceful and good.
This year, he freed me from addiction. He brought me to love His wonderful Mother, who I've always been lukewarm about. He allowed me to face some of my greatest failures from the past in order to forgive myself. He showed me I could be trusted to love and support another precious soul. He showed me I'm not the failure I thought I was. He showed me that I am good, that I can love fully, and that I am, in every sense of the word, unquestionably beautiful.
If that's not a laundry list of triumphs, I don't know what is! Alleluia!
The year ahead is full of questions and difficulties; that much is certain. But it's also full of hope, discovery and transformation.
I have God. No one can or will ever take Him away from me. With Him, and with the wonderful people He's blessed me with, I really can get through anything.
All I want this year is to experience more of that beauty, love and joy in my life, and to share that everywhere I can.
I can't wait to get started!
Friday, September 28, 2012
Beautiful Things
Last weekend I was blessed with the opportunity to make the trip up to Long Island and visit my boyfriend. My last time visiting was a day trip just a month into our relationship, and he was anxious to show me the new life he's built there.
It was, in a word, eye-opening.
The Diocese of Rockville Center is alive with activity, especially when compared to my own, rather elderly corner of the Catholic world.
We got lucky planning my visit when we did – as it turns out, a monthly holy hour for vocations fell during that weekend. I remembered him describing them to me in the past, but I wasn't prepared for what I saw.
People. Tons of people, from middle school to 20s and up. In fact, there were more than 500 of us there, so many that there was no longer any room in the pews. Instead, people sat on chairs and on the floor, in the aisles and around the altar. To say the place was packed is an understatement.
At dusk, before Adoration began I went to confession outside in the host church's rose garden. It was serene and quiet, which surprised me; there were ten or so priests scattered on the grass, and yet we couldn't hear their conversations at all.
I have to admit the hour itself was pretty cool. It was geared toward youth, and I was impressed by how eager the crowd was to get involved. Those kids could sing.
And yet, in what could only be described as a miracle, you could have heard a pin drop as soon as the Blessed Sacrament was exposed. Have you ever seen a bunch of quiet middle schoolers? Everyone knew Who they were there to see.
I walked away from that night encouraged. Where I'm from, the Church believes that youth have given up on faith. The number of youth groups has dwindled, with very little activity from most of those that remain. It feels to me that the attitude is one of "Why bother? They won't come."
Long Island proved to me what I always knew: they will come. And this is truly what John Paul II called the Church's "new springtime." It's beautiful. I'm so glad to be a part of it.
---
The next day we visited the Shrine of Our Lady of the Island, which felt less like a shrine and more like a 65-acre Catholic nature walk. The whole day was a perfect opportunity to reflect on the ways I've grown in the past year, especially in my blossoming relationship with Mary.
We walked the Stations of the Cross at the end of the day, the climax of which is a long flight of stairs leading to a life-size Crucifixion scene. I knelt on the stone ledge to pray and in about 90 seconds felt it digging deep into my shins and ankles.
I willed myself to stay down despite watering eyes and am so glad I did. Yes, it was very painful; I still have the bruises. But in that time of prayer, I got to experience suffering that meant something. It showed me in a tangible way what it means to suffer for the sake of love. All I had to do was look up at His face and remember. Pain is not the end.
---
A year ago, I sat on his bed weighed down by the elephant in the room and the terrible, aching distance between us ... the things we couldn't express then out of fear, confusion and the sheer newness of it all.
This year, curled up together with ice cream and old Nintendo games, it hit me.
Somewhere in the midst of the last year, we grew up. I look at him now and I don't see a strange boy that I don't understand at all. I see a man, my partner.
God has used every second of our fumbled attempts at communication and vulnerability to teach us. Through all our mistakes and the cross of separation, He has brought about an incredible good: honest, messy, life-breathing love.
It hasn't always been easy. But every day, we ask for daily bread. And we get back more than we could ever deserve.
It's like that Gungor song: "You make beautiful things out of the dust..."
It was, in a word, eye-opening.
The Diocese of Rockville Center is alive with activity, especially when compared to my own, rather elderly corner of the Catholic world.
We got lucky planning my visit when we did – as it turns out, a monthly holy hour for vocations fell during that weekend. I remembered him describing them to me in the past, but I wasn't prepared for what I saw.
People. Tons of people, from middle school to 20s and up. In fact, there were more than 500 of us there, so many that there was no longer any room in the pews. Instead, people sat on chairs and on the floor, in the aisles and around the altar. To say the place was packed is an understatement.
At dusk, before Adoration began I went to confession outside in the host church's rose garden. It was serene and quiet, which surprised me; there were ten or so priests scattered on the grass, and yet we couldn't hear their conversations at all.
I have to admit the hour itself was pretty cool. It was geared toward youth, and I was impressed by how eager the crowd was to get involved. Those kids could sing.
And yet, in what could only be described as a miracle, you could have heard a pin drop as soon as the Blessed Sacrament was exposed. Have you ever seen a bunch of quiet middle schoolers? Everyone knew Who they were there to see.
I walked away from that night encouraged. Where I'm from, the Church believes that youth have given up on faith. The number of youth groups has dwindled, with very little activity from most of those that remain. It feels to me that the attitude is one of "Why bother? They won't come."
Long Island proved to me what I always knew: they will come. And this is truly what John Paul II called the Church's "new springtime." It's beautiful. I'm so glad to be a part of it.
---
The next day we visited the Shrine of Our Lady of the Island, which felt less like a shrine and more like a 65-acre Catholic nature walk. The whole day was a perfect opportunity to reflect on the ways I've grown in the past year, especially in my blossoming relationship with Mary.
We walked the Stations of the Cross at the end of the day, the climax of which is a long flight of stairs leading to a life-size Crucifixion scene. I knelt on the stone ledge to pray and in about 90 seconds felt it digging deep into my shins and ankles.
I willed myself to stay down despite watering eyes and am so glad I did. Yes, it was very painful; I still have the bruises. But in that time of prayer, I got to experience suffering that meant something. It showed me in a tangible way what it means to suffer for the sake of love. All I had to do was look up at His face and remember. Pain is not the end.
---
A year ago, I sat on his bed weighed down by the elephant in the room and the terrible, aching distance between us ... the things we couldn't express then out of fear, confusion and the sheer newness of it all.
This year, curled up together with ice cream and old Nintendo games, it hit me.
Somewhere in the midst of the last year, we grew up. I look at him now and I don't see a strange boy that I don't understand at all. I see a man, my partner.
God has used every second of our fumbled attempts at communication and vulnerability to teach us. Through all our mistakes and the cross of separation, He has brought about an incredible good: honest, messy, life-breathing love.
It hasn't always been easy. But every day, we ask for daily bread. And we get back more than we could ever deserve.
It's like that Gungor song: "You make beautiful things out of the dust..."
Sunday, August 19, 2012
The Clothes Rant
Every now and then, a topic of discussion comes up that crawls under my skin and stays there. One of them is attire for Mass.
I came back to the Church at 17, and at that time I owned maybe one pair of dress pants. I wore jeans to Mass every weekend, thankful just to be there, grateful that God loved me just as I was.
As I got older, I started to make a conscious effort to dress more formally for Mass. I wanted to look my best for God. The jeans stayed, but t-shirts gave way to blouses and sandals or boots.
But today I sit in the pews and I worry.
~*~*~
In the Catholic circles I navigate now, discussions about clothes always turn to "suitability" and "appropriateness."
And it becomes a string of one-upping: who wears jeans, who says jeans are unsuitable, who wears dress slacks, and who wears a full suit or a skirt, saying that's the best way to honor God.
There's always someone who throws in the line that we should dress as though we were seeing the President. That one is my favorite. Now where did I hang that bridesmaid's gown ...
Underneath at all, there's a current of condescension: if you don't do these things, you're not being reverent. You're not making an effort. You're not giving God what He deserves. You're not good enough.
After a while, as you sit at Mass with these voices in the back of your mind, it can almost break your spirit.
Weeks later, you pull on your best blouse and dress pants, look critically at the curvy form in the mirror, and think, "Well, at least no one will think anything of me today."
Feeling safe at last, you head out the door.
~*~*~
This is the place I find myself these days, somewhere between endlessly frustrated and outright defeated.
I have always had the heart of one who sought to honor God everywhere I went and in everything I did. That internal state remains the same regardless of what I'm wearing.
But I am getting older now, and the college student label no longer "excuses" me. I find myself bending over backward about one too many things, if only to prevent cracking under the pressure of becoming a Godly woman. I do what I have to do in order to be accepted and to feel like I'm satisfying the church culture around me.
I want to shout instead to the women in dresses and the men in suits that they're not good enough, either; that they are no holier or more beloved in the eyes of God than I am, despite our efforts.
I want to embrace the girl I've seen the last few weeks in chains with green hair, sitting in the front pew and going through the Mass like she means it. I've seen people nudge each other and whisper about her.
The week we lost power in a terrible storm found me walking into Mass wearing a concert tee and short shorts — we didn't have any water to do laundry and it was all I had clean. People stared at me. Feeling humiliated, I wanted to turn around and walk out.
Instead, I thanked God with so much joy for something I so often forget: God is holding nothing back from me. Not from me or from anyone else there, for that matter. We give Him our broken hearts and He gives us everything.
Maybe I'm too progressive. Hell, maybe I just don't understand.
But for right now, for this place in my life, I am trying. I confess that there are days I just want to hear, "Yes, you are beautiful, and yes, you are good enough."
The God of all creation says that about me!
I want that to be the only thing that matters.
I came back to the Church at 17, and at that time I owned maybe one pair of dress pants. I wore jeans to Mass every weekend, thankful just to be there, grateful that God loved me just as I was.
As I got older, I started to make a conscious effort to dress more formally for Mass. I wanted to look my best for God. The jeans stayed, but t-shirts gave way to blouses and sandals or boots.
But today I sit in the pews and I worry.
~*~*~
In the Catholic circles I navigate now, discussions about clothes always turn to "suitability" and "appropriateness."
And it becomes a string of one-upping: who wears jeans, who says jeans are unsuitable, who wears dress slacks, and who wears a full suit or a skirt, saying that's the best way to honor God.
There's always someone who throws in the line that we should dress as though we were seeing the President. That one is my favorite. Now where did I hang that bridesmaid's gown ...
Underneath at all, there's a current of condescension: if you don't do these things, you're not being reverent. You're not making an effort. You're not giving God what He deserves. You're not good enough.
After a while, as you sit at Mass with these voices in the back of your mind, it can almost break your spirit.
Weeks later, you pull on your best blouse and dress pants, look critically at the curvy form in the mirror, and think, "Well, at least no one will think anything of me today."
Feeling safe at last, you head out the door.
~*~*~
This is the place I find myself these days, somewhere between endlessly frustrated and outright defeated.
I have always had the heart of one who sought to honor God everywhere I went and in everything I did. That internal state remains the same regardless of what I'm wearing.
But I am getting older now, and the college student label no longer "excuses" me. I find myself bending over backward about one too many things, if only to prevent cracking under the pressure of becoming a Godly woman. I do what I have to do in order to be accepted and to feel like I'm satisfying the church culture around me.
I want to shout instead to the women in dresses and the men in suits that they're not good enough, either; that they are no holier or more beloved in the eyes of God than I am, despite our efforts.
I want to embrace the girl I've seen the last few weeks in chains with green hair, sitting in the front pew and going through the Mass like she means it. I've seen people nudge each other and whisper about her.
The week we lost power in a terrible storm found me walking into Mass wearing a concert tee and short shorts — we didn't have any water to do laundry and it was all I had clean. People stared at me. Feeling humiliated, I wanted to turn around and walk out.
Instead, I thanked God with so much joy for something I so often forget: God is holding nothing back from me. Not from me or from anyone else there, for that matter. We give Him our broken hearts and He gives us everything.
Maybe I'm too progressive. Hell, maybe I just don't understand.
But for right now, for this place in my life, I am trying. I confess that there are days I just want to hear, "Yes, you are beautiful, and yes, you are good enough."
The God of all creation says that about me!
I want that to be the only thing that matters.
Monday, August 13, 2012
The woman of my dreams?
I watched an interesting video tonight by Catholic speaker Sarah Swafford on the idea of emotional virtue. It's a simple term she coined that means to control and harness our emotions in a way that lets us grow in virtue.
I'm not going to leave that video here tonight, though. Instead, I thought it would be good to do a little freewriting. So much is going on with me right now (hence my long absence – mea culpa!), and a lot of it is too jumbled for my usual posts here. Tonight, I just feel like writing, even if I don't have any "wisdom" to share.
Swafford said that the first step to being virtuous with our emotions is to have a goal in mind. "Ask yourself: who do I want to be? What qualities do I want to develop? Who is the woman of my dreams?"
Her premise was that in order to find the man of your dreams (moral, kind, strong, etc.), you have to become the woman of your dreams. If you have low standards for yourself, you'll attract guys with low standards and vice versa.
I already have the best man I could have hoped for (yuck, excuse the mush! ;)), but that's no reason to stop striving to grow. If anything, I find myself wanting to work harder.
So, here goes:
Who do I want to be?
I want to be brave.
I want to be emotionally strong.
I want to be joyful.
I want to be classy and elegant.
I want to be gentle and nurturing.
I want to be self-assured.
I want to be modest -- inside and out.
I want to be secure in my identity as a woman.
I want to feel comfortable in my own skin again.
I want to accept with grace who I am.
I want to concern myself only with what God thinks of me.
I want to put others first.
I want to be selfless.
I want to be firm and courageous in the face of opposition.
I want to persevere.
I want to work at my goals with a peaceful and confident attitude.
I want to trust God fully for all my concerns and needs.
I want to embrace what God has given me, and be accepting of what He hasn't.
I want to live in the present moment with hope for the future.
I want to be a shelter for my future husband.
I want to be a reflection of God's love to the world.
I want to make a difference.
I want to love like Jesus.
That's the ideal version of myself. That's the woman of my dreams. Isn't she beautiful?
You'll notice I purposely avoided negatives ("don't, less, instead of") when making this list. It was tough to speak positively without criticizing my flaws, but if I hope to make progress in this, I need to talk about (and to!) myself the same way I want to treat others – with compassion and respect.
I guess it's important to see the progress I've already made, too. I've come a very long way, that's for sure, especially in the last year. Little by little, I'm becoming the woman of my dreams. I just need to keep at it and be patient.
What would your list look like? Feel free to leave a comment or write a post of your own. :) Have a great week, folks.
I'm not going to leave that video here tonight, though. Instead, I thought it would be good to do a little freewriting. So much is going on with me right now (hence my long absence – mea culpa!), and a lot of it is too jumbled for my usual posts here. Tonight, I just feel like writing, even if I don't have any "wisdom" to share.
Swafford said that the first step to being virtuous with our emotions is to have a goal in mind. "Ask yourself: who do I want to be? What qualities do I want to develop? Who is the woman of my dreams?"
Her premise was that in order to find the man of your dreams (moral, kind, strong, etc.), you have to become the woman of your dreams. If you have low standards for yourself, you'll attract guys with low standards and vice versa.
I already have the best man I could have hoped for (yuck, excuse the mush! ;)), but that's no reason to stop striving to grow. If anything, I find myself wanting to work harder.
So, here goes:
Who do I want to be?
I want to be brave.
I want to be emotionally strong.
I want to be joyful.
I want to be classy and elegant.
I want to be gentle and nurturing.
I want to be self-assured.
I want to be modest -- inside and out.
I want to be secure in my identity as a woman.
I want to feel comfortable in my own skin again.
I want to accept with grace who I am.
I want to concern myself only with what God thinks of me.
I want to put others first.
I want to be selfless.
I want to be firm and courageous in the face of opposition.
I want to persevere.
I want to work at my goals with a peaceful and confident attitude.
I want to trust God fully for all my concerns and needs.
I want to embrace what God has given me, and be accepting of what He hasn't.
I want to live in the present moment with hope for the future.
I want to be a shelter for my future husband.
I want to be a reflection of God's love to the world.
I want to make a difference.
I want to love like Jesus.
That's the ideal version of myself. That's the woman of my dreams. Isn't she beautiful?
You'll notice I purposely avoided negatives ("don't, less, instead of") when making this list. It was tough to speak positively without criticizing my flaws, but if I hope to make progress in this, I need to talk about (and to!) myself the same way I want to treat others – with compassion and respect.
I guess it's important to see the progress I've already made, too. I've come a very long way, that's for sure, especially in the last year. Little by little, I'm becoming the woman of my dreams. I just need to keep at it and be patient.
What would your list look like? Feel free to leave a comment or write a post of your own. :) Have a great week, folks.
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